The fortress stirs beneath us—footsteps echoing through stone corridors, steel clashing in distant training yards, whispers curling like smoke through the gardens. Dawn bleeds across the sky, painting the spires of Shadowveil in blood-red light, but I don’t see it. I only see *him*.
Kaelen.
Still damp from the Moonwell, his storm-silver eyes dark with something I can’t name—relief, yes, but deeper than that. *Surrender*. He stands by the war room pedestal, one hand resting on the Blood Codex, the other clenched into a fist at his side. His body is taut, coiled like a weapon, but his gaze… his gaze is *soft*. For me.
We didn’t speak much on the way back. Didn’t need to. The ritual stripped us bare—literally, magically, emotionally—and what’s left between us isn’t just bond or duty or vengeance. It’s *trust*. Fragile. New. *Real*.
And it terrifies me.
Because I came here to burn this world down. Not to fall in love with the man who holds its heart.
“They’ll come for us at dawn,” I say, breaking the silence. My voice is steady, but my fingers tremble where they grip the hilt of my dagger. “Malrik won’t let the tracking spell’s destruction go unanswered.”
Kaelen doesn’t turn. “Then we answer first.”
“How?”
“By exposing him.” He finally looks at me, his jaw tight, his eyes burning. “Before he twists the truth. Before he turns the Council against us. Before he uses the bond as proof of corruption.”
“And if they don’t believe us?”
“Then we make them.” He steps forward, closing the distance between us. His heat floods into me, his presence a wall, his scent a cage. “You’re not just my mate, Brielle. You’re the only one who sees me. Not as Alpha. Not as Malrik’s son. As *me*.”
My breath hitches.
Not from fear.
From the truth in his voice. From the way his hand lifts, cups my face, his thumb brushing my lower lip. From the way his body leans into mine, just slightly, from the way the bond flares—warm, insistent, *needing*.
And then—
A knock.
Sharp. Insistent.
Soren steps inside before we can answer, his dark eyes scanning the room, his posture tense. “Malrik’s mobilizing,” he says, voice low. “The Fang loyalists are gathering in the main hall. The Crimson Conclave enforcers are at the gates. And Mira—” He pauses. “—she’s with him.”
My blood runs cold.
“Of course she is,” I mutter. “She’s not done playing her games.”
“No,” Soren agrees. “She’s not. But there’s more. Varn talked. Before he died.”
Kaelen stiffens. “He’s dead?”
“Executed by Malrik’s order,” Soren says. “But not before he gave us names. Locations. Plans. Including one—” He looks at me. “—a trap. Set for you. In the east corridor. Disguised as a message from Elowen.”
My breath stills.
Elowen. My mentor. My only ally. The woman who gave me the false identity, who taught me to wield moonfire, who *loved* me like a daughter.
And now she’s being used to lure me into a trap.
“It’s a test,” Kaelen says, stepping in front of me, caging me in. “He wants to see if we’ll break. If we’ll act separately. If we’ll let fear divide us.”
“And if we don’t?”
“Then we walk into it together.”
I don’t argue. Don’t hesitate. Just nod. “Then let’s go.”
We move through the fortress—silent, swift, shadows in the dark. Soren takes point, his daggers drawn, his eyes scanning every corridor, every shadow. Kaelen stays close behind me, his presence a wall at my back, his heat a cage around me. The bond hums beneath my skin—low, steady, *real*—no longer tainted, no longer controlled, just *ours*.
The east corridor is quiet—too quiet. Torchlight flickers against the stone, casting long shadows that shift like ghosts. And there, on the floor, a scroll—sealed with Elowen’s sigil, the wax still warm.
“It’s a forgery,” I say, not moving. “Elowen would never leave a message unguarded.”
“But Malrik doesn’t know that,” Kaelen murmurs. “He knows you’d come. That you’d risk everything for her.”
And then—
The trap springs.
Not from the scroll.
From the *walls*.
Stone grinds. Dust falls. And then—
Blades.
