The air in the ritual chamber was thick with magic—ozone and iron, moon-bloom and something darker, something ancient. The sigils on the floor pulsed like a heartbeat, silver light spiraling outward from the center where Kael and I stood, our hands joined, our breaths syncing. The bond hummed between us, not a scream, not a whisper, but something deeper, something *alive*. It had been days since the blood test, since the vial, since I’d reached for him and he hadn’t flinched. Since I’d begun to believe—just a little—that the bond wasn’t just a curse.
But belief wasn’t trust.
And trust wasn’t surrender.
“Focus,” Kael said, his voice low, rough. His eyes were silver, the mark in his iris glowing faintly. “The ritual won’t hold if your mind is elsewhere.”
“My mind is right here,” I snapped, though it wasn’t. It was in the memory of his blood on my tongue, dark and ancient, laced with something fierce. It was in the way his hand had brushed mine when we walked back from the Council, the way his thumb had traced my knuckles, slow, deliberate. It was in the way he’d looked at me when Silas called me not a spy, but a *victim*—not with pity, but with something closer to *pride*.
“Then stop fighting it,” he said, stepping closer. The bond flared—hot, immediate—and I gasped, my fingers tightening around his. “The magic feeds on resistance. On tension. On *us*.”
“And if I don’t want to feed it?”
“Then you’ll break the ritual,” he said. “And the truce. And possibly the Council.”
“And if I do?”
“Then you’ll survive,” he said. “And so will I.”
His hand tightened on mine. The sigils flared—silver light spiraling up from the stone, wrapping around our wrists like chains. The bond surged, white-hot, and I staggered, my knees buckling. He caught me, his arm around my waist, pulling me against him. His chest was heat, his breath warm on my neck, his scent—dark wine and winter pine—filling my lungs.
“Don’t pull away,” he murmured.
“I wasn’t going to.”
But I was lying.
Because I *wanted* to. Not from fear. Not from hate.
From *need*.
The ritual demanded balance. A merging of power, of blood, of will. The Council had ordered it—a test of the bond’s strength, a demonstration of our unity. But it wasn’t just magic. It was *intimacy*. A dance of dominance and surrender, of push and pull, of *us*.
And I was losing.
“Breathe,” Kael said, his lips brushing my ear. “Let the magic move you.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Too late.”
And he was right.
The sigils flared again—brighter, hotter—and the magic *ripped* through me, a surge so violent it made my vision blur. I could feel him—his thoughts, his hunger, the cold, controlled fury beneath his calm. I could feel the way his breath hitched when I shifted slightly, 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.
And then—
The chamber *exploded*.
Not with sound. Not with fire.
With *light*.
The sigils blazed—silver, then gold, then white—lightning arcing across the floor, up the walls, across the ceiling. The air crackled, the scent of ozone thick, the magic so dense it made my skin burn. I cried out, stumbling, but Kael held me, his arm like iron around my waist, his body shielding mine.
“Hold on,” he growled.
But I couldn’t.
The magic surged—hot, insistent, *hungry*—and I felt it, deep in my blood, in my bones, in the space between us. The bond flared, not with fire, but with something darker, something *primal*. My breath caught. My pulse jumped. My skin burned where he touched me.
And then—
We fell.
Not from the magic.
From *each other*.
One second, I was standing.
The next, I was on the floor, Kael above me, his hands braced on either side of my head, his body caging me in. The bond screamed—fire racing through my veins, magic surging between us, lighting the sigils until the entire chamber blazed with silver light. I could taste him—mint and iron and something wild—and for one reckless second, I forgot why I was here. Forgot the Council. Forgot the truce. Forgot everything but the way his lips felt beneath mine.
But he didn’t kiss me.
He just stared down at me, his eyes silver, the mark in his iris glowing faintly. His chest rose and fell too fast. His fangs were descended, just slightly, his breath warm on my skin. And the bond—
It wasn’t just magic.
It was *us*.
“You’re trembling,” he said, his voice low, rough.
“So are you.”
He didn’t deny it. Just leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “And if I kissed you now?”
My breath hitched.
“Would you bite me again?”
“Maybe,” I whispered.
“And if I touched you?”
My body arched into his, just slightly, just enough.
“Would you stop me?”
“No,” I said. “But I’d make you regret it.”
He smiled. Not warm. Not kind.
A predator’s smile.
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 until the entire chamber 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 the Council. Forgot the truce. 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.”
I didn’t answer. Just lay there, my chest rising and falling too fast, my skin still tingling where he’d touched me. The bond hummed—hot, alive, *whole*—and I knew, with a certainty that stole my breath:
This wasn’t just about survival.
It wasn’t just about power.
It was about *him*.
And I was already lost.
And then—
A voice.
“I can come back later.”
We broke apart like we’d been struck.
Silas stood in the doorway, his golden wolf eyes wide, his expression unreadable. Behind him, two guards, their weapons drawn. The bond flared—hot, insistent, *angry*—but I didn’t move. Just sat up, straightening my tunic, my breath unsteady, my lips swollen from the kiss.
Kael didn’t look at me. Just stood, brushing off his coat, his jaw clenched, his eyes still silver. The mark on his lip was already healing, the split skin sealing with the slow, silent precision of ancient magic.
“Or not,” Silas added, his voice careful.
“What do you want?” Kael demanded, his voice rough.
“The Council,” Silas said. “They want you. Now.”
“Why?”
“Lord Vexis has sent another message.”
The name landed like a death sentence.
I stood, my legs unsteady, my hand flying to the dagger at my thigh. The mark on my collarbone pulsed, faint but alive. The bond hummed—tense, aching, *waiting*.
“You don’t have to go,” Kael said, turning to me. “I can send someone in your place.”
“No,” I said, stepping forward. “I need to hear it.”
He didn’t argue. Just nodded, his hand brushing mine. “Then I’m coming with you.”
We followed Silas through the corridors, the guards trailing behind. The bond hummed between us—tense, aching, alive—but neither of us spoke. The weight of what had just happened—the ritual, the fall, the kiss, the *almost*—was too heavy for words.
And then—
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.
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 Vexis’s 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?