I don’t sleep.
Not when she’s in danger.
Not when the air in the castle tastes like blood and lies, thick with the stench of fae glamour and vampire deceit. I stand at the edge of the Midnight Garden—black stone, silver veins, moon-bloom blooming in twisted spirals beneath the Blood Moon’s crimson glow. The scent of her is everywhere—moon-bloom and iron and something wild—faint but unmistakable, drifting on the breeze. She’s close. Too close to the east gate. Too close to the wards. Too close to leaving.
And I can’t let her go.
Not now.
Not after everything.
The Council’s decree still holds: no uninvited shifters in the vampire sanctum. One step over the boundary, and the wards ignite. One growl, one shift, and it’s an act of aggression. And with the bond between Cascade and me now marked, with the Blood Moon still fresh in the sky, the entire supernatural world is holding its breath.
But I don’t care.
I’ve never cared about politics. Never bowed to treaties. Never believed in fate.
But I believe in her.
And right now, she’s walking into a trap.
I press my palm to the garden wall, feeling the hum of ancient magic beneath my skin. The Midnight Court is a fortress—towers that pierce the sky like fangs, shadows that twist like grasping hands, wards that burn blue and searing. It’s beautiful. It’s deadly. And it’s hers.
Because she’s made it hers.
Not with force. Not with magic. But with defiance. With fire. With the way she looks at me—really looks—when she thinks I’m not watching. The way her breath hitches when I’m near. The way her body betrays her, slick and trembling, even when she’s trying to hate me.
And I—
I’ve spent ten years waiting for her.
Ten years letting her hate me to keep her alive.
Ten years loving her in silence.
And now—
Now she’s finally seeing me.
Not the monster. Not the prince. Not the enemy.
The man.
A rustle in the trees.
I turn, fangs already pressing against my gums, muscles coiled. But it’s not a threat.
It’s Dain.
My second. My shadow. The only one who’s ever dared to speak truth to power. He steps into the moonlight, his cloak blending with the shadows. “She’s in the garden.”
My blood runs cold. “Alone?”
“With Kaelen.”
I growl, low and dangerous. “I told you—no shifters.”
“You also told me to protect her,” Dain says, voice calm. “And he did. He warned her. About Solene. About Valenir. About the war.”
“And you let him?”
“I didn’t stop him,” Dain says. “But I didn’t help him either. He’s gone now. Back to the forest. But she’s still here. And she’s not safe.”
I don’t answer. Just move.
Fast.
Inhumanly fast.
The garden blurs around me—stone paths, silver fountains, moon-bloom spiraling like smoke. I don’t care about stealth. Don’t care about silence. I care about her.
And then—
I see her.
Cascade.
She’s standing beneath the arched trellis, moon-bloom tangled in her hair, her skin glowing in the crimson light. She’s not wearing the robe. Just black trousers, a fitted tunic, her silver dagger tucked into her boot. Her hair is loose. Her eyes are wide. Her breath is shallow.
And she’s not alone.
Three figures step from the shadows—cloaked, masked, scentless. Vampire. But not mine. Not Council. Not any coven I recognize. Their blades are drawn. Their eyes glow faintly red. And their focus—
It’s on her.
“Cascade!” I shout.
She turns. Sees me. Her eyes widen. “Vaelen—”
One of them moves.
Faster than thought.
A blade flashes—silver, cursed, dripping with venom.
And it’s aimed at her heart.
I don’t think.
I don’t hesitate.
I move.
One second, I’m twenty feet away.
The next, I’m in front of her.
The blade sinks into my side—just below the ribs, deep, twisting. The venom burns like fire, spreading through my veins, searing my magic, my strength, my control. I growl, grabbing the assassin’s wrist, crushing it until bone cracks. He screams. I throw him back, his body slamming into the trellis, moon-bloom shattering like glass.
But there are two more.
