The moment my fingers close around his, the bond ignites.
Not with pain. Not with magic. But with something far more dangerous.
Relief.
His hand is warm—unnaturally so for a vampire—his grip firm, grounding. He pulls me to my feet with effortless strength, but doesn’t let go. His thumb brushes over my knuckles, slow, deliberate, a silent question.
Are you okay?
I don’t answer. I can’t. My throat is tight, my chest aching with the weight of everything I’m not saying. The dungeon is silent now, the torches flickering low, casting long shadows that stretch like claws across the stone. The containment runes on the floor pulse faintly, remnants of the magic that bound me. But the real chains were never made of shadow.
They were made of lies.
Of duty.
Of a love I didn’t know I could feel.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I whisper, my voice raw. “You didn’t have to let them think I’d broken.”
“They needed to believe it,” he says, stepping closer. “Lyria won’t stop until she destroys you. And the Council won’t protect you unless they think you’re under my control.”
“So you made me look weak.”
“I made you look human.” His hand lifts, fingers brushing my cheek. “And I made them believe I’m still the monster who would chain his own consort. That’s what they expect. That’s what they fear. And fear keeps them obedient.”
I stare at him.
He’s not just playing the Council.
He’s playing me.
And worse—
I let him.
“You said you’d execute me,” I say, voice trembling. “If I wasn’t loyal.”
“I would have lied.”
“But you meant it enough to make me believe it.”
He doesn’t deny it. Just watches me, his golden eyes unreadable. “Would you rather I had failed? Would you rather they’d taken you from me?”
My breath catches.
Because the truth is—
No.
I wouldn’t.
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, his other hand sliding to my waist, pulling me closer. “Not from fear. From everything else.”
“I hate this,” I whisper. “I hate that I feel—”
“Say it.”
“I don’t know what I feel.”
“Yes, you do.” His voice drops, rough, intimate. “You feel the bond. You feel me. You feel the way your magic flares when I touch you. The way your breath hitches when I’m near. The way your body betrays you—burns for me—even when your mind screams to run.”
My pulse hammers.
“And you?” I challenge, lifting my gaze to his. “Do you feel it too? Or is this just another game to you? Another way to control me?”
For a heartbeat, he says nothing.
Then—
He kisses me.
Not gentle. Not slow.
Desperate.
Furious.
His mouth crashes against mine, teeth scraping my lip, his tongue sweeping in, claiming, conquering. I gasp, my hands flying to his chest, not to push him away—but to hold on. 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 grief.
His.
It floods the bond, a wave of raw, aching sorrow that crashes through me, so intense I whimper into his mouth. He’s not just kissing me.
He’s drowning.
And he’s pulling me under with him.
I break the kiss, gasping, my forehead pressed to his. “What is it?” I breathe. “What are you feeling?”
He doesn’t answer. Just cups my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing my cheeks, his golden eyes burning into mine. There’s no control there. No cold detachment. Just pain. Centuries of it. The weight of a throne. The memory of a woman who died for him. The fear of losing the only person who might finally make him feel alive again.
“I’ve lived too long,” he whispers. “Too many wars. Too many betrayals. Too much blood on my hands. And then you—” his voice cracks—“you walked in with a blade and a death wish, and I *felt* something. Something I thought I’d forgotten how to feel.”
“What?” I whisper.
“Hope.”
Tears burn my eyes.
Not from sadness.
From the sheer, unbearable weight of it.
He’s not just my enemy.
He’s not just my captor.
He’s a man who’s been carrying my mother’s secret for centuries.
A man who let her die to protect him.
A man who’s been waiting for me without knowing it.
And I—
I’ve spent my life hating him.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “I’m so sorry I didn’t know. I’m sorry I came here to kill you.”
“Don’t be,” he says, pulling me into his chest. “You were her daughter. You had every reason to hate me. And I—” he presses his lips to my hair—“I would have let you. I would have let you kill me. Because I didn’t think I deserved to live.”
My breath hitches.
“But now?”
He pulls back, his hands framing my face. “Now I do.”
And then he kisses me again.
Slower this time. Softer. A contrast to the fury of the first kiss, but no less intense. His lips move over mine with aching tenderness, his thumbs brushing away my tears, his breath warm against my skin. I melt into him, my arms sliding around his waist, my body pressing to his, the bond singing between us like a live wire.
And I let go.
Of the mission.
Of the vengeance.
Of the rage that’s defined me for so long.
Because in this moment—here, in the silence, in the dark, with his mouth on mine and his heart beating against mine—I don’t want to destroy him.
I want to save him.
I want to love him.
The kiss deepens, his tongue sliding against mine, his hands sliding down, over my back, my hips, pulling me tighter against him. My magic flares—vines curling around his wrists, his biceps, thorns digging into his skin, drawing thin lines of blood. He doesn’t flinch. Just groans into my mouth, his grip tightening, his body hard against mine.
And then—
I bite him.
Not hard. Not to hurt.
But to claim.
My teeth sink into his lower lip, just enough to draw blood, and the moment it spills—
The bond explodes.
