The world tilts as he carries me toward the bed, my legs locked around his waist, my mouth fused to his. The kiss is nothing like before—no fury, no desperation, no teeth and tears. This is *claiming*. This is *surrender*. His hands are under my gown, palms burning against the bare skin of my thighs, his fangs grazing my lower lip just enough to sting, to remind me that he’s not human, that he’s ancient, that he could destroy me with a thought.
But he won’t.
Because I’m not his enemy anymore.
I’m his.
And he’s mine.
We crash onto the bed, the velvet coverlet swallowing us, his weight pressing me into the mattress. My magic flares—vines erupting from the sheets, curling around his wrists, his biceps, thorns pricking his skin, drawing thin lines of blood. He groans into my mouth, deep and guttural, and the sound vibrates through me, igniting a fire low in my belly.
“You’re marked,” I whisper against his lips, trailing my fingers over the fresh cuts. “By me.”
He lifts his head, golden eyes blazing. “I’ve been marked since the moment you walked into my court with a blade at my throat.”
My breath hitches.
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—tangled in the sheets, my gown hiked up, his shirt open, 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, smearing the blood from my bite. “I don’t *want* it.” I press closer, my voice dropping to a whisper. “I *need* it.”
He stills.
And then—
He moves.
Slow. Deliberate. One hand slides up, fisting in my hair, the other pressing into the mattress beside my head. He doesn’t kiss me. Doesn’t touch me beyond that. Just stares, his golden eyes burning into mine, searching, testing, waiting.
“Say it again,” he murmurs.
“Say what?”
“That you need me.”
My pulse hammers.
“I need you.”
“Not just your body.”
“No.” I lift my chin. “I need *you*. The man who let my mother die to protect him. The king who carries centuries of blood on his hands. The monster who makes me feel *alive*.”
His breath catches.
And then—
He kisses me.
Soft. Slow. Aching.
His mouth moves over mine with a tenderness that unravels me, his thumbs brushing my cheeks, his body pressing me into the mattress, not with dominance, but with *devotion*. My magic hums beneath my skin, not flaring, not erupting, but *responding*—vines curling gently around his wrists, not to bind, but to hold.
He breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead to mine. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t.”
“I’m not gentle.”
“I don’t want gentle.” I slide my hands up his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle, the scars that cross his skin. “I want *you*. All of you. The darkness. The pain. The hunger. I want to know what it feels like to be yours in every way.”
He closes his eyes.
And when he opens them—
They’re black.
Not gold.
Not human.
Completely, terrifyingly *vampire*.
“Then you’ll have me,” he growls.
And he moves.
His mouth crashes to my neck, teeth scraping my pulse point, his hands sliding under my gown, ripping the fabric, baring my skin. I gasp, arching into him, my magic surging—vines bursting from the bed, the walls, the floor, wrapping around us, binding us in a cage of thorns and shadow. His fangs lengthen, sharp and deadly, and for a heartbeat, I think he’ll bite me—mark me as his in the most primal way.
But he doesn’t.
Instead, he kisses lower—down my throat, over my collarbone, between my breasts—his mouth hot, wet, relentless. My gown falls away, torn at the seams, leaving me bare beneath him. His hands trail over my body—my waist, my hips, my thighs—his touch possessive, reverent, like he’s memorizing every curve, every scar, every inch of me.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, lifting his head, his black eyes burning. “Like fire given form.”
“And you’re terrifying,” I whisper. “Like a storm given teeth.”
He smiles—dark, knowing. “Then let me destroy you.”
And he does.
His mouth moves lower, over my stomach, my hip, my thigh, his tongue tracing the inside of my leg, slow, deliberate, driving me insane. My breath comes in ragged gasps, my hips arching, my fingers tangling in his hair. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t tease. Just *worships*—his tongue circling my clit, then plunging inside, deep and relentless, his fingers joining, stretching me, filling me.
I cry out, my back arching off the bed, my magic erupting—vines lashing out, cracking the headboard, shattering a vase on the nightstand. He doesn’t stop. Just groans against me, his breath hot, his fingers curling, his tongue moving faster, harder, until I’m trembling, screaming, coming apart in his arms.
And when I do—
The bond *explodes*.
