The first thing I feel when the moon climbs to its peak is the weight of the world.
Not on my shoulders. Not in my chest. But in my blood.
It pulses through me—slow, deep, insistent—like a second heartbeat, one that doesn’t belong to me alone. The bond hums beneath my skin, not roaring like it used to, not screaming with need or fury or denial. It sings—soft, steady, full. Like it’s finally home. The mark on my shoulder burns—not with pain, not with possession—but with something older. Something like recognition. The sigil on my wrist glows faintly, pulsing in time with the bond, and the Moonstone Amulet rests against my chest, its silver disc catching the moonlight, the stone humming with quiet power.
We’re not here for war.
Not for vengeance.
Not for survival.
We’re here for renewal.
The Grand Hall of Echoes has been transformed. No torches flicker along the obsidian walls. No guards stand at the arches. No elders whisper in the shadows. Instead, the chamber is bathed in silver light—moonlight, pure and unfiltered, streaming through the open ceiling, casting long, wavering shadows across the stone. The twin thrones sit at the center, but they’re not empty. Kael is already there, seated, his storm-gray eyes fixed on the horizon, his coat flaring behind him like a living thing. He’s not in armor. Not in ceremonial black. Just a simple tunic, dark as shadow, his fangs just visible as he exhales. The scent of him—storm and iron and something ancient—wraps around me, grounding me, anchoring me.
The bond hums beneath our skin, steady, unrelenting.
And I know—
This isn’t just a ritual.
This is a vow.
A promise.
A choice.
“You’re late,” he says, voice low.
“You’re brooding,” I reply, stepping forward, bare feet silent on the stone.
He doesn’t smile. Just watches me, his breath unsteady, his fangs fully extended. “The Fae envoy came. They confirmed it—the Veil is destabilizing. The rifts are widening. If we don’t act soon, the balance between worlds will shatter.”
“And you’re blaming yourself,” I say, stopping in front of him.
“I’ve spent centuries enforcing peace,” he says. “But was it ever peace? Or just silence? Fear? Control?”
I don’t answer right away.
Just press my palm to his chest, over his heart.
The moment my fingers touch the fabric, fire erupts—not pain. Not magic. But memory.
—
I’m twelve.
Not in the forest. Not in the throne room. Not in the blood.
I’m in my mother’s chambers.
The air is thick with the scent of lavender and old magic, the walls lined with shelves of ancient tomes, the floor covered in soft furs. She’s sitting by the hearth, her dark hair loose, her eyes glowing with power. In her hands—
The amulet.
She’s holding it, turning it in the light, her fingers tracing the runes. I sit beside her, small, trusting, my head on her lap.
“This is yours,” she says, voice soft. “Not because you’re my daughter. But because you’re you.”
“What does it do?” I ask, reaching for it.
She lets me take it.
And the moment my fingers close around it—
—the world shimmers.
Not a vision. Not a dream. But a knowing.
I see it—our coven, whole. Our people, free. Our magic, unchained. I see myself—older, stronger, radiant—standing beside a man with storm-gray eyes, his hand in mine, his fangs just visible when he smiles.
And I know—
This is my future.
“It’s not just power,” she says. “It’s memory. It’s truth. It’s the past and the future, bound in one. And one day, when you’re ready, it will choose you.”
“And if I’m not ready?” I ask, my voice small.
She smiles—slow, gentle—and lifts my chin. “Then it will wait. Because the amulet doesn’t choose the heir. The heir chooses the amulet.”
And I believe her.
—
The vision fades.
I gasp, my breath coming in ragged gasps, my fingers tightening over the wound. The sigil on my wrist flares—bright, hot, alive—reacting to it, to the truth it holds. The mark on my shoulder burns—not with possession, not with pain, but with something older. Something like recognition.
And then—
I lift my other hand.
Not gently.
Not carefully.
With claiming.
My palm presses flat against his chest, over his heart. My fingers splay, feeling the slow, steady beat beneath the skin. The bond roars to life, fire surging between us, bright and blinding. My breath hitches. My body arches. The sigil flares. The mark burns. And then—
—I push.
Not magic.
Not force.
But will.
My power—Moonborn strength, witch sigil magic, fated bond sensitivity—flows through me, down my arm, into my palm, into his chest. It’s not a spell. Not a ritual. Not a command.
It’s a plea.
Stay.
Live.
Be mine.
Kael gasps—his body arching, his storm-gray eyes flying open, his fangs fully extended. The bond flares brighter, hotter, alive. My breath hitches. My body trembles. The sigil on my wrist glows so bright it casts shadows on the stone. The mark on my shoulder pulses—bright, molten, alive—and I feel it—the connection, the strength, the truth of it.
“Jasmine,” he whispers, his voice rough. “You don’t have to—”
“Yes,” I say, pressing my forehead to his. “I do.”
He doesn’t pull away.
Just cups my face, his thumbs brushing my cheeks, his storm-gray eyes endless. “You’re not just my heir,” he says. “You’re not just my mate. You’re not just my daughter.”
“Then what am I?” I ask, my voice breaking.
“You’re my heart,” he says. “And I’d rather burn with you than live without you.”
And I believe him.
Not because of the bond.
