The vial of blood sat on the vanity like a ticking bomb.
Not large—no bigger than my thumb—but heavy with implication. The glass was cold, the liquid inside dark as midnight, thick with power. *Kael Nocturne*, the label read. *Yesterday.*
Yesterday.
The same day Mira had been dragged from the Iron Crypts, still smirking, still whispering lies into the shadows. The same day Kael had kissed me in front of the Dark Council, his lips bruising mine, his fangs grazing my tongue, the bond screaming between us like a live wire set ablaze. The same day I’d bitten him—again—and tasted his blood like it was the only thing that could save me.
And now this.
This vial.
This lie.
I’d found it in Mira’s chambers after the confrontation, hidden beneath a loose stone in the floor. No note. No explanation. Just the blood, the label, the accusation hanging in the air like poison.
Three times makes a bond.
She’d said it with such confidence. Such cruelty. As if she knew something I didn’t. As if she’d already won.
And the worst part?
I believed her.
Not because I trusted Mira. Not because I thought Kael had betrayed me. But because the bond—this cursed, relentless thing between us—had flared too violently in that moment. Too *hungrily*. As if it had been starved. As if it had been waiting for something.
And now, standing in the quiet of my chambers, the vial in my hand, I had to know.
I had to *test* it.
Not for the Council. Not for Kael. Not even for the truce.
For me.
For the truth.
I lit the candles—seven of them, arranged in a crescent around the small obsidian bowl I’d brought from the Grey Coven. The sigils carved into the stone hummed faintly, responding to my presence, to my blood. I pricked my finger with the silver needle, letting three drops fall into the bowl. The air thickened, the scent of iron and ozone rising like smoke.
Then I uncorked the vial.
The blood didn’t pour. It *pooled*, slow and deliberate, as if it knew what was coming. I added three drops—equal to mine—and stepped back.
The reaction was instant.
The mixture didn’t blend. It *repelled*. My blood curled away from his, forming two distinct pools, like oil and water. The sigils on the bowl flared—red, then black, then dead—and the air filled with the acrid stench of burnt magic.
Fake.
It was fake.
Not just the blood.
The bond Mira claimed was forged between her and Kael—it had never existed. This wasn’t his blood. Not really. Not in the way that mattered. It was a forgery. A trick. A vial of dark liquid laced with glamour and desperation.
I exhaled, my shoulders sagging with relief so sharp it bordered on pain. But it didn’t last.
Because the moment I let my guard down, the bond flared—hot, insistent, reacting to my emotions like a predator sensing weakness. I could feel Kael. Not in the room. Not in the castle. But in the *magic*. In the space between us. He was close. Watching. Waiting.
And he knew.
I didn’t have time to hide the vial. Didn’t have time to clean the bowl. The door burst open, and he was there—tall, imposing, his coat open, his eyes silver, the mark in his iris glowing faintly.
“You tested it,” he said, his voice low, rough.
Not a question. A statement.
“You knew I would,” I said, not turning. My fingers still rested on the vial, the glass cold against my skin.
He stepped forward, his boots silent on the stone. The bond pulsed between us—tense, aching, alive. He didn’t touch me. Didn’t reach for the vial. Just stood beside me, his presence like a storm held at bay.
“It’s not mine,” he said.
“I know.”
“Then why do you look like you’ve been betrayed?”
I turned then, my silver-lavender eyes locking onto his. “Because you didn’t tell me. You didn’t say, *‘Avalon, Mira’s spreading lies, and I’ve already had her blood tested.’* You let me doubt. You let me *hurt*.”
His jaw clenched. “I didn’t know she’d forged it. Not until now. But I *did* know she was lying. I *did* know there was no bond.”
“And you didn’t think that was worth mentioning?”
“I thought you’d believe me,” he said, his voice breaking. “I thought after the ritual, after the kiss, after you *bit me* and tasted my blood—you’d know the truth when you felt it.”
My breath caught.
Not from anger.
From *shame*.
He was right.
The bond had screamed when I’d touched Mira. Not with jealousy. Not with rage.
With *rejection*.
It had known. From the first moment, it had known she was a lie.
