I don’t sleep.
Not after the garden. Not after the ambush. Not after the way his blood spilled across the moon-bloom, black and thick, steaming in the crimson light. Not after the way he fell—so slowly, so deliberately—like he’d been waiting for this moment, like he’d planned it. Like he’d wanted to take the blade for me.
And I carried him.
Not because I had to.
Not because the bond demanded it.
Because I chose to.
His weight was solid against my back, his breath shallow and hot on my neck, his blood soaking through my tunic, his body trembling with venom and exhaustion. I didn’t care. I moved fast. Silent. Determined. Past the guards, past the wards, past the whispers that followed me like shadows. They saw. They knew. The prince had fallen. For me. Because of me.
And I—
I didn’t stop.
I brought him here. To his chambers. To the bed where he claimed me, where I let him mark me, where I finally stopped fighting and started believing. I laid him down gently—too gently—and the moment his head hit the pillow, his eyes fluttered shut, his body going slack.
But not dead.
Not yet.
The venom was still in him. Cursed silver. Vampire poison. Slow. Cruel. Designed to burn through magic, to paralyze the blood, to leave the victim alive—aware—while their body shut down, inch by inch, breath by breath.
And I—
I was the only one who could save him.
I press my fingers to the bite on my shoulder. It still burns. Still throbs. Still thinks. The crescent-shaped mark pulses faintly beneath my skin, a silent echo of the Blood Moon Ritual, of the way he claimed me, of the way I let him. I told myself it was the magic. The bond. The ritual’s compulsion. But the truth is—
I wanted it.
I wanted him.
And now—
Now I might lose him.
The fire has burned low again, casting flickering shadows across the stone floor, the same shadows that have watched me rage, weep, kiss him, and finally—choose him. The satchel of stolen files is still hidden beneath the floorboard near the hearth, untouched, unburned, left for me. Vaelen didn’t take it. Didn’t destroy it. He let me keep it. Let me fight. Let me choose.
And I did.
Not for vengeance.
Not for duty.
For truth.
But truth won’t save him now.
Only blood will.
I rise from the edge of the bed, my bare feet cold against the stone. My hands tremble. My breath comes in short, sharp gasps. I’ve done blood magic before. Countless times. Used my own blood to power spells, to extract secrets, to break wards. But never like this.
Never to save a life.
Never to save his.
I move to the wardrobe, pull out a vial—crimson liquid, thick and dark. Blood of the third lineage, stolen from a vampire informant in Prague. Not strong enough to trigger wards, but perfect for a different kind of magic. I uncork it, let a single drop fall onto my palm. Then I press my hand to Vaelen’s chest, close my eyes, and whisper the incantation:
“Sanguis pura, sanguis vera, vinculum sanguinis, sanate.”
Blood of purity, blood of truth, bond of blood, heal.
The magic flares—a cold rush through my veins, a sharpening of my senses. I can feel the poison in him, a dark thread winding through his blood, burning his magic, his strength, his control. It’s deep. Deep in his core. And it’s spreading.
I press harder.
My blood mixes with the vial’s, seeping into his skin, searching for the venom. But it’s not enough. The foreign blood can’t reach it. Can’t break it. Can’t pull it out.
I need more.
I need him.
I look down at his face—pale, still, beautiful. His fangs are retracted. His eyes are closed. His chest rises and falls too slowly. The bond hums beneath my skin, weak, strained, like it’s holding on by a thread.
And then I remember.
The old texts. The forbidden rituals. The ones Solene taught me—and then made me forget.
“To extract poison from a vampire,” she’d said, voice low, eyes gleaming, “you must become the vessel. You must draw it into your own blood. And to do that—”
She’d paused.
“—you must kiss him. Mouth to mouth. Blood to blood. Until the venom passes into you. And then—”
“Then what?” I’d asked.
“Then you must survive it.”
I press my fingers to my lips.
It’s suicide.
