The morning after the Council session should feel like victory.
Lyria is gone. The bond is recognized. The truth is known. I stood in front of the entire Supernatural Council and declared my love for the Vampire King—not as a lie, not as a performance, but as a declaration. And they listened. They didn’t cheer. They didn’t bow. But they didn’t challenge me either. And in this world, that’s as close to triumph as it gets.
But I don’t feel triumphant.
I feel… exposed.
Not just because of the torn gown, the swollen lip, the mark pulsing on my wrist like a second heartbeat. But because of what they all mean. Because of what I allowed. Because of what I wanted.
I came here to kill Kaelen D’Rae.
And now I’m in love with him.
The thought still terrifies me. Not because it’s dangerous. Not because it makes me weak. But because it’s true. And truth, in this court, is the most dangerous weapon of all.
I wake alone in the bed—our bed—sunlight slicing through the heavy velvet drapes, painting gold across the wreckage of last night. The headboard is cracked. The mirrors are shattered. The chandelier lies in pieces on the floor, black crystal glittering like frozen blood. The sheets are tangled, stained with sweat, with blood, with the scent of sex and magic so thick it clings to the air.
And the vines—
They’re still there. Curled around the bedposts, the nightstand, the doorframe. Thorns embedded in the wood. Leaves still glistening with dew. My magic didn’t retreat. It claimed.
Just like I did.
I press my palm to the mark on my wrist. It flares—warm, alive—sending a pulse of heat through me, a whisper of his presence. He’s nearby. I can feel him through the bond, a steady, insistent hum, like a thread tying us together no matter the distance.
But I don’t go to him.
Not yet.
I need a moment. To breathe. To think. To remember who I am.
I rise, stepping over the wreckage, my bare feet silent on the cold marble. The gown from yesterday is beyond repair—ripped at the shoulder, smeared with blood, tangled in vines. I leave it on the floor, a relic of the woman I was. The woman who came here to kill.
I open the wardrobe, scanning the rows of silk, velvet, leather. Today, I don’t need armor. I don’t need a weapon. I need to be seen. As I am. As we are.
I choose a dress of deep crimson—high collar, long sleeves, modest by court standards. But the left sleeve is cut away, baring my arm from shoulder to wrist. The mark will be visible. The bond will be known.
Good.
I braid my hair loosely, then press my palm to the mark one last time before stepping out into the hall.
Kaelen is in the study, seated at his desk, a stack of scrolls before him, his expression unreadable. The fire burns low in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across his face. He looks up as I enter, golden eyes locking onto mine.
“You’re awake,” he says.
“You’re working.”
“There’s a war coming.”
“Then stop pretending you can fight it alone.”
He doesn’t answer. Just watches me, his gaze dropping to my bare arm, to the mark. “You’re showing it.”
“I’m not hiding.”
He stands, walking toward me, slow, deliberate. His hand lifts, fingers brushing the mark, then trailing up my arm, over my shoulder, to the curve of my neck. A spark of heat ignites where he touches, spreading low, deep, dangerous.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs. “Like fire given form.”
“And you’re terrifying,” I whisper. “Like a storm given teeth.”
He smiles—dark, knowing. “Then let me destroy you.”
“You already have.”
He leans in, his lips brushing my ear. “Not nearly enough.”
And then—
A knock.
Cassien steps in, his expression grim. “My lord. There’s been an attack. On the northern border. A rogue werewolf pack—sixty strong—slaughtered a human village under our protection. They left a message.”
“What message?” Kaelen asks, stepping back.
“For the Blood Consort.”
My stomach drops.
“And what did it say?”
Cassien hesitates. “‘We taste your fear. We smell your betrayal. The Thorned Blood will fall.’”
Silence.
Then—
“They’re testing us,” I say, lifting my chin. “Seeing if the bond is strong. If we’re united.”
“Or if they can break us,” Kaelen says, turning to me. “You won’t go.”
“I won’t stay.”
“Rowan—”
“I’m not a prisoner. I’m not a liability. I’m your consort. And if they’re coming for me, they’ll have to go through you to get to me.”
He stares at me.
And then—
He nods.
We ride at dusk, a small contingent of Night Guard flanking us, our cloaks drawn tight against the chill. The northern border is wild—forests of black pine, jagged cliffs, rivers that run red with iron. The air is thick with the scent of blood and decay, the silence broken only by the distant howl of wolves.
Kaelen rides beside me, his presence a constant hum through the bond. I can feel his tension, his focus, the way his magic coils beneath his skin, ready to strike. But I can also feel something else.
Possessiveness.
Not just over the land. Over me.
And I don’t hate it.
We reach the village by midnight—what’s left of it. Houses reduced to ash. Bodies strewn across the square. Blood soaked into the earth. The werewolves didn’t just kill. They desecrated.
And in the center of the square—
A sigil.
Etched into the dirt. Drawn in blood.
