The scream tore through the castle like a blade through silk—sharp, sudden, drenched in terror. One moment, Kaelen and I were pressed together, breathless, hearts hammering, his fangs grazing my pulse, my legs wrapped around his waist, the world narrowed to the heat between us. The next, he was gone—vanishing into the corridor, boots echoing against stone, the scent of smoke and winter fading behind him.
I stayed where he’d left me—perched on the edge of the heavy oak desk, legs trembling, lips still swollen from his kiss, my body thrumming with something I couldn’t name. Not just desire. Not just the bond. But recognition. As if my soul had been waiting for that moment, for that touch, for that slow, devastating kiss that wasn’t forced, wasn’t fated, but chosen.
And then it was over.
I slid off the desk, my bare feet hitting the cold stone. My shift clung to me, damp with sweat, my skin still flushed, my breath uneven. The bond pulsed beneath my skin—not with urgency now, but with a deep, satisfied hum, as if it had just been fed. Not with blood. Not with magic.
With truth.
Because for the first time since I’d walked into this cursed hall with murder in my heart, I hadn’t been pretending.
I hadn’t wanted to kill him.
I’d wanted to kiss him.
I pressed a hand to my lips, still warm from his mouth, and closed my eyes. The memory of it played behind my eyelids—his hands on my hips, the drag of his tongue, the way his body had trembled when I touched his scar. Not from the bond. From me.
And then—Seraphine’s voice slithered into my mind.
“He moaned your name… but it was mine he called when he came.”
I flinched.
Was it true?
Had he really spent three nights in her bed? Had he marked her? Loved her?
Or was it all glamour, illusion, fae trickery designed to break me?
I didn’t know.
But the bond—my cursed, treacherous bond—hadn’t flared with deception when she’d said it. It had flared with jealousy. With pain. As if it believed her.
I wrapped my arms around myself, shivering despite the fire. The kiss had felt real. The way he’d looked at me—like I was the only woman in the world—had felt real. But so had the way he’d let her walk into our chambers, wearing his shirt, flaunting a mark that might not even exist.
And then I heard it.
Boots. Fast. Heavy.
Not Kaelen’s.
Someone else.
I turned just as the door burst open.
A vampire guard—black armor, silver eyes wide—rushed in, his breath ragged. “Lady Crystal,” he gasped. “The king—he’s under attack.”
My blood turned to ice.
“What?”
“An assassin—disguised as a servant. Poisoned blade. He’s in the east wing, near the stairwell. The king’s engaged, but—”
I didn’t wait.
I ran.
Barefoot, shift flapping around my thighs, I tore through the corridors, my heart hammering, my magic surging beneath my skin. The bond flared—not with pain, but with urgency, dragging me forward, screaming that he was in danger, that I was needed, that if he died, I would die with him.
But it wasn’t just the bond.
It was me.
I didn’t care about survival. I didn’t care about the curse. I didn’t care about vengeance.
I cared about him.
I turned the corner and saw them.
Kaelen, back against the stone wall, his coat torn, blood dripping from a shallow cut on his cheek. And before him, a figure in servant’s robes—hooded, face hidden—lunging with a dagger that glinted with something dark, something wrong. Fae poison. I could smell it—bitter, cloying, like rotting lilies.
Kaelen moved fast, blocking the strike with his forearm, but the blade grazed his wrist. He hissed, his fangs bared, his silver eyes blazing. He was weakening. Fast.
The assassin pulled back, raising the dagger for a killing blow.
And I didn’t think.
I just moved.
I threw myself between them, arms wide, my body a shield.
The blade struck.
White-hot pain exploded in my shoulder—searing, deep, the poison flooding my veins like liquid fire. I screamed, stumbling back, my hand flying to the wound, blood already soaking through the thin fabric of my shift.
“CRYSTAL!”
Kaelen’s voice was raw, shattered. I’d never heard him scream like that. Not in battle. Not in pain. Not even when I’d cut his throat in the hall.
But now—now he sounded broken.
He moved like a storm, slamming the assassin against the wall, his hand around their throat. “Who sent you?” he snarled. “Who?”
The figure didn’t answer. Just laughed—a soft, melodic sound that sent chills down my spine.
Then their face shifted.
The glamour peeled away, revealing sharp cheekbones, pale gold eyes, a smile that was all teeth.
Seraphine.
My breath caught.
She wasn’t the assassin.
She was the distraction.
And the real killer was behind me.
I turned—slow, pained—and saw it.
A second figure, cloaked in shadow, stepping from the alcove, dagger raised, eyes locked on Kaelen’s back.
“Behind you!” I choked out.
Kaelen whirled—but too slow.
I didn’t hesitate.
I lunged, throwing myself at the assassin, tackling them to the ground. The dagger clattered away, skittering across the stone. I landed hard on my injured shoulder, pain lancing through me, but I didn’t let go. I pinned them, my hands around their throat, my magic surging, ready to burn them from the inside out.
And then I saw their face.
Not a stranger.
Not an enemy.
A witch.