Heat crashes through me, a wave so intense I cry out, my head falling back. My magic erupts—thorned vines bursting from the floor, the walls, the ceiling, wrapping around us, binding us in a cage of living shadow and living plant. The air crackles with power, the runes on the floor flaring to life, the torches extinguishing in a rush of wind.
And Kaelen—
He growls.
Low. Primal. A sound that vibrates through my bones.
His hands fist in my hair, his mouth crashing back to mine, his tongue sweeping in, tasting his own blood, tasting me. I arch against him, my body on fire, my thighs clenching, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The vines tighten, pressing us together, skin to skin, heart to heart.
“Rowan,” he growls against my mouth. “Say it.”
“Say what?” I breathe.
“Say you want me.”
“I hate you.”
He bites my neck—just below my ear, sharp, possessive—and I cry out, my back arching. “Liar.”
“I hate you,” I whisper again, but my hips grind against his, betraying me.
“Then hate me,” he growls, his hands sliding under my gown, fingers gripping my bare thighs. “Hate me while you burn for me. Hate me while you come apart in my arms. Hate me while you mark me as yours.”
And then—
An alarm blares.
Sharp. Deafening. A siren that echoes through the dungeon like a death knell.
We freeze.
The vines loosen. The magic recedes. The torches flicker back to life, casting fractured light across the chamber.
Kaelen pulls back, his chest rising and falling too fast, his eyes still burning, his lip still bleeding. “What the hell—”
“It’s a trap,” I whisper.
He turns to me. “What?”
“The alarm. It’s not for me. It’s for you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I didn’t come here to escape,” I say, my voice shaking. “I came here to be punished. To be chained. To prove I was under your control.” I look up at him, my breath catching. “And I didn’t want to.”
His eyes widen.
“I didn’t want to escape,” I whisper. “I wanted to stay. With you.”
For a heartbeat, he says nothing.
Then—
He pulls me into his chest, his arms wrapping around me, his face burying in my hair. “You’re mine,” he murmurs, voice rough. “You’ve been mine since the moment you touched me with that blade.”
And I realize—
He’s right.
Not because of the bond.
Not because of magic.
But because of this.
This heat.
This hunger.
This love that’s been growing in the shadows, in the silence, in the space between hate and desire.
And I don’t fight it.
I don’t run.
I just hold on.
The alarm continues to blare, but I don’t care.
Let them come.
Let them see.
Let them know that Rowan of the Thorned Blood is no longer their weapon.
She’s his.
And she’s never been more free.
Kaelen pulls back, his hands framing my face. “We need to move. Cassien will be here soon. He’ll think you tried to escape.”
“And what will you tell him?”
“The truth.” He brushes his thumb over my lip, smearing the blood from his bite. “That you didn’t want to leave.”
I nod, swallowing hard. “And after that?”
“After that,” he says, stepping back, offering his hand, “we finish what we started.”
I take it.
And as we walk out of the dungeon, the alarm still screaming around us, I don’t look back.
Because the past is behind me.
The future is beside me.
And for the first time in my life—
I’m not fighting.
I’m choosing.
And I choose him.
The corridor outside the dungeon is chaos—Night Guards rushing, voices shouting, the siren still blaring. Cassien appears at the end of the hall, his expression grim, his hand on the hilt of his sword.
“My lord,” he says, bowing slightly. “We detected an escape attempt. The containment runes were breached.”
Kaelen doesn’t release my hand. “She didn’t try to escape.”
Cassien’s eyes flick to me. “Then what—”
“The bond flared,” Kaelen says. “She didn’t want to leave.”
For a heartbeat, Cassien says nothing.
Then—
A slow, knowing smile spreads across his face.
“I see,” he says, bowing again. “Then I’ll inform the Council that the prisoner remains in custody.”
“Do that,” Kaelen says.
And as Cassien turns to leave, I catch his gaze—just for a second.
And I see it.
Not judgment.
Not suspicion.
But something else.
Hope.
Because he knows.
They all know.
The Vampire King has fallen.
And the Blood Consort—
She’s the one who made him human again.
We walk back to the chambers in silence, our hands still clasped, the bond humming between us like a second heartbeat. The court is quiet now, the guests gone, the ballroom dark. But I don’t feel the weight of it anymore.
I don’t feel like a prisoner.
I don’t feel like a weapon.
I feel like myself.
Rowan of the Thorned Blood.
Daughter of Lysandra.
Consort of Kaelen D’Rae.
And for the first time—
I’m not afraid of what that means.
When we reach the chambers, he closes the door behind us, then turns to me, his golden eyes burning.
“You didn’t want to escape,” he says, stepping closer. “You wanted to stay.”
“Yes.”
“And what do you want now?”
I lift my chin. “I want you to stop pretending you don’t feel this.”
“I’ve never pretended.”
“Then stop fighting it.”
He doesn’t answer. Just pulls me into his chest, his mouth crashing to mine, his hands sliding under my gown, lifting me off my feet. I wrap my legs around his waist, my arms around his neck, my magic flaring as we stumble toward the bed.
And this time—
I don’t pull away.
Because I don’t want to.
Because I’m done fighting.
And I’m ready to burn.