The first thing I feel when the world goes black is betrayal.
Not his.
Not Malrik’s.
Not even Lysandra’s.
My own.
Because I should’ve seen it coming. Should’ve felt the shift in the air, the flicker of magic beneath the stone, the whisper of shadows peeling away from the walls like living things. But I didn’t. I was too busy trembling in Kael’s arms, too busy letting his warmth seep into my bones, too busy believing—just for a second—that I was safe. That I was his. That the bond meant something more than survival.
And then—
The floor vanished.
Not collapsed. Not cracked. Vanished. One second, I’m standing in the Library of Whispers, my body still humming from the fight, my skin slick with sweat and blood, Kael’s hands steady on my waist. The next—
Darkness.
And a scream. Mine. Cut short as something cold and slick wraps around my mouth, sealing it like wax. My limbs are wrenched apart, pinned by chains that burn with suppression runes, their cold iron biting into my wrists, my ankles, my throat. I thrash—wolf and witch both snarling beneath my skin—but the magic holds. The runes flare, pulsing with stolen power, and my magic—my strength, my fire—drowns in a tide of silence.
I’m in a cell.
Not stone. Not iron.
Shadow.
The walls aren’t built—they’re grown, twisted from the Veil Between Worlds, their surface shifting like liquid night, swallowing the faint blue glow of the torches above. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and old blood, of iron and something darker, sweeter. Malrik. The floor is cold beneath me, slick with condensation, the chains anchored into the living dark. And the silence—
It’s not empty.
It’s watching.
I don’t know how long I’ve been here. Minutes? Hours? Time doesn’t move the same way in the Veil. It bends. It breaks. It lies. My body aches—my side where Malrik’s claws tore through, my throat where his hand choked me, my wrists where the chains burn with every pulse. But worse than the pain is the absence. The bond—gone. Severed. Not just weakened. Erased.
And that’s what terrifies me most.
Because without it, I’m not just powerless.
I’m alone.
—
I don’t know how long I sit there, curled on the cold floor, my breath coming in shallow gasps, my mind racing through every mistake, every lie, every moment I let myself believe—
Then I hear it.
Footsteps.
Slow. Deliberate. Like a predator savoring the hunt.
The shadows part, and he steps through.
Malrik.
His ancient eyes gleam in the dim light, his hands folded like a king surveying his domain. He’s not injured. Not even scratched. The blood on his robes is mine. He smiles—slow, deliberate—and crouches in front of me, his fingers brushing the chain around my throat.
“Ah,” he says, voice smooth as oil. “The lost heir. The hybrid. The woman who thought she could burn my empire to the ground.”
I don’t answer.
Can’t.
But I glare at him, my fangs bared, my claws scraping against the floor.
He laughs—a low, bitter sound. “Still fighting. Even now. Even when you’re broken.” He leans closer, his breath cold against my ear. “Do you know what Kael is doing right now? Do you know where he is?”
My breath hitches.
He sees it. Smiles wider.
“He’s searching,” he says. “Tearing through the fortress, the forest, the Veil. Calling your name. Snarling at his guards. Begging the Oracle for visions. He’s frantic. Desperate. Weak.”
I want to scream. Want to shift and tear his throat out. Want to make him bleed for every word.
But the chains hold.
And the silence remains.
“And do you know why?” he asks, standing. “Because he’s not just your king. Not just your mate. Not just your father.” He spits the last word like it’s poison. “He’s in love with you. And love—” He steps closer, his boot pressing against my ribs “—makes men stupid.”
I don’t flinch.
Just stare at him, my eyes burning.
“But you?” he says, crouching again. “You’re not in love. You’re not even afraid. You’re angry. And that’s good. Anger keeps you alive. Anger makes you strong.” He reaches out, his fingers brushing the mark on my shoulder. “But this? This is weakness. A leash. A lie. And I’m going to cut it off.”
My breath stops.
He pulls a dagger from his belt—black onyx, etched with suppression runes, its edge glowing faintly. He presses it to the punctures, just a graze, but fire erupts beneath my skin—bright, searing, unforgivable. I scream behind the seal, my body arching, my wolf snarling beneath my skin.
But the mark doesn’t break.
It glows.
Brighter. Hotter. Like it’s alive.
Malrik hisses, yanking the blade back. “Impossible,” he mutters. “The runes should’ve severed it.”
And then—
I feel it.
Not the bond.
Not Kael.
But the sigil.
On my wrist.
It’s burning.
Not with pain.
With power.
Like it’s remembering.
Malrik sees it. His eyes narrow. “What are you?” he whispers. “Not just hybrid. Not just heir. Something else.” He leans closer, his breath cold. “Something dangerous.”
And then—
He strikes.
Not with the dagger.
With magic.
His hand closes around my throat, his fingers digging into the chains, and he pulls. Not my flesh. My magic. My memories. My very soul. It rips through me—white-hot, blinding—tearing at the seams of who I am. I feel it—the bond, the mark, the sigil, the truth of Kael, the memory of my mother, the first kiss I lost—all of it, ripped from me, sucked into the void of his palm.
I scream.
And the world goes silent.
—
I don’t know how long I’m unconscious.
But when I wake, I’m different.