And yet, I’d still doubted. Still fought. Still let her poison seep into my mind.
“I wanted to believe you,” I whispered. “But I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“Of being weak,” I said, my voice raw. “Of being like my mother. Of loving someone who could get me killed.”
He didn’t flinch. Just stepped closer, his hand brushing mine. The bond flared—hot, undeniable. My breath hitched. My skin burned.
“I’m not him,” he said. “And you’re not her.”
“Aren’t I?” I challenged. “I came here to kill you. And now—” I gestured between us, at the bond, at the air that still hummed with magic. “Now I can’t even *hate* you properly.”
“And what if hating me was never the point?” he said, his voice low. “What if the bond wasn’t meant to destroy us? What if it was meant to *save* us?”
“From what?”
“From ourselves,” he said. “From the lies. From the pain. From the war that’s coming.”
I didn’t answer. Just stared at him, my chest rising and falling too fast. The mark on my collarbone pulsed, warm and alive. The vial still sat in my hand, the fake blood dark and still.
And then—
I did something I hadn’t done since I’d walked into Shadowveil Court.
I reached for him.
Not to fight.
Not to challenge.
To *touch*.
My hand cupped his face, my thumb brushing the spot where my fangs had broken his skin. The bond flared—hot, undeniable. His breath hitched. His eyes fluttered shut.
“You didn’t have to let me test it,” I said. “You could’ve taken the vial. Hidden it. Told me it was real just to keep me close.”
“And lose your trust?” he said, opening his eyes. “No. I’d rather die.”
My breath caught.
Not from shock.
From *truth*.
He wasn’t lying. I could feel it in the bond, in the way his pulse jumped when I stepped closer, in the way his hand twitched toward mine. He *wanted* me. Not as a pawn. Not as a weapon. But as *his*.
And gods help me, I wanted to be.
But I couldn’t.
Not yet.
“The Dark Council will try again,” I said, stepping back. “They’ll send another message. Another trap. Another lie.”
“And we’ll break it,” he said. “Together.”
“And if they come for me?”
“Then I’ll kill them,” he said, his voice cold. “Every last one.”
“And if they come for *you*?”
He stilled. “Then you’ll do the same.”
I didn’t flinch. Just held his gaze, my breath unsteady. “You really believe that, don’t you? That I’d fight for you?”
“I know you would,” he said. “Because the bond doesn’t lie. And neither do you.”
The silence stretched between us, thick with something I couldn’t name. Not tension. Not fear. Not even desire.
Trust.
And then—
A knock at the door.
“My lord,” Silas’s voice called. “The Council requests your presence. Immediately.”
Kael didn’t move. Just kept his eyes on me. “What do you want?”
“I want to go with you,” I said. “Not as your prisoner. Not as your mate. But as your *equal*.”
He didn’t argue. Just nodded, his hand brushing mine. “Then we go together.”
We walked through the corridors in silence, our steps in sync, our hands still joined. The bond hummed between us—tense, aching, alive—but neither of us spoke. The weight of what had just happened—the test, the truth, the *choice*—was too heavy for words.
The Obsidian Spire loomed ahead, its jagged peak piercing the moonlit sky. The air grew colder as we approached, the scent of sacred iron sharp in my nose. The guards at the gate bowed as we passed, their eyes flicking to me with suspicion, with awe.
We entered the grand chamber, the floor a mosaic of black and silver, the walls lined with floating candles that cast long, shifting shadows. The Council was already assembled—seven figures in a semicircle, their faces half-hidden in shadow. Lady Isolde sat at the center, her silver hair coiled like a crown, her eyes sharp. To her right, the High Priestess of the Grey Coven, her face veiled, her hands stained with ritual ink. The others—Alpha, Summer Fae, Winter Court, Rogue Witches, Human Accord—remained silent, watching.
And then—
The hybrid seat.
Still empty.
But not for long.
“Prince Kael,” Lady Isolde said, her voice echoing through the chamber. “You bring your fated mate. Explain.”
“We’re here for the message,” I said, stepping forward. “Not for your games.”