Heat crashes through me, a wave so intense I sob, my body convulsing, my magic flaring out of control—thorned vines erupting from the floor, the walls, the ceiling, wrapping around us, pressing us together, skin to skin, heart to heart. The air crackles with power, the runes on the floor flaring to life, the chandelier above us shattering in a rain of black crystal.
And Kaelen—
He growls.
Low. Primal. A sound that vibrates through my bones.
He lifts his head, his mouth glistening, his eyes still black, his fangs bared. “You’re mine,” he growls. “Say it.”
“I’m yours,” I breathe.
“Not just your body.”
“No.” I reach for him, pulling him up, my hands framing his face. “My heart. My soul. My magic. I’m yours in every way.”
He stills.
And then—
He kisses me.
Hard. Deep. Devouring.
And when he pulls back—
His eyes are gold again.
“Then take me,” I whisper.
And he does.
He enters me in one smooth thrust, filling me, stretching me, claiming me in a way that makes me cry out, my nails digging into his back, my magic surging—vines curling around his waist, his shoulders, pulling him deeper. He doesn’t move at first. Just stays there, buried inside me, his forehead pressed to mine, his breath ragged, his body trembling.
“Rowan,” he whispers. “I’ve waited so long for this. I’ve dreamed of it. I’ve *ached* for it.”
“Then don’t make me wait anymore.”
He moves.
Slow at first. Deep. Deliberate. Each thrust dragging over that sweet spot inside me, making me gasp, making me arch, making me *burn*. His hands grip my hips, holding me in place, his mouth crashing to mine, his fangs grazing my tongue, drawing a thin line of blood. The bond flares—hot, sudden—and my magic erupts again, vines lashing out, cracking the walls, shattering the mirrors, wrapping around us, binding us together.
And I let it.
I don’t fight it.
I don’t control it.
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.
He speeds up, his thrusts harder, faster, deeper, his body slamming into mine, his groans low and guttural, his fangs scraping my neck, my shoulder, my breast. I meet him thrust for thrust, my legs locking around his waist, my hands clawing at his back, my magic flaring with every movement, every touch, every breath.
And when I come—
It’s not a wave.
It’s a *tsunami*.
My body convulses, my scream echoing through the chamber, my magic exploding—thorned vines erupting from the floor, the walls, the ceiling, wrapping around us, pressing us together, skin to skin, heart to heart. The air crackles with power, the runes on the floor blazing to life, the chandelier above us shattering in a final, deafening crash.
And Kaelen—
He comes with me.
His body tenses, his fangs sinking into my neck—not deep, not enough to turn me, but enough to *claim*—and he roars, a sound so primal it shakes the walls, his seed spilling inside me, hot and thick, filling me, marking me in the most intimate way.
And the bond—
It *sings*.
Not a whisper.
Not a pulse.
A *symphony*.
We collapse together, breathless, trembling, tangled in the wreckage of the bed, the vines still wrapped around us, the air thick with the scent of sex, blood, and magic. His weight presses me into the mattress, his face buried in my neck, his breath warm against my skin. I don’t move. Don’t speak. Just hold him, my fingers tracing the scars on his back, my heart hammering against his.
“You’re mine,” he murmurs, his voice rough, drowsy. “And I’m yours.”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“No more lies.”
“No more lies.”
“No more running.”
“No more running.”
He lifts his head, his golden eyes burning. “Say it.”
“Say what?”
“That you want this. That you want *me*. That you’ll never leave.”
I lift my hand, brushing my thumb over his lip. “I want you. I want *us*. And I’ll never leave. Not unless you cast me out.”
He stares at me.
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*.
We sleep tangled together, the vines still wrapped around us, the bond humming like a second heartbeat. When I wake, sunlight—thin, silver, cutting through the heavy velvet drapes—slashes across my face. I blink, disoriented, then remember.
The kiss.
The magic.
The claiming.
Kaelen is still asleep, his arm slung over my waist, his face buried in my hair, his breath warm against my neck. I don’t move. Just watch him, tracing the sharp angles of his profile, the faint lines of age that mark a life too long lived.
He looks peaceful.
Human.
And for the first time, I don’t see the Vampire King.
I see the man.
The one who loved my mother.
The one who’s fallen for me.