One of the Eastern Coven. The one who’d seen me in the library. The one who’d told everyone about Kaelen holding me.
Her eyes were wide with fear. “I had no choice,” she whispered. “They’ll kill my family.”
My breath caught.
She wasn’t a killer.
She was a pawn.
And I was about to murder her.
I released her, scrambling back, my vision blurring, my body trembling. The poison was spreading. I could feel it—cold, creeping, paralyzing.
Then strong arms caught me.
Kaelen.
He pulled me into his chest, his body shielding mine, his voice low, urgent. “Rhys! Heal her!”
I turned my head. The werewolf Beta was already there, his amber eyes blazing, his hands glowing with healing magic. He pressed them to my wound, and warmth flooded my veins, fighting the poison, slowing its spread.
But it wasn’t enough.
“Fae venom,” Rhys said, voice tight. “It’s resistant to my magic. She needs vampire blood. Now.”
Kaelen didn’t hesitate.
He tore open his wrist and pressed it to my lips.
“Drink,” he said, voice rough. “Please.”
I wanted to refuse.
I wanted to push him away.
I wanted to prove I didn’t need him.
But my body betrayed me.
I opened my mouth.
His blood touched my tongue—smoke and winter and something deeper, something ancient—and the world exploded.
Not with pain.
With vision.
Not of the past.
Not of the future.
But of us.
Me, lying in his arms, blood on my lips, his face streaked with tears. *“Don’t leave me,”* he whispered. *“Not like this. Not before I’ve had the chance to love you.”*
And then—me, standing before him, my hand on his chest, my voice soft. *“I don’t forgive you,”* I said. *“But I choose you.”*
The vision faded.
I gasped, pulling back, but Kaelen held me, his wrist still at my lips, his blood still on my tongue. My body burned. My magic surged. The poison receded, replaced by something stronger, something holy.
The bond hummed—not with demand.
With gratitude.
“You saved me,” Kaelen said, his voice raw, his eyes searching mine. “You threw yourself in front of that blade. For me.”
I didn’t answer.
Because I didn’t know why I’d done it.
Was it the bond?
Was it survival?
Or was it something worse?
Something I couldn’t say out loud.
Behind us, Seraphine laughed—soft, melodic, victorious. “Oh, how sweet,” she purred. “The witch who came to kill you now dies for you. How poetic.”
Kaelen turned his head, his eyes blazing. “You set this up.”
“Of course I did,” she said, stepping closer, her bare feet silent on the stone. “I knew she’d come for you. I knew she’d throw herself in the way. And I knew—” she smiled, slow, cruel—“that your precious bond would force you to drink from her. To heal her. To bind her to you even tighter.”
My breath caught.
It was true.
The blood-sharing. The intimacy. The way his blood now flowed through my veins, stronger than any curse.
She’d planned it.
She’d wanted me to get hurt.
“You’re sick,” I said, my voice weak.
“No,” she said, tilting her head. “I’m in love. And love makes people do terrible things.”
Kaelen stood, still holding me, his body a wall between us and her. “You’re not in love,” he said. “You’re obsessed. And obsession is just vanity in disguise.”
She smiled. “And what are you, Kaelen? If not obsessed with her?”
He didn’t answer.
Because he didn’t have to.
The way he held me. The way his thumb brushed my cheek. The way his fangs still ached from the taste of my blood.
It was all the answer she needed.
“Enjoy your victory,” she said, turning to leave. “But remember—debts must be paid. And mine is still due.”
Then she was gone.
The corridor was silent.
Rhys exhaled, stepping back. “The poison’s neutralized. She’ll live.”
Kaelen didn’t move. Just held me, his arms tight around my waist, his face buried in my hair. “Why?” he whispered. “Why did you do it?”
I looked up at him—his silver eyes, his scarred chest, the weight of centuries in his gaze.
And I realized something terrible.
I didn’t save him because of the bond.
I didn’t save him to survive.
I saved him because I couldn’t bear the thought of him dying.
Because somewhere between the lies and the blood and the curses, between the hatred and the visions and the kisses, I’d stopped seeing a monster.
And started seeing a man.
A man who had carried my mother’s soul.
A man who had let me hate him to protect me.
A man who had just wept at the thought of losing me.
And I didn’t know what to do with that.
So I said the only thing I could.
“I don’t know,” I whispered.
He didn’t push.
Just held me.
And for the first time since I’d entered the Iron Vale, I let myself lean into him.
Not because of the bond.
Not because of magic.
But because, despite everything, I needed to.
Outside, the wind howled.
And deep beneath the castle, something else stirred.
Something that had been waiting for us to fall.
But we hadn’t.
Not yet.
Because I had chosen him.
Not with words.
Not with magic.
But with my body.
With my blood.
With my life.
And that?
That was the most dangerous choice of all.
Because now, I wasn’t just bound by a curse.
I was bound by something worse.
By love.
And love?
Love was the one thing even fate couldn’t control.
Her blood was on his tongue. Her body against his. And for the first time in centuries, Kaelen D’Vire felt afraid—not of death, but of losing her.