Dozens of them—hidden in the stone, now springing outward in a deadly arc, aimed at the space where I’d be if I’d reached for the scroll. Kaelen roars—low, guttural—and shoves me back, his body taking the brunt of the attack. Steel slices through his tunic, tears into his shoulder, his side, his arm. Blood sprays across the stone, hot and bright.
“Kaelen!” I scream, lunging forward.
He staggers but doesn’t fall. His war-knife flashes, severing the hidden mechanisms, silencing the trap. “I’m fine,” he growls, but his voice is tight, strained.
“You’re *not* fine!” I shove past him, my hands flying to his wounds. Blood soaks his tunic, his skin pale beneath the crimson. “You took the hit for me.”
“Always,” he says, his storm-silver eyes locking onto mine. “I’d take a thousand blades for you.”
My chest tightens. Not from fear.
From the truth in his voice. From the way his body leans into mine, just slightly, from the way the bond flares—warm, insistent, *needing*.
And then—
Shouts.
Footsteps.
And then—
They come.
Malrik’s enforcers—vampires, werewolves, fae—flooding the corridor, their weapons drawn, their eyes cold. At their head—Mira, dressed in silver silk, her lips painted the color of fresh blood, her smile sharp.
“How touching,” she purrs, stepping forward. “The Alpha, bleeding for his mate. How… *predictable*.”
Kaelen doesn’t flinch. Just steps in front of me, shielding me with his body. “You’re done, Mira. No more lies. No more games.”
“And if I have more?” she asks, lifting her chin. “If I have proof that you forged the Codex? That you manipulated the bond? That you’re not fit to lead?”
“Then you’ll die before the words leave your lips,” I say, stepping around him, my dagger in hand, my runes flaring along my spine. “And I’ll make sure your body is fed to the wolves.”
She laughs. Sharp. Cold. *Triumphant*.
And then—
Chaos.
They charge.
Not with honor. Not with skill.
With *numbers*.
Kaelen fights like a storm—brutal, precise, *feral*—his war-knife flashing, his claws tearing through flesh, his fangs sinking into throats. Soren moves like a shadow, silent and deadly, his daggers finding hearts before the scream can form. I fight with magic—moonfire flaring in pulses of silver flame, my dagger flashing, my voice sharp with command.
But there are too many.
And Kaelen is wounded.
I see it—the way his movements slow, the way his breath hitches, the way his blood soaks through his tunic. He’s weakening. And if he falls—
No.
I won’t let it happen.
“Soren!” I shout, ducking a vampire’s blade, slashing my dagger across his throat. “Fall back! Protect the Codex!”
He doesn’t argue. Just nods, grabbing the scroll from the floor and retreating down the corridor, his daggers flashing as he holds off the stragglers.
And then—
It’s just us.
Me and Kaelen.
Back to back, our movements synchronized, our bond humming with purpose. I fight with everything I have—magic, steel, fury—but they keep coming. And then—
A werewolf lunges.
Not at me.
At *Kaelen*.
His blade aimed at Kaelen’s heart.
And I move.
Not thinking.
Not hesitating.
I *throw* myself in front of him.
The blade tears through my side—sharp, blinding pain—and I cry out, my body arching, my magic surging in response. Moonfire flares—silver fire spiraling up my back, painting the stone in light—but I don’t fall. I can’t. Not while he’s still standing.
“Brielle!” Kaelen roars, catching me as I stagger.
“I’m fine,” I gasp, my hand flying to the wound. Blood soaks my side, hot and fast. “Just… keep fighting.”
“You’re *not* fine!” he snarls, his arms locking around me, his body caging me in. “You took a blade for me.”
“Always,” I whisper, lifting my chin. “I’d take a thousand for you.”
And then—
The bond *screams*.
Not with heat. Not with desire.
With *pain*.
Not mine.
His.
Kaelen staggers, his face contorted, his breath ragged. Blood drips from his wounds, but it’s not the blood that’s killing him. It’s the bond. The connection between us. My injury—my near-death—is tearing through him, not just physically, but *magically*. The bond sickness, amplified by love, by fear, by *loss*.
“Kaelen,” I whisper, my hand flying to his face. “Look at me. *Look* at me.”
He does.
