The silence in Kael’s chambers after the healing was not empty. It was thick. Charged. Like the air before a storm breaks. The bond hummed between us—no longer a scream, not quite a whisper, but something deeper, something *alive*. It pulsed in time with my heartbeat, warm and steady, as if the magic itself had exhaled, finally allowed to *be*.
Kael stood by the hearth, his back to me, the cold blue flames casting long shadows across the stone walls. His coat was open, his black silk shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal the edge of the mark on his chest—the one that mirrored mine. The one I’d touched. The one that had flared beneath my palm like a star igniting.
I hadn’t meant to heal him.
Not really.
Witch sigils were meant for binding, for cursing, for breaking. Not for mending. Not for *this*. But the moment my fingers brushed his lip, the moment I pressed my palm to his chest, the magic had surged—not from me, not from him, but from *between* us. From the bond. From the truth I’d been fighting since I’d walked into Shadowveil Court.
I wanted him.
Not as a weapon. Not as a lie. Not even as revenge.
As *mine*.
And gods help me, I was terrified.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he said, his voice low, rough. He didn’t turn. Just stared into the fire, his silhouette sharp against the flickering light.
“You didn’t have to heal my arm,” I replied. “But you did.”
He turned then, his eyes silver, the mark in his iris glowing faintly. “I told you. I’m selfish.”
“And I’m not?” I stepped closer, my boots silent on the stone. “I touched you. I healed you. I *let* you stay.”
“You *told* me to stay,” he corrected, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. “There’s a difference.”
“And if I change my mind?”
“Then I’ll make you regret it,” he said, stepping forward, closing the distance between us. “Every damn day.”
My breath caught.
Not from the threat.
From the *truth* in it.
He didn’t want to control me.
He wanted to *challenge* me.
And I—
I wanted to be challenged.
“You’re different,” I whispered. “Since the ritual. Since the kiss. Since—”
“Since you bit me,” he said, his voice dropping, intimate. “Since you tasted my blood. Since you claimed me.”
“I didn’t claim you.”
“You did,” he said, his hand brushing my cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of my jaw. “And I let you. Because you’re the only one who ever has.”
The bond flared—hot, undeniable. My skin burned where he touched me. My pulse jumped. My blood sang.
And then—
A knock at the door.
We didn’t move. Just stood there, inches apart, our breath mingling, the bond humming between us like a live wire.
“Enter,” Kael said, his voice cold, cutting through the heat.
The door opened.
Silas stepped in, his golden wolf eyes sharp, his stance relaxed but ready. He didn’t look at me. Just at Kael.
“My lord,” he said. “A message from the Dark Council. Intercepted. It’s… urgent.”
Kael’s expression didn’t change. But his hand dropped from my face, his body shifting slightly, placing himself between me and the lieutenant. A shield. A claim.
“Show me.”
Silas handed him a scroll, sealed with black wax. Kael broke the seal, his eyes scanning the contents. I could feel the bond—his tension, his fury, the way his fangs dropped just slightly, the way his grip tightened on the parchment.
And then—
He looked at me.
“Mira’s been captured,” he said. “By the Dark Council. They’re holding her in the Iron Crypts beneath Lyon. And they’re demanding a trade.”
“For what?” I asked, though I already knew.
“You,” he said. “In exchange for her life.”
I laughed. Not because it was funny. But because it was *predictable*.
“They think I’ll trade myself for her? After everything she’s done? After the lies, the manipulation, the *paint* on her neck?”
“No,” Kael said. “They think *I* will.”
My breath caught.
“You wouldn’t.”
“No,” he agreed. “I wouldn’t. But they don’t know that. And Mira—” He paused, his voice rough. “—she’s still my blood. My responsibility.”
“She tried to destroy us.”
“And I let her go,” he said. “But if they kill her, it’ll look like weakness. Like I couldn’t protect my own.”
“And if you save her?”
“Then they’ll know the bond is real. That I’ll do anything to protect what’s mine.”
I stared at him. “You’d risk war. Risk *me*. For *her*?”
“No,” he said, stepping closer, his hand brushing mine. “I’d risk it for *us*. For the truce. For the future.”
The bond flared—hot, insistent. My breath hitched. My fingers twitched toward the dagger at my thigh.
“Then go,” I said. “Save her. Prove your loyalty. Show them you’re strong.”
“And leave you here?”
“I can take care of myself.”
“I know,” he said. “But I don’t want to.”
And that—more than anything—stopped me.
He didn’t want to leave me.