The High Priestess turned to me, her voice like smoke. “You swore a blood oath. You are bound to the Council. And now, you will answer for your actions.”
My breath caught. “What actions?”
“The attack on Mira Thorne,” the Alpha rumbled. “The public display of violence. The *biting* of your fated mate.”
“I didn’t attack Mira,” I said, my voice steady. “She provoked me. She lied. She tried to break the bond.”
“And the bite?” Lady Isolde asked. “Was that also provoked?”
I didn’t answer. Just looked at Kael.
He stepped forward, his presence like a storm. “She bit me because I kissed her. Because the bond demanded it. Because *I* demanded it.”
“You *allowed* it?” the Summer Fae purred. “A prince, letting a hybrid draw his blood?”
“I *wanted* it,” Kael said, his voice cold. “And if you have a problem with that, take it up with me. Not her.”
Silence.
And then—
“She’s not a spy,” a voice said.
We turned.
Silas stood in the doorway, his golden wolf eyes sharp, his stance relaxed but ready. He stepped forward, his boots silent on the stone, his gaze sweeping the Council.
“She’s not here to destroy you,” he said. “She’s fighting the same chains we are.”
“And how would you know?” the Winter Court representative asked, her voice like ice.
“Because I’ve *seen* her,” Silas said. “I’ve seen the way she fights. The way she resists. The way she *survives*.” He turned to me, his gaze steady. “She came here to kill you, yes. But not because she’s a threat. Because she’s a *victim*.”
My breath caught.
Not from shock.
From *recognition*.
He saw me. Not the assassin. Not the hybrid. Not the fated mate.
He saw *me*.
“The Blood Oath was used to control her bloodline,” Silas continued. “Her mother was executed for loving a vampire. Not for rebellion. For *love*. And now, she’s trapped in the same web.”
“And you believe her?” Lady Isolde asked.
“I believe the bond,” Silas said. “I’ve watched it. I’ve felt it. It’s not a lie. It’s not manipulation. It’s *real*. And if you try to break it, you’ll start a war.”
The Council was silent.
And then—
“Enough,” Lady Isolde said. “The matter is closed. The truce stands. The bond is recognized. You are both dismissed.”
We turned to leave.
But Silas didn’t move. Just stood there, his gaze locked on mine.
“Wait,” he said.
Kael stopped, but didn’t turn. I did.
“You’re not what I expected,” Silas said, his voice low.
“Neither are you,” I replied.
He almost smiled. “Don’t let them break you.”
“I won’t.”
And then he was gone, striding down the hall, his wolf-shadow flickering behind him.
We walked in silence through the corridors, the bond humming between us like a live wire. I could feel Kael—his presence, his tension, the way his breath hitched when my arm brushed against his. But he didn’t speak. Didn’t touch me. Just walked beside me, his coat flaring behind him, the silver runes glowing faintly in the dim light.
When we reached his chambers, he stopped, turning to face me. The guards opened the door, then stepped back, their eyes down.
“Go inside,” he said. “Rest. I’ll send someone with food.”
I didn’t move. “You’re not coming in?”
“I have business to attend to.”
“More Council meetings? More lies?”
He turned, his eyes silver, the mark in his iris glowing faintly. “Survival, Avalon. Not lies. *Survival.*”
“And what about us?” I whispered. “What about the kiss? The truth? The *choice*?”
His expression didn’t change. But his hand twitched—just slightly—toward mine. “That’s not something we discuss in hallways.”
And then he was gone, striding down the corridor, his boots echoing like a death knell.
I stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind me. The room was cold, the hearth unlit, the balcony doors sealed against the night. I didn’t bother with the bed. Just sank into the chair by the window, the Blood Oath ledger still clutched in my lap. The vellum was warm beneath my fingers, the embossed crescent and thorn pressing into my skin like a brand.
The ritual had changed nothing.
And everything.
I’d come here to kill Kael. To break the Oath. To avenge my mother.
But now—
Now I knew the truth. Vexis had ordered her death. Not for rebellion. For love. And Kael—he hadn’t known. Not for certain. But he’d suspected. And he’d kept it from me. Not to manipulate me. Not to control me.