They attack in tandem—one high, one low. I dodge the first strike, but the second grazes my thigh, the silver singing against my skin. I roar, fangs bared, and lunge.
My hand closes around the second assassin’s throat. I squeeze. Hard. Until his eyes bulge, until his breath stops, until his body goes limp. I drop him.
And then—
The third.
He’s faster. Smarter. He doesn’t go for me.
He goes for her.
“Cascade—!”
She’s already moving—dagger drawn, magic flaring. Blood magic. A drop from her fingertip, smeared across the blade. She slashes—fast, precise—and the assassin staggers back, his arm smoking, the cursed silver sizzling where her blood touched it.
But he’s not down.
He lunges again.
I move.
Not fast enough.
The blade arcs toward her neck—
And I throw myself in front of it.
It sinks into my back—between the shoulder blades, deep, twisting. The venom floods my system, a tidal wave of fire and ice, burning through my nerves, my magic, my soul. I stagger, my vision blurring, my knees buckling.
But I don’t fall.
I can’t.
Because she’s behind me.
And I’m all that’s between her and death.
“Vaelen!”
Her voice. Raw. Desperate. Shattered.
I turn. Slowly. Painfully. Blood drips from my side, my back, pooling at my feet. My fangs are bared. My eyes glow crimson. My hands tremble.
But I’m still standing.
And the assassin—
He’s frozen.
Because she’s behind me, her hand on my arm, her magic flaring, her breath coming fast. And the bond—
It screams.
Not with pain.
Not with fear.
With fury.
She raises her dagger—blood dripping, magic swirling—and whispers the words:
“Sanguis vinculum, sanguis ultio.”
Blood of the bond, blood of vengeance.
The magic erupts—a wave of crimson light, thick with iron and fire. It throws the assassin back, his body slamming into the fountain, water exploding in a shower of silver droplets. He doesn’t get up.
And then—
Silence.
Just the drip of blood. The rustle of moon-bloom. The low hum of the wards.
And her.
Her hands are on me—pressing to the wound in my side, then to my back. Her breath is ragged. Her eyes are wide. Her lips are parted.
“You idiot,” she whispers. “You idiot. Why would you do that?”
I try to speak. Can’t.
The venom is spreading. My knees buckle. I fall to one knee, then the other. My vision blurs. My fangs retract. My hands clench the stone.
And then—
She’s there.
Her arms around me. Pulling me up. Supporting my weight. Her body warm against my back, her breath hot on my neck.
“Don’t you dare die on me,” she says, voice breaking. “Not after everything. Not after the scars. Not after the truth. Not after—”
She stops.
Because I’m laughing.
Low. Broken. Real.
“You’re… still… trying to kill me,” I rasp. “Even now.”
“I’m not trying to kill you,” she snaps. “I’m trying to save you, you impossible bastard.”
“Then… carry me,” I mutter. “Back to… the chambers.”
“You weigh a ton,” she says, but she doesn’t let go. “And you’re bleeding everywhere.”
“Then… complain later,” I say, my voice fading. “After I’m… not dead.”
She growls—low, feral, beautiful—and shifts, hoisting me up. I’m taller. Heavier. But she’s strong. Fierce. Mine.
And she carries me.
Not like a prisoner.
Not like a burden.
Like something precious.
Like something hers.
---
The world comes back in fragments.
Firelight.
Stone walls.
The scent of moon-bloom and iron and something sweet, something her.
And her.
She’s beside me—kneeling on the floor, her hands pressing to the wound in my side, her magic flaring, her breath coming fast. Blood drips from her fingertip, smeared across the blade of her dagger. She whispers the words—“Sanguis pura, sanguis vera”—and the magic flows into me, slow, steady, agonizing.
The venom burns. My body rebels. My fangs press against my gums. My muscles spasm.
But I don’t pull away.
Because she’s here.
Because her hands are on me.
Because the bond—
It sings.
Not with pain.
Not with fear.
With need.