Not because he didn’t trust me.
But because he *did*.
“I’ll go with you,” I said.
He stilled. “No. It’s too dangerous.”
“And if you die?” I challenged. “What happens to the bond? To the truce? To *us*?”
He didn’t answer. Just looked at me, his eyes silver, the mark in his iris glowing faintly.
And I knew.
He couldn’t lose me.
Not now.
Not after everything.
“I’m not asking for permission,” I said. “I’m telling you. I’m going.”
He didn’t argue. Just nodded, his hand brushing mine. “Then we leave at dawn.”
Silas left. The door clicked shut behind him. The room was silent, the hearth crackling, the bond humming between us like a second heartbeat.
“You should rest,” Kael said. “We’ll need to be sharp.”
“I’m not tired.”
“Liar.”
I almost smiled. Almost.
Instead, I crossed the room, stepping out of my boots, unbuttoning my tunic. The dagger slid into the hidden sheath beneath the folds of my gown. The ledger lay on the vanity, untouched, unopened. The vial of balm sat beside it, its contents still.
Kael didn’t move. Just watched me, his eyes dark, his breath steady.
“You’re not sleeping on the floor,” I said, climbing onto the bed, keeping to the far edge, as far from him as possible.
He didn’t answer. Just stripped off his coat, folding it over the chair with precise, deliberate movements. Then his boots. Then his gloves. Then his shirt.
And there it was.
The mark.
On his chest. A crescent pierced by a thorn. The same as mine. But darker. Deeper. *Older*.
He saw me looking.
“It appeared the night of the ritual,” he said, his voice low. “When you tasted my blood. When the visions came.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I didn’t know how,” he said, climbing onto the bed, lying on his back on the opposite edge, his hands clasped over his chest. “I didn’t want you to think it meant something… more.”
“And does it?”
He didn’t answer. Just turned his head, his eyes meeting mine. Silver. Burning. *Wanting*.
The bond flared—hot, insistent. My breath caught. My skin burned.
And then—
Sleep took me.
Not peacefully. Not quietly.
But in a storm of visions.
Kael’s hand on my waist in the dark. His lips on my neck. A child’s laughter—*silver-lavender eyes staring up at me.*
War. Blood. Fire. The Grey Coven burning. The Lupine Clans howling in rage. The Winter Court frozen in betrayal.
And then—
Me.
Standing over Kael’s body, a dagger in my hand, his blood on my lips, my face streaked with tears.
I had killed him.
I woke gasping, my body drenched in sweat, my heart pounding. The mark on my collarbone *burned*, not with pain—but with *fire*. The bond flared, white-hot, and I turned—
Kael was watching me.
His eyes were silver, the mark in his iris glowing faintly. His hand was on my waist—just resting there, his palm flat against the fabric of my dress, his fingers curled slightly, as if he’d reached for me in his sleep and hadn’t realized it.
“You had the vision again,” he said, his voice rough.
“The child,” I whispered. “The one with silver-lavender eyes. That was—”
“Ours,” he said. “In one possible future.”
“And the other? The one where I kill you?”
“Also possible,” he said. “But not inevitable.”
“Then how do we stop it?”
“By choosing,” he said. “By fighting. By *trusting*.”
I didn’t answer. Just lay there, my body rigid, my breath shallow. His thumb moved—just slightly—brushing against the curve of my hip, a slow, unconscious caress. And gods help me, it sent a jolt of something dark and dangerous through me.
Desire.
It wasn’t just physical. It was deeper. It was the sudden, overwhelming awareness of *him*—his thoughts, his hunger, the cold, controlled fury beneath his calm. I could feel the way his breath caught, the way his fangs dropped just slightly, the way his grip tightened for a fraction of a second before he forced it back under control.
He felt it too.
Our eyes locked. The connection deepened, a current of magic and something darker, something primal, surging between us.
“You feel it,” he murmured. “Don’t lie.”
I tried to pull away. My muscles screamed in protest, not from resistance, but from *need*. My body didn’t want to leave. It wanted to step closer. To press against him. To feel his hands on me, his mouth on my neck, his fangs breaking skin—
I wrenched my arm free.
The separation was like a blade to the chest. I staggered back, gasping, my palm flying to the mark on my collarbone. It burned, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. My breath came in ragged bursts, my skin still tingling where he’d touched me.
Kael didn’t move. Just watched me, his expression unreadable. But his chest rose and falls too fast. His jaw was clenched. And for the first time, I saw it—
He was fighting it too.