His storm-silver eyes are dark, his jaw clenched, his body trembling. But beneath the pain, I see it—fear. Not for himself. For *me*.
“You’re not dying,” he growls, his arms locking around me. “The bond won’t let you. *I* won’t let you.”
“Then stop fighting it,” I say, pressing my forehead to his. “Let me go if you have to. But don’t let me watch you die because of me.”
“Never.” He grips my hips, grinding against me, his cock hard and insistent against my belly. “You’re *mine*. And I’m not losing you.”
And then—
He does something I don’t expect.
He *kisses* me.
Not soft. Not slow.
His mouth crashes over mine, his tongue sliding deep, tasting me like he’s starving. I gasp, and he takes the opening, his hands sliding up my back, pressing me closer, until there’s no space between us, no air, no thought, no *anything* but him. The pain fades. The blood slows. The bond flares—warm, insistent, *needing*.
And then—
He pulls back.
Just enough to look at me. His storm-silver eyes are dark, his jaw clenched, his body coiled. But beneath the fury, I see it—love. *Grief*. *Hope*.
“You’re not dying,” he says, voice rough. “Not today. Not ever. Not while I’m still breathing.”
My chest tightens. Not from fear.
From the truth in his words. From the way his body leans into mine, just slightly, from the way the bond flares—warm, insistent, *needing*.
And then—
The enforcers attack again.
But this time—
We’re ready.
Kaelen fights with renewed fury—brutal, precise, *feral*—his war-knife flashing, his claws tearing through flesh, his fangs sinking into bone. I fight with magic—moonfire flaring in pulses of silver flame, my dagger flashing, my voice sharp with command. We move as one—back to back, side by side, our movements synchronized, our bond humming with purpose.
And then—
They break.
Not all at once. But one by one, the enforcers falter, their eyes flicking between us, between blood and bond, between duty and truth. Some retreat. Some drop their weapons. Some just… *stop*.
And Mira—
She doesn’t run.
She *laughs*.
Sharp. Cold. *Triumphant*.
“You think you’ve won?” she asks, stepping forward. “You think this changes anything? Malrik still controls the Council. Still holds the power. Still has *her* blood.”
“Then let him have it,” I say, stepping forward, my dagger in hand, my runes flaring. “Because I’ll burn his world to the ground before I let him touch me again.”
She doesn’t flinch. Just smiles. “We’ll see.”
And then—
She turns.
Walks away.
Not running. Not fleeing.
Just… leaving.
And I let her.
Because I know what she’s doing.
She’s not afraid.
She’s *waiting*.
And as the silence settles, as the scent of blood fades, as the bond hums beneath my skin—low, steady, *real*—I turn to Kaelen.
He’s watching me. Not with fear. Not with doubt.
With fire.
“You saved me,” he says, his voice rough.
“And you saved me,” I whisper, pressing my forehead to his. “We’re even.”
“We’re not,” he growls, his arms locking around me. “You took a blade for me. You nearly *died* for me.”
“And you’d do the same,” I say, lifting my chin. “So stop pretending this is one-sided.”
He doesn’t answer. Just kisses me—soft, slow, *real*—his lips brushing mine, his thumb wiping away the last traces of salt, his voice a whisper against my skin.
“Don’t you dare die,” he murmurs. “You don’t get to leave me.”
My breath hitches.
Not from the wound.
From the truth in his voice. From the way his arms tighten around me, from the way his body leans into mine, just slightly, from the way the bond flares—warm, insistent, *needing*.
And then—
I whisper, “I’m not going anywhere.”
And just like that, the world shifts.
Not because the trap is sprung.
Not because the enforcers are broken.
Because *he* believes *me*.
And for the first time, I let myself believe that maybe—just maybe—this isn’t just survival.
Maybe it’s *love*.
And then—
A sound.
Not from the corridor.
From *above*.
Shouts. Footsteps. The clash of steel.
Soren appears, his dark eyes sharp, his daggers drawn. “They’re coming,” he says. “Malrik’s calling the full Council. At dawn.”
I don’t move. Just press my forehead to Kaelen’s. “Then we’ll be there.”
“Together,” he murmurs.
“Always.”