The one I’ve fallen for too.
I press my palm to the mark on my wrist.
It’s still there—thorned vines curling around a fang, etched into my flesh like a brand.
But it doesn’t feel like a curse anymore.
It feels like a promise.
A knock at the door.
We both stir.
“Enter,” Kaelen calls, voice rough with sleep.
The door opens, and Cassien steps in, his expression grim. “My lord. There’s been an incident.”
Kaelen lifts his head. “What kind of incident?”
“A Blood Sigil has been stolen from the Archives. The Council believes Rowan is responsible.”
My breath stops.
“And do *you* believe it?” Kaelen asks, sitting up.
“No.” Cassien’s gaze flicks to me. “But the evidence is… compelling.”
“What evidence?” I demand.
“Your fingerprints. Your magic residue. And a witness who saw you entering the Archives last night.”
“I *was* in the Archives,” I say. “But I didn’t steal anything.”
“Then who did?” Kaelen asks.
Cassien hesitates. “Lyria Vex.”
My stomach drops.
Of course.
She’s framing me.
“She’s trying to break us,” I say. “She knows the bond is real now. She knows I’m not just a political puppet. She’s desperate.”
“And dangerous,” Kaelen says, standing. “We need to confront her. Now.”
I sit up. “Then let’s go.”
He turns to me, his expression unreadable. “Not you. You’ll stay here.”
“No.” I stand, grabbing his arm. “This is about *me*. I won’t let her destroy what we just built.”
He stares at me.
And then—
He nods.
We dress quickly—me in a fresh gown of deep violet, him in black silk—and follow Cassien through the halls to the Council Chamber. The tension is thick, the air charged with magic and suspicion. The Council is already seated, Lyria at the center, her mercury gown shifting, her pale lavender eyes gleaming with triumph.
“Ah,” she says, voice dripping with honeyed poison. “The Blood Consort. How… *convenient* that you’re here.”
“I’m here to clear my name,” I say, stepping forward.
“Then you’ll need a miracle,” she says. “Because the evidence is undeniable. Your magic. Your fingerprints. Your *motive*.”
“And what motive is that?” Kaelen asks, stepping beside me.
“To destabilize the bond. To prove the Blood Claim was a farce. To destroy you.”
“She didn’t,” Cassien says, stepping forward. “I’ve analyzed the residue. The magic is hers, but it’s been *manipulated*. Someone used her energy to frame her.”
“And who would do that?” Lyria asks, lifting a brow.
“Someone who’s jealous,” I say, stepping closer. “Someone who’s been trying to claim Kaelen for years. Someone who wears his shirt without permission. Someone who lies about being marked.”
The chamber goes still.
Lyria’s smile falters.
“You have no proof,” she says.
“I don’t need proof,” I say. “The bond doesn’t lie. And it tells me you’re guilty.”
She laughs—cold, brittle. “And you expect us to believe *that*? That the bond speaks to you? That you’re some kind of chosen one?”
“No,” I say, lifting my chin. “I expect you to believe *this*.”
I press my palm to the mark.
It flares—white-hot—searing into my skin, then into the air, projecting a vision—me in the Archives, reading my mother’s letter, Lyria appearing in Kaelen’s shirt, the vines lashing out, Kaelen stepping in, the truth revealed.
The entire chamber sees it.
Every lie. Every betrayal. Every truth.
And when the vision fades—
Lyria is on her knees.
“You’re exposed,” Kaelen says, stepping forward. “You broke into my chambers. You stole my clothes. You lied about being marked. And now, you’ve tried to frame my consort.”
“I love you,” she whispers, tears in her eyes. “I’ve always loved you.”
“And I’ve never loved you,” he says, cold. “Now get out. Before I decide you’ve overstayed your welcome.”
She stands, straightening with what dignity she has left. “This isn’t over,” she says, voice trembling. “The Council will hear about this.”
“Let them,” Kaelen says. “I’ll tell them the truth.”
And then she’s gone—storming out of the chamber, the door slamming behind her.
Silence.
Then—
High Councilor Vex—no, not her. Another vampire, older, wiser—stands. “The Blood Sigil will be returned. The matter is closed.”
And just like that—
It is.
We leave the chamber in silence, the bond humming between us. 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.”