“This bond,” I panted, “is a curse. It means nothing.”
“It means everything,” he said. “To the Council. To the truce. To the war that’s coming if you don’t play your part.”
“And what part is that? Your obedient little mate?” I spat. “Your political puppet?”
“For now,” he said, stepping closer, “you’re my prisoner. But if you want to live, you’ll pretend to be my salvation.”
He reached for me again.
This time, I didn’t flinch. I stood my ground, my fingers twitching toward the dagger. But he didn’t touch me. He stopped inches away, his breath warm against my skin. His voice dropped, low, intimate, meant only for me.
“You’ll wear the dress I’ve chosen. You’ll smile when I take your hand. You’ll let me touch you in front of the Council, and you’ll *not* pull away.”
“Or what?” I challenged. “You’ll lock me in a cell? Kill me?”
“No,” he said. “I’ll let the bond do it for me.”
He turned and walked away, his boots echoing down the hall.
And for the first time, I understood.
This wasn’t just about revenge.
This was about survival.
The dawn came like a blade.
Sharp. Cold. Unforgiving.
We left at first light, Kael in his black coat edged with silver runes, me in dark leather and steel, the dagger hidden at my thigh. Silas led the way, his wolf-shadow flickering behind him, his golden eyes scanning the shadows. The Court was silent as we passed, the servants bowing, the guards standing tall. They knew. They could feel it—the tension, the danger, the *inevitability*.
The journey to Lyon was a blur of shadow and silence. Kael didn’t speak. Just rode beside me, his presence like a storm held at bay. The bond pulsed between us—tense, aching, alive—but neither of us acknowledged it. The weight of what was coming—the Iron Crypts, the Dark Council, the *choice*—was too heavy for words.
And then—
We arrived.
Lyon was a city of stone and shadow, its streets winding like veins beneath the ancient spires. The Iron Crypts were beneath the old cathedral, a labyrinth of tunnels and cells, the air thick with the scent of rust and blood. We descended in silence, our boots echoing against the stone, the torchlight flickering across the walls.
The Dark Council awaited us in the central chamber—a circle of robed figures, their faces hidden in shadow, their voices like smoke.
“Prince Kael,” one of them intoned. “You come for Mira Thorne.”
“I do,” Kael said, his voice cold. “And I’ll take her with me.”
“Not without a price,” another said. “A life for a life. The hybrid for the traitor.”
My hand went to the dagger.
“No,” Kael said. “You’ll release her. Or I’ll burn this place to the ground.”
“And risk the truce? Risk the war?”
“I’ll risk anything,” Kael said, stepping forward, his coat flaring behind him, “to protect what’s mine.”
And then—
They brought her out.
Mira.
Her dark hair was matted with blood, her gown torn, her wrists bound in iron. But her eyes—those sharp, cunning eyes—were alive with triumph.
“Kael,” she purred, even as they shoved her to her knees. “You came for me.”
“I came to end you,” he said, his voice guttural, inhuman.
“And yet,” she said, smiling, “you brought *her*.” She tilted her head, studying me. “The half-breed. The fated mate. The woman who bit you and tasted your blood.”
My breath caught.
“You’re lying,” I said. “You forged the bond. You painted the mark.”
“Did I?” she said, laughing. “Or did I just show you the truth? That he *wants* you? That he *craves* you? That he’d let you kill him before he let another woman touch him?”
The bond *screamed*.
Fire ripped through my veins, a surge of jealousy so violent it made my vision blur. I didn’t think. I moved.
One second, I was across the room.
The next, I had her by the throat, slamming her against the wall, my fangs—*my fangs*—descending without permission, my grip unbreakable. She gasped, not from pain, but from triumph.
“There it is,” she purred. “The *real* you. Not the cold, calculating assassin. Not the grieving daughter. The *jealous* woman. The one who *wants* him.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I growled, my voice guttural, inhuman.
“Oh, I do,” she said, her fingers scratching at my wrist. “You came here to kill him. But now you’ve tasted his blood. Felt his soul. Seen a future where you’re *his*.” Her eyes narrowed. “And you’re terrified of it.”
“I’m not terrified,” I spat. “I’m *disgusted*.”
“Then why are you trembling?”
And she was right.
I was.
Not from anger.
From *need*.
“Let her go,” Kael said, his voice low, guttural, inhuman.
I didn’t move. Just held Mira against the wall, my fingers tightening.