To protect me.
And Silas—
He’d defended me. Not as a pawn. Not as a tool. But as a *person*.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
No. I couldn’t think like that. I couldn’t *feel* like that. This was a trap. A manipulation. The bond was feeding on my grief, my loneliness, my *need*. It wanted me to believe in us. To trust him. To lower my guard.
And if I did—
I’d be just like my mother.
Executed for loving a monster.
I stood abruptly, pacing the room, my boots clicking against the stone. The mark on my collarbone throbbed, a dull, persistent heat. My palm—where the Blood Oath scar ran—tingled, the red glow now faded, but the memory of it fresh in my mind. Something had awakened in me the night of the storm. Something old. Something powerful.
And I didn’t know what it meant.
I stopped before the mirror, gripping the edge of the vanity. My reflection stared back—silver-lavender eyes wide, dark waves tangled, lips still slightly swollen from the kiss. I looked… haunted. Not by the visions. Not by the blood.
By *him*.
And then—
A knock at the door.
“Lady Avalon,” a voice called. “You have a visitor.”
I didn’t answer. Just straightened my spine, wiped the emotion from my face, and said, “Enter.”
The door opened.
And *she* walked in.
Elara.
My mentor. My guide. The woman who had sent me on this mission. The one who had taught me to fight, to survive, to *hate*.
She looked the same—tall, elegant, her silver hair coiled like a crown, her eyes sharp with calculation. But something was different. Not in her appearance. In her *presence*. The air around her hummed with magic, thick and old, laced with something darker, something *familiar*.
“Avalon,” she said, her voice like smoke. “You look… fragile.”
I didn’t answer. Just stared at her, my fingers twitching toward the dagger.
“The bond suits you,” she continued, stepping inside. “It’s made you stronger. More dangerous.”
“And you’re here to what?” I said. “Inspect your work?”
“I’m here to warn you,” she said. “Vexis is not to be trusted. Neither is Kael.”
“And you are?”
She smiled. Slow. Sharp. “I’m the only one who’s ever told you the truth.”
“You told me to kill him,” I said. “You told me the Oath was a curse. That my mother died for rebellion.”
“And it *is* a curse,” she said. “And she *did* die for rebellion. Just not the one you think.”
My breath caught. “What do you mean?”
She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “The Blood Oath wasn’t just about control. It was about *power*. About breaking the bond between vampire and witch. About severing the line that could destroy them all.”
“And I’m that line?”
“You’re the key,” she said. “The only one who can break it. Not with a dagger. Not with blood. But with *truth*.”
My breath caught.
Not from shock.
From *recognition*.
Kael had said the same thing.
And for the first time, I wondered—
Was I the hunter?
Or was I the prey?
Marked by Moonlight
The first time Avalon sees Kael, he’s standing in moonlit ash, his black coat edged in silver runes, eyes like obsidian shards. She came to burn his name from the blood ledger. Instead, the ancestral altar *roars* to life—chains of silver light wrap their wrists, and a mark blooms on her collarbone: a crescent pierced by a thorn. *Fated.* The word is a death sentence. She is half-witch, half-fae, born of a forbidden union, and now bound to the vampire who executed her mother for rebellion.
Kael doesn’t want her. He wants power, control, the throne. But the bond doesn’t care. It flares when she curses him, when he pins her to the wall, when her breath hitches at the scent of his skin—dark wine and winter pine. Their bodies remember what their minds deny.
By the third night, they’re forced into a political truce: present as mates to prevent a war between the Supernatural Council and the Shadowveil vampires. One lie. One bed. One week of pretending. But when a rival slips into his chambers wearing his shirt and a fresh bite mark, Avalon doesn’t hesitate—she draws blood. And Kael? He doesn’t punish her. He *wants* her to.
They’re playing with fire. The bond thrives on conflict. Every fight ends in a near-kiss. Every near-kiss ends in pain. And the deeper they fall, the more they realize: the Blood Oath wasn’t just her mother’s curse. It’s theirs. To break it, one must die. To survive, they must choose—revenge or love. And the moon is running out of time.