Not because of the magic.
Because of the way his voice breaks on the last word. Because of the way his hand trembles as it lifts to my face. Because of the way his eyes—endless, storm-gray, mine—hold mine, unflinching, unafraid.
And then—
I press my lips to his.
Not like before.
Not in the storm, desperate and furious, our bodies grinding together like we were trying to destroy each other.
Not in the library, where I pressed my forehead to his chest and let myself cry.
Not in the Council chamber, where we claimed each other in front of the world.
No—this is different.
Slow. Deep. Full of something I can’t name. Not hunger. Not fever. Not the bond.
Love.
His breath hitches. His body arches. The sigil on my wrist flares—bright, molten, alive—and the bond roars to life, fire surging between us, bright and blinding. But I don’t pull away. Can’t. My hands slide up his chest, fisting in his tunic, pulling him closer. His arms close around me, strong and sure, pressing me against him, his fangs grazing my lip—just a whisper of pressure, but I moan, the sound low and raw in my throat.
And then—
He pulls back.
Just an inch. Just enough to look at me.
“Jasmine,” he says, voice rough. “You don’t have to—”
“I know,” I say, pressing my forehead to his. “But I want to. I’ve wanted to since I was a child. Since you kissed me in the forest. Since you promised to wait for me.”
“And if I don’t believe you?” he asks, voice breaking.
“Then feel it,” I say, lifting my hand to his chest, pressing it over his heart. “Feel the bond. Feel the mark. Feel the way your body knows me before your mind does.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just closes his eyes, his breath unsteady, his body trembling.
And then—
He kisses me.
Slow. Deep. Full of something I can’t name. Not hunger. Not fever. Not the bond.
Love.
And the worst part?
I don’t want it to end.
But then—
The Oracle steps forward.
She’s not in robes. Not in blindfold. Just a simple gown of silver thread, her white hair loose, her eyes open—pale, sightless, yet seeing everything. In her hands—a chalice, carved from black stone, its rim etched with ancient runes. Blood-red liquid swirls within, thick and slow, catching the moonlight like a living thing.
“The time has come,” she says, her voice echoing as if from a thousand throats. “To renew the bond. To seal the vow. To choose—freely, fully, without lies.”
Kael and I rise.
Side by side.
Not as king and queen.
Not as father and daughter.
Not as heirs or mates or rulers.
As the only two who’ve ever loved each other without lies.
“Blood to blood,” the Oracle intones, offering the chalice to Kael.
He takes it without hesitation. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he draws a silver dagger from his belt. The blade gleams in the moonlight, sharp and true. He presses it to his palm, draws it across—once, clean, deep. Blood wells, dark and rich, dripping into the chalice. The runes flare—blue, then silver, then gold.
Then he offers it to me.
I don’t flinch.
Just take the blade.
And cut.
Not shallow. Not careful.
With certainty.
Blood flows—warm, bright, mine—and mingles with his in the chalice. The bond screams to life, fire surging between us, bright and blinding. My breath hitches. My body arches. The sigil on my wrist glows so bright it casts shadows on the stone. The mark on my shoulder pulses—bright, molten, alive—and I feel it—the connection, the strength, the truth of it.
“Drink,” the Oracle says.
Kael lifts the chalice. Takes a sip. Blood coats his lips, dark and glistening. Then he offers it to me.
I don’t hesitate.
Just drink.
Not gently. Not carefully.
With claiming.
The blood is warm. Thick. Metallic. But beneath it—something deeper. Something ancient. Something like home. It floods my veins, not burning, not punishing, but filling. The bond hums, then sings, then roars. My breath hitches. My body arches. The mark on my shoulder burns—not with pain, not with possession—but with something older. Something like recognition.
And then—
Kael leans in.
Not roughly. Not hurriedly.
With love.
His mouth closes over the cut on my palm, sucking gently, then harder, drawing more blood. I gasp, my body arching, my fingers tightening in his hair. The bond sings between us, fire surging, soft and deep. His fangs graze my skin—just a whisper of pressure, but I moan, the sound low and raw in my throat.
And then—
I do the same.
My lips close over the cut on his palm, sucking gently, then harder, drawing his blood into my mouth. He groans—low, deep, guttural—and his hands fist in my hair, not pulling, not forcing, just holding on. The bond flares brighter, hotter, alive. My breath hitches. My body burns. But I don’t stop.
And then—
We pull back.
Still tangled together, still breathless, still burning.
The Oracle raises her hands.
“The blood oath is renewed,” she says. “By choice. By truth. By love. Let no lie stand between them. Let no shadow break them. Let no world unmake them.”
The chamber explodes with light.
Not fire. Not magic. But truth.
The runes beneath our names glow—bright, molten, alive—and the bond sings to life, fire surging between us, bright and blinding. My breath hitches. My body arches. But I don’t pull away. Can’t. Not anymore.
And then—
Kael cups my face.
His storm-gray eyes endless. His breath steady.
“No more lies,” he murmurs.
“Only us,” I whisper.
And the Oracle’s final words echo in the silence:
“The betrayal wasn’t his. It was yours.”
And she was right.
Because I betrayed the truth.
I betrayed him.
And now—
Now I’ve made it right.