A warning. A challenge. A declaration of war.
Kaelen dismounts, his boots crunching on the ash. I follow, my magic simmering beneath my skin, ready. The bond flares—hot, sudden—as I step into the square. My breath hitches. My pulse hammers.
“They’re still close,” I whisper.
“I know.”
“Then why aren’t we moving?”
“Because they want us to chase them.”
“And you don’t?”
“I want them to come to us.”
And then—
They do.
Shadows detach from the trees. Figures emerge from the smoke. Sixty werewolves—some fully shifted, claws and fangs bared, eyes glowing amber. Others in half-form, muscles rippling, snarling.
And at the front—
An Alpha. Towering. Scarred. His eyes lock onto mine.
“Rowan of the Thorned Blood,” he growls. “You betrayed your kind. You lie with the vampire. You are filth.”
“I’m not here to debate purity with a dog,” I say, stepping forward. “I’m here to end you.”
He laughs—low, guttural. “You think your magic can stop us? You think your bond can save you?”
“No,” I say, pressing my palm to the mark. “I think this will.”
The bond ignites.
Heat crashes through me, a wave so intense I cry out, my magic erupting—thorned vines bursting from the ground, the air, the blood-soaked earth, lashing out like whips, wrapping around the nearest werewolves, yanking them off their feet, thorns digging into flesh, drawing blood.
They howl.
They fight.
But they’re not fast enough.
Kaelen moves—blindingly fast—his fangs bared, his claws out, tearing through the ranks, a whirlwind of death. The Night Guard engages, swords flashing, magic flaring. The battle is chaos—snarls, screams, the clash of steel, the crackle of magic.
And I—
I burn.
My magic surges with every heartbeat, every breath, every pulse of the bond. Vines erupt from my skin, from the ground, from the air, wrapping around werewolves, snapping necks, impaling chests, tearing through flesh. I don’t think. I don’t hesitate. I just destroy.
And then—
The Alpha charges.
He’s fast. Strong. But I’m faster.
I sidestep, my magic flaring, a vine lashing out, wrapping around his ankle, yanking him off his feet. He hits the ground hard, snarling, rolling, lunging at me with claws out.
I don’t flinch.
I press my palm to the mark.
And the bond explodes.
Heat crashes through me, a wave so intense I scream, my magic erupting in a storm of thorned vines, wrapping around the Alpha, lifting him off the ground, squeezing, crushing, until he goes still.
And then—
Silence.
The last werewolf falls. The square is littered with bodies. The air is thick with blood and magic.
We won.
But it doesn’t feel like victory.
It feels like a warning.
Kaelen steps beside me, his hand landing on my shoulder. “You were incredible.”
“So were you.”
He turns me, his hands framing my face. “You’re bleeding.”
I hadn’t noticed. A shallow cut on my cheek, just below my eye. Blood trickles down my skin.
His gaze drops to it. His pupils dilate. His breath hitches.
And then—
He leans in.
His tongue sweeps over the cut, warm, wet, possessive. A jolt of heat ignites where he touches, spreading low, deep, dangerous.
“Kaelen—”
“Shh.” His hands slide down, over my neck, my shoulders, my waist, pulling me against him. “Let me taste you.”
My breath hitches.
“We’re not alone.”
“I don’t care.”
And then—
He kisses me.
Not gentle. Not slow.
Desperate. Furious. A claiming. His mouth crashes against mine, teeth scraping my lip, his tongue sweeping in, tasting blood, tasting me. My magic surges—vines erupting from my skin, curling around his arms, his neck, binding us together. He doesn’t stop. He deepens the kiss, one hand fisting in my hair, the other sliding down, over my hip, pulling me flush against him.
And I feel it—
Not just desire.
But hunger.
Raw. Unfiltered. And it’s not just mine.
It’s his too.
He breaks the kiss, his forehead pressed to mine, his breath ragged. “I need you,” he growls. “Now.”
“Here?”
“Anywhere. Everywhere.”
He lifts me, carrying me toward the ruins of a house, his mouth crashing back to mine. We stumble inside, the door slamming shut behind us. The room is dark, the air thick with dust and decay. He pins me to the wall, one hand fisting in my hair, the other sliding up my thigh, beneath the fabric of my dress.
“You’re wet,” he murmurs, his voice rough. “For me.”
“Liar,” I breathe, but my hips arch into his touch, betraying me.
He smiles—dark, knowing. “Liar.”
His fingers slide higher, beneath the edge of my panties, tracing the slick heat between my thighs. I gasp, my head falling back, my magic flaring—vines erupting from the wall, curling around his wrists, his biceps, thorns digging into his skin, drawing blood.
He groans into my mouth, his fangs grazing my lip, sharp, dangerous. “You want this.”
“I want you to *want* me,” I whisper. “Not because the bond demands it. Not because your body responds to mine. But because you can’t imagine your life without me.”