Not broken.
Not empty.
But changed.
The chains still bind me. The shadows still watch. But something inside me—something deep, dark, ancient—has awakened. The sigil on my wrist glows faintly, pulsing in time with my heartbeat, but it’s not the same. It’s stronger. Sharper. Like it’s been awakened.
And the mark—
It’s burning.
Not with pain.
With hunger.
I press a hand to it, just a brush of my fingertips, and a jolt of heat surges through me—bright, molten, alive. Not Kael’s presence. Not the bond. But something deeper. Something older. Like the mark isn’t just a claim.
It’s a key.
And I don’t know what it unlocks.
—
Malrik returns hours later—days?—his expression unreadable, his hands empty. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t taunt. Just stands in the doorway, watching me, his ancient eyes gleaming.
“You’re not what I thought you were,” he says, voice low. “Not just hybrid. Not just heir. You’re something else. Something older.”
I don’t answer.
Just watch him, my breath steady, my body still.
“The bond,” he says. “It’s not just fated. It’s not just magic. It’s blood. Ancient blood. The kind that predates the Veil War. The kind that predates the Tribunal.” He steps closer. “Your mother didn’t just bind herself to a vampire. She bound herself to a line. A bloodline. And you—” He points at the mark. “—you’re the heir to it.”
My breath hitches.
But I don’t flinch.
“And Kael?” I ask, my voice raw, the seal finally gone. “What is he?”
Malrik smiles. “Not just a king. Not just a vampire. He’s the last of the Midnight Blood. The ones who ruled before the Tribunal. The ones who kept the balance.” He crouches, his fingers brushing the sigil. “And you? You’re the one who was meant to restore it.”
“And if I don’t want to?” I ask, voice breaking.
“Then you’re just a weapon,” he says. “A ghost. A lie.”
“And if I do?”
“Then you’re a queen,” he says. “And I’ll be waiting.”
He stands, his coat flaring behind him. “Enjoy your chains, Jasmine Vale. Enjoy your silence. Because when Kael comes for you—” He turns, his eyes gleaming. “—I’ll make him watch as I break you.”
And then he’s gone.
The shadows close behind him.
Silence.
And then—
I feel it.
Not the bond.
Not Kael.
But the sigil.
It’s burning.
Not with pain.
With truth.
And I know—
I’m not just the heir.
I’m not just the daughter.
I’m not just the weapon.
I’m the key.
And I’m going to open the door.
—
I don’t know how long I sit there, my body trembling, my breath shallow, my mind racing through every lie, every truth, every moment I let myself believe—
Then I hear it.
A whisper.
Low. Familiar.
“Jasmine.”
Not in my ears.
In my blood.
I press a hand to the mark, and fire surges through me—bright, molten, alive. Not the bond. Not the fever. But something deeper. Something older. Like the mark isn’t just a claim.
It’s a promise.
And then—
I feel it.
Not Kael.
Not Malrik.
But the sigil.
It’s burning.
Not with pain.
With power.
And I know—
I’m not alone.
I never was.
Because the truth—sharp and terrible—is this:
I didn’t come here to burn his empire to the ground.
I came here to find the man who saved my life.
And now—
Now I have to save him.
So I close my eyes.
And I pull.
Not my magic.
Not my strength.
But the sigil.
I pull it—hard, desperate—and fire erupts beneath my skin, bright and blinding, searing through the chains, through the shadows, through the silence. The runes flare—white-hot, screaming—and then—
Break.
The chains shatter.
The shadows scream.
And the mark—
It burns.
Not with pain.
With truth.
And I know—
I’m not just the heir.
I’m not just the daughter.
I’m not just the weapon.
I’m the key.
And I’m going to open the door.
So I stand.
Fast. Hard. Like if I stop, I’ll collapse.
The corridors blur around me—stone and shadow and flickering torchlight. My skin still burns. My blood still sings. The mark on my shoulder pulses with every heartbeat, a constant, insistent reminder of what I’ve lost. Not just my choice. Not just my revenge.
My innocence.
And now—
Now I’ve lost him.
Or maybe I never had him at all.
But I don’t care.
Because the truth—sharp and terrible—is this:
I didn’t come here to burn his empire to the ground.
I came here to find the man who saved my life.
And now—
Now I have to save him.
So I run.
Fast. Hard. Like if I stop, I’ll die.
And the worst part?
I don’t want to stop.
Because I know—
He’s waiting.
And I’m coming.
—
The fortress is silent.
Too silent.
No guards. No whispers. No torches. Just shadow and stone and the faint hum of magic beneath my feet. I move fast, silent, my claws extended, my fangs bared, my senses sharp. The sigil burns on my wrist, guiding me, pulling me toward him—toward the heart of the fortress, toward the throne room, toward the truth.
And then—
I hear it.
A growl.
Low. Familiar.
And I know—
He’s here.
I burst into the throne room, my breath ragged, my body trembling, my eyes scanning the shadows—
And there he is.
Kael.
On his knees.
Chained.
Bloodied.
His storm-gray eyes lift to mine, endless, broken, and in that single, breathless second—
I know.
He didn’t come to save me.
He came to die for me.
And the worst part?
I like it.