“You let her wear your coat,” I said, my voice shaking. “You let her *bite* you. You let her—”
“I didn’t,” he snarled. “She’s lying. The bite is fake. The blood—*paint*. She’s trying to provoke you.”
“Prove it,” I whispered.
He didn’t hesitate.
In one fluid motion, he crossed the room, wrenched Mira from my grip, and slammed her against the opposite wall, his hand around her throat. “Show her,” he growled. “Show her the truth.”
Mira laughed, even as her breath choked. “Do it. Go ahead. Show her how you *really* feel.”
And then—
He tore open her gown.
Not gently. Not carefully. With a single, violent motion, he ripped the fabric down the center, exposing her chest, her stomach, the curve of her hips.
And there—
Nothing.
No bite marks. No scars. No evidence of feeding.
Just smooth, unbroken skin.
“The blood is from a vial,” Kael said, his voice cold. “The mark—painted. She’s been working with the Dark Council. Spreading lies. Trying to break us.”
Mira’s smile faltered. “You’ll regret this.”
“I regret many things,” Kael said. “But letting you go isn’t one of them.” He turned to me, his eyes silver, the mark in his iris glowing faintly. “You believe me?”
I didn’t answer. Just stared at Mira’s exposed body, at the lie written in paint and deception.
And then—
“You’re jealous,” he said, stepping closer.
“I hate you,” I spat.
“Then why are you trembling?”
And he was right.
I was.
Not from fear.
From *want*.
The bond flared—hot, undeniable. My breath hitched. My pulse jumped. My skin burned where he touched me.
And then—
He kissed me.
Not gentle. Not tender. A *claim*. A *challenge*. His lips crashed against mine, hard and demanding, his hand fisted in my hair, holding me still. I didn’t kiss him back—couldn’t. I was frozen, stunned, my body rigid against his. But I didn’t pull away. And that was enough.
The bond *screamed*.
Fire ripped through my veins, magic surging between us, lighting the sigils on the floor until the entire room blazed with silver light. I could taste him—dark wine and winter pine and something *fierce*—and for one reckless second, I forgot why I was here. Forgot Mira. Forgot the Oath. Forgot everything but the way his lips felt beneath mine.
And then—
I bit him.
Not a love bite. Not a tease.
A *wound*.
My fangs sank into his lower lip, breaking skin, drawing blood. He groaned—low, guttural, *aroused*—and the bond *exploded*, a surge of magic so violent it made the walls shake. I tasted him—his blood, his power, his *soul*—and for the first time, I didn’t pull away.
I *fed*.
Just a sip. Just a taste.
But it was enough.
He broke the kiss, stepping back, his lip bleeding, his breath ragged, his eyes blazing. The mark on my collarbone *burned*, not with pain—but with *fire*.
“You’d hate me for it,” he said, breathless.
“I already do,” I whispered.
And then—
He smiled.
Not warm. Not kind.
A predator’s smile.
“Good,” he said. “Then you’ll remember.”
Mira was gone. The guards had taken her—dragged her out, still laughing, still smug. The room was silent, the torches flickering, the bond humming between us like a live wire.
Kael stood before me, his lip still bleeding, his coat open, his chest rising and falling too fast. I could still taste his blood on my tongue, dark and ancient, laced with something *fierce*. And the bond—
It wasn’t just magic.
It was *us*.
He reached for me. Not to pin. Not to control.
To *touch*.
His hand cupped my face, his thumb brushing my cheekbone. The bond flared—hot, undeniable. My breath hitched. My eyes fluttered shut.
“You bit me,” he murmured.
“You deserved it.”
“And you liked it.”
I didn’t answer.
Because he was right.
And then—
He pulled me into his chest, his arms wrapping around me, holding me like I was something fragile, something *his*.
“Fight me if you have to,” he said. “Hate me if you want. But don’t lie to me. Don’t lie to yourself.”
“And what am I lying about?”
“That you want me,” he said. “That you *need* me. That you’d rather die than let another woman touch me.”
My breath caught.
Not from shock.
From *truth*.
He was right.
I *was* jealous.
I *did* want him.
And I *would* kill anyone who tried to take him from me.
“I won’t let you go,” he said, his voice rough. “Not to the Oath. Not to the Council. Not to *anyone*.”
“And if I try to kill you?”
“Then I’ll make you regret it,” he said. “Every damn day.”
I buried my face in his coat, my hands fisting in the fabric, my body trembling.
And for the first time since I’d walked into Shadowveil Court—
I let myself *want* him.
The mark on my collarbone pulsed, warm and alive.
Not a curse.
A promise.