“I can’t,” he growls. “I’ve tried. I’ve fought it. But you’re in my blood. In my bones. In my soul.”
My breath catches.
And then—
He grinds against me, his hardness pressing into my thigh, his fingers slipping inside me, two, then three, curling, stroking, driving me insane. I cry out, my body arching, my magic erupting—vines lashing out, cracking the walls, shattering the windows, wrapping around us, pressing us together.
“Kaelen—”
“Say it,” he demands, his voice a growl. “Say you want me.”
“I hate you.”
He bites my neck—just below my ear, sharp, possessive—and I scream, my back arching. “Liar.”
“I hate you,” I whisper again, but my hips grind against his, betraying me.
“Then hate me,” he growls, his fingers moving faster, deeper, “while you burn for me. While you come apart in my arms. While you mark me as yours.”
And then—
The door bursts open.
We freeze.
Cassien stands in the doorway, his expression unreadable, his hand still on the doorknob. His gaze flicks to us—pinned to the wall, my dress hiked up, his fingers buried inside me, blood on his arms—and for a heartbeat, I think he’ll say something. Scold us. Warn us. Bow and retreat.
But he does none of those things.
He just nods.
Once.
And closes the door.
Silence.
Then—
Kaelen exhales, his forehead dropping to mine. “We’re being watched.”
“I know.”
“And you still want this?”
I lift my hand, brushing my thumb over his lip. “I don’t *want* it.” I press closer, my voice dropping to a whisper. “I *need* it.”
He stills.
And then—
He pulls his fingers free, stepping back, adjusting his coat. “We’ll finish this later.”
My breath hitches.
“You’re stopping?”
“I’m not stopping,” he says, stepping closer, his hand sliding to my waist, pulling me against him. “I’m just delaying the inevitable.”
And then—
He’s gone—striding out of the ruin, Cassien falling into step beside him.
I stay against the wall, trembling, my body aching with the loss of contact, with the unsated heat, with the knowledge that I just came within seconds of surrendering completely.
And I realize—
I don’t want to wait.
I don’t want to fight.
I want him.
Now.
And worse—
He knows it.
As we ride back to the Obsidian Court, the bond hums between us, a live wire of unspent desire. I don’t look at him. I don’t speak. I just feel.
The heat. The hunger. The love that’s been growing in the shadows, in the silence, in the space between hate and desire.
And I know—
This isn’t over.
It’s only just begun.
When we reach the chambers, he closes the door behind us, then turns to me, his golden eyes burning.
“You were brilliant,” he says.
“So were you.”
He steps closer, his hand lifting to my wrist, his thumb stroking the mark. “You lied about something.”
My breath catches.
“But not about me.”
I lift my gaze to his. “Never about you.”
And then—
He kisses me.
Slow. Soft. Aching.
And when he pulls back—
There’s a single tear on his cheek.
I brush it away with my thumb. “You’re crying.”
“I haven’t cried in three hundred years,” he whispers. “Not since the night your mother died.”
My breath catches.
“And now?”
“Now I’m alive again.”
I pull him into my chest, holding him, my fingers threading through his hair. “Then stay alive,” I whisper. “For me. For us. For the future we’re going to build.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just holds me.
And for the first time in my life—
I don’t feel like a weapon.
I don’t feel like a prisoner.
I feel like *home*.
Marked: Blood & Thorns
The first time Rowan touches Kaelen D’Rae, it’s with a dagger at his throat. Moonlight bleeds through the stained-glass vaults of the Obsidian Court as she breaches the sanctum, her fae glamour flickering like dying breath. She came to kill him. To reclaim her stolen birthright. To avenge the woman who bled out on black marble while he stood silent. But the moment her blade breaks skin, his blood drips onto the ancient runes beneath them—and the magic reacts. Chains of living shadow erupt from the floor, binding them wrist to wrist, heart to heart. A Blood Claim. A legal, magical, irreversible union. The Council declares it fate. The world calls her his.
Now she is Rowan of the Thorned Blood, publicly marked as the Vampire King’s consort—against her will, against her mission, against every instinct screaming run. But she can’t. Not when the bond flares with every glance, when his scent—dark wine and storm-laced iron—makes her thighs clench in betrayal. Not when she discovers the truth: her mother didn’t die by his hand. She was betrayed by someone inside Rowan’s own bloodline.
Kaelen is cold, ruthless, a tyrant draped in velvet and silence. But his hands are gentle when he finds her weeping in the library. His mouth is fire when he kisses her during a false emergency, silencing her with teeth and tongue to sell their lie to spies. And when the rival queen appears in his chambers wearing nothing but his shirt, Rowan doesn’t just burn with jealousy—she unleashes her magic, scorching the walls with thorned vines.
This is no slow burn. This is war. This is lust. This is power awakening—and love rising from the ashes of vengeance.