The air in the Shadowveil Court tasted like iron and old magic. I felt it the moment I stepped through the obsidian archway—cold, sharp, humming with the weight of centuries. My boots clicked against the black marble floor, too loud in the silence, each step a betrayal of my heartbeat. I was supposed to be quiet. Unseen. A ghost slipping through the cracks of their world.
But the Court knew I was here.
The walls pulsed faintly, veins of silver light threading through the stone like living sigils. The ancestral altar stood at the heart of the chamber, a monolith of carved moonstone rising from the floor, its surface etched with forgotten oaths. This was the place. The source. The very spot where my mother had knelt, blood dripping from her palm, as Kael Nocturne sealed her fate with a single word.
I’d spent ten years preparing for this. Ten years in hiding, learning blood magic from Elara, mastering fae glamour, training my body and mind for the one moment that would decide everything. I wasn’t just here to expose the truth. I wasn’t here to flee.
I was here to kill him.
My fingers brushed the hilt of the dagger at my thigh—forged from sacred iron, blessed under a dying moon, dipped in the ashes of my mother’s pyre. It wouldn’t kill a pureblood vampire outright, not unless I reached his heart. But it would burn. It would weaken. And if I was fast enough, precise enough, I could end him before the bond between us had time to form.
Because I knew what would happen.
Fated mates. A myth, they said. A curse disguised as destiny. The kind of thing whispered in covens and blood dens, dismissed by rational minds. But my mother had believed it. She’d warned me—*“If you ever stand before the altar, blood in your veins, vengeance in your heart, the magic will claim you. It will bind you to him.”*
I hadn’t believed her. Not really.
But now, standing in the silence of the altar room, the weight of my own blood humming in my veins, I felt it—the pull. Not from him. Not yet. But from the magic itself. The altar was awake. Watching. Waiting.
I stepped forward.
The moment my foot crossed the threshold, the air cracked like thunder.
Light erupted from the stone—silver, blinding, searing through my vision. I stumbled back, but it was too late. Chains of pure energy spiraled from the altar, wrapping around my wrists, my ankles, yanking me forward. I screamed, but no sound came out. The magic was inside me, crawling through my veins, rewriting my blood.
And then—
He appeared.
One second, the chamber was empty. The next, Kael Nocturne stood before the altar, his black coat edged in silver runes, his eyes like obsidian shards. He didn’t look surprised. He didn’t look afraid. He looked… inevitable.
The chains found him too.
Silver light coiled around his wrists, binding him to me. Our arms snapped together, palm to palm, and the world exploded.
Fire. That was the only word for it. Fire in my blood, fire in my bones, fire in the space between my thighs. My breath came in short, sharp gasps as the bond roared to life, a living thing tearing through my chest. I could feel him—his pulse, his hunger, the cold, calculating mind behind those dark eyes. And beneath it all, something else. Something raw. Primal. A need so deep it made my knees weak.
He felt it too.
I saw it in the way his jaw clenched, the way his fangs dropped just slightly, the way his chest rose and fell too fast. He tried to pull away, but the chains held. The magic demanded completion.
And then—
A searing pain bloomed on my collarbone.
I cried out as the mark burned into my skin—a crescent moon, pierced through by a single thorn. Silver light flared, then faded, leaving behind a sigil that pulsed with heat. The chains dissolved into mist, but the connection remained. Stronger than steel. Deeper than blood.
Fated.
The word echoed in my skull, not in my voice, but in the voice of the magic itself. *Fated. Bound. Mine.*
I wrenched my hand from his, stumbling back, my breath ragged. My skin still burned where we’d touched. My heart pounded like it wanted to break free.
Kael didn’t move. He just stared at me, his expression unreadable. His voice, when it came, was low, cold, stripped of all emotion.
“You shouldn’t have come here.”
I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth, my fingers trembling. “I came to kill you.”
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. “Then you’ll die with me.”
The words should have terrified me. They should have made me run.
Instead, they sent a jolt of something dark and dangerous through me. Not fear. Not hatred.
Desire.
I hated myself for it. Hated the way my body remembered his touch, the way my skin still tingled, the way my breath hitched when he took a step toward me. He was taller than I’d imagined, broader, his presence like a storm rolling in. The scent of him—dark wine and winter pine—wrapped around me, pulling me in.
I gripped the dagger.
“This changes nothing,” I said, my voice shaking only slightly. “The Oath still binds my blood. My mother died for it. I will not let her sacrifice be in vain.”
He tilted his head, studying me like I was a puzzle he hadn’t yet solved. “You think the Oath is what bound her?”
“I know it.”
“Then you know nothing.”
He moved faster than I could track. One second he was across the room. The next, he had me pinned against the altar, one hand around my wrist, the other braced beside my head. The stone was cold against my back, but his body was heat, radiating through the thin fabric of my dress. His breath brushed my neck, sending a shiver down my spine.
“The Oath was a tool,” he murmured. “A leash. But the bond—this—” He pressed his forehead to mine, and the connection flared again, white-hot and undeniable. “This is older. Deeper. And it doesn’t care about your revenge.”
I turned my face away, but he caught my chin, forcing me to look at him. His eyes were no longer black. They shimmered with silver, the mark in his iris mirroring the one on my collarbone.
“You feel it,” he said. “Don’t lie to me.”
I did. Gods, I did. It was like a second pulse, beating in time with his. Every breath, every heartbeat, every flicker of thought—he was there. In my head. In my blood.
But I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
“I feel nothing but disgust,” I spat.
He smiled. Not warm. Not kind. A predator’s smile. “Liar.”
And then—
A scream echoed through the chamber.
We both turned. Silas Vale, Kael’s lieutenant, stood in the doorway, his golden wolf eyes wide. Behind him, a cluster of guards, their weapons drawn. But none of them moved. None of them dared.
They knew what they were seeing.
“The fated bond,” Silas breathed. “It’s activated.”
Kael didn’t release me. “You have no authority here, Vale.”
“The Council does,” a new voice said.
An older vampire stepped forward, her silver hair coiled like a crown, her eyes sharp with calculation. Lady Isolde, one of the seven members of the Supernatural Council. Her gaze flicked between us, lingering on the marks now glowing faintly on our skin.
“This changes everything,” she said. “The truce with the Grey Coven hangs by a thread. If they learn a half-breed has infiltrated the Court—”
“She’s not an infiltrator,” Kael interrupted. “She’s my fated mate.”
The words landed like a death sentence.
I felt the truth of them in my bones. The bond pulsed, responding to his claim. My mark burned.
Isolde’s lips curved. “Then you will present her as such. The Council will demand proof of your union. One lunar cycle. If the bond holds, the truce stands. If not—” She didn’t finish. She didn’t need to.
War.
Kael finally released me, but the space between us crackled with tension. He turned to me, his voice low, meant only for my ears.
“You wanted to kill me,” he said. “Now you’ll have to pretend to love me.”
I met his gaze, my voice steady despite the storm inside me. “I will never love you.”
“No,” he agreed. “But you’ll want me. And that will be enough.”
The guards closed in. Silas approached, his expression unreadable. “She’ll need new quarters. Proper attire. A cover story.”
Kael nodded. “See to it.”
As they led me away, I looked back one last time.
Kael stood before the altar, his silhouette sharp against the moonlight. His hand brushed the mark on his own collarbone—the twin of mine.
And for the first time, I saw it.
Not triumph. Not cruelty.
Something like regret.
My fingers closed around the dagger, still hidden beneath my sleeve.
This wasn’t over.
It had only just begun.