“You’re not supposed to do this,” I rasp. “Blood magic… it takes from you.”
“Shut up,” she says, not looking at me. “You took a poisoned blade for me. The least I can do is keep you from dying.”
“And if it kills you?” I ask.
“Then it kills me,” she says, voice flat. “But I’d rather die saving you than live knowing I let you die.”
My breath hitches.
She doesn’t see it. Doesn’t feel it. But I do.
Because those words—
They’re the truth.
And the truth is more dangerous than any blade.
Minutes pass. Hours. I don’t know. The venom retreats, slow, grudging, but it’s leaving. My strength returns. My magic stabilizes. My fangs retract.
And then—
She stops.
Her hand falls away. Her breath comes fast. Her face is pale. Her lips are colorless.
“You’re drained,” I say, sitting up slowly. “You gave too much.”
“I gave enough,” she says, wiping her hand on her trousers. “You’re alive. That’s what matters.”
“And you?” I ask. “Are you alive?”
She glares at me. “Don’t patronize me.”
“I’m not,” I say, reaching for her. “I’m asking.”
She doesn’t pull away.
My hand frames her face. My thumb brushes her cheek. Her skin is cold. Her breath hitches.
“You could’ve died,” I say, voice rough. “Because of me.”
“And you did,” she says. “Because of me. So I’d say we’re even.”
“We’re not,” I say. “Because I’d do it again. A hundred times. A thousand. I’d take every blade meant for you. I’d burn in every fire. I’d bleed in every war. Just to keep you alive.”
She stares at me. “Why?”
“Because I love you,” I say. “Not because of the bond. Not because of the Council. Not because of fate. Because of you. The woman who fights like a storm. Who sees through lies. Who carries me when I fall.”
Her breath hitches.
“And if you still want to destroy me,” I say, voice raw, “then do it. But do it with your eyes open. Not blinded by vengeance. Not driven by lies. By truth.”
She doesn’t answer.
Just rises onto her knees.
And kisses me.
Not fierce. Not angry.
Soft.
Slow.
Real.
Her lips part beneath mine. Her hands find my waist, pulling me closer. The bond erupts—white-hot, all-consuming, a tidal wave of magic and emotion that throws us both back onto the floor.
But this time—
I don’t fight it.
I let it in.
I let her in.
And when we break apart, breathless, trembling, her forehead resting against mine, she whispers the words I never thought I’d hear:
“I believe you.”
I close my eyes, as if the words are a physical pain.
Then I open them.
And for the first time—
I see it.
Not just fire.
Not just defiance.
Hope.
“Then stay with me,” I say. “Not because of the Council. Not because of the bond. But because you want to.”
She looks at me—really looks.
At the man who kept his promise.
At the man who let her hate him to keep her alive.
At the man who’s loved her for centuries.
And she knows—
This isn’t vengeance.
This isn’t duty.
This is truth.
“I want to,” she whispers.
And the bond—
It sings.
---
Later, we sit by the hearth in my chambers, the fire burning low, the satchel still hidden beneath the floorboard. She leans against me, her head on my shoulder, my arm around her. Her skin is warm. Her scent—moon-bloom and iron and something wild—wraps around me, pulls me under.
“You should rest,” I murmur, my fingers tracing the mark on her spine. “Tomorrow, we confront Valenir. We make him remember. We make him see the truth.”
“And if he doesn’t?” she asks.
“Then we fight,” I say. “But not to destroy him. To save him.”
She turns her head, looking up at me. “You’re impossible.”
I smirk. Slow. Dangerous. “And you’re the only woman who’s ever made me feel alive.”
She closes her eyes. Breathes.
And for the first time in ten years—
I let myself rest.
Not because I’m weak.
Not because I’m trapped.
But because I choose to.
Because I want to.
Because—
Despite everything—
Despite the lies, the betrayal, the blood—
I believe her.
And the bond—
It sings.