The venom is designed to kill vampires. A human—let alone a half-fae witch—wouldn’t last an hour. My body isn’t built for it. My magic might slow it. Might fight it. But not for long.
And yet—
I don’t hesitate.
I rise onto my knees beside him, my hands trembling as I unbutton his shirt, peel it back, expose the wound in his side. The silver blade had pierced just below the ribs, deep, twisting. The flesh is blackened around the edges, the skin necrotic, the blood thick and dark. I press my palm to it—cold, lifeless.
Then I lean down.
My lips hover over his.
His breath is shallow. Faint. The scent of iron and midnight fills my nose. His fangs are retracted. His lips are pale. And the bond—
It screams.
Not with hunger. Not with need.
With terror.
“You idiot,” I whisper. “You impossible, arrogant, beautiful idiot. Why would you do that?”
He doesn’t answer.
Can’t.
So I do.
I close the distance.
My lips meet his.
Soft. Cold. Lifeless.
I part them, deepen the kiss, and then—
I bite.
Just enough to draw blood. My teeth sink into his lower lip, and the moment I taste him—rich, dark, ancient—the magic flares. The bond erupts. A tidal wave of heat and power crashes through me, throwing me back, but I hold on. I can’t let go.
My tongue sweeps into his mouth, searching, tasting, pulling. I can feel it—the venom—like a black thread, thick and oily, winding from his lungs, his heart, his blood, into mine. It burns as it passes, a searing pain that makes my vision blur, my body convulse.
But I don’t stop.
I can’t.
I deepen the kiss, my hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. My body presses against his, my thigh sliding between his, my core tightening with a need that has nothing to do with survival. The bond flares—white-hot, all-consuming—a surge of magic and emotion that throws us both back onto the bed.
And then—
He moves.
Just slightly. A twitch. A breath. A groan deep in his chest.
His hands rise—slow, weak—and find my waist, gripping me, pulling me closer. His fangs lengthen. His lips part. And he kisses me back.
Not soft. Not gentle.
Fierce.
A collision of lips and teeth and need. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, tasting me, branding me. I moan, my body arching, pressing into him. The venom burns in my veins, a fire spreading through my core, but I don’t pull away.
I can’t.
Because he’s alive.
Because he’s kissing me.
And because the bond—
It sings.
Not with pain.
Not with fear.
With recognition.
With home.
Minutes pass. Hours. I don’t know. The venom is still in me, a dark fire spreading through my blood, but I can feel it weakening. I can feel him strengthening. His hands are stronger now, his grip tighter, his breath deeper. The blackened flesh around the wound begins to heal, the necrosis receding, the blood turning red again.
And then—
He breaks the kiss.
Pulls back.
His eyes fly open—crimson, ancient, alive—and lock onto mine.
“What—”
“Shut up,” I say, my voice raw. “You’re welcome.”
He stares at me. “You took the venom.”
“Obviously,” I snap. “You were dying.”
“And now you are,” he says, his hands flying to my neck, my chest, my stomach. “How much did you take?”
“Enough,” I say, trying to push him off. “It’ll pass.”
“No,” he growls, pinning me to the bed. “It won’t. Not without help.”
“Then help me,” I say, glaring at him. “Or are you too weak?”
He doesn’t answer.
Just leans down.
And kisses me again.
This time—
It’s not about the venom.
It’s not about magic.
It’s not about survival.
It’s about need.
His lips are hot, hungry, desperate. His hands are everywhere—tangling in my hair, gripping my waist, sliding beneath my tunic to grip my thigh. I arch into him, my body screaming for more. My core is slick, aching, needy. The mark on my spine flares, a white-hot brand that pulses in time with the bond.
“You taste like fire,” he growls, breaking the kiss, trailing his lips down my neck. “Like blood. Like mine.”
“I’m not yours,” I gasp, even as my hips lift, grinding against him.
“You are,” he says, biting down—just enough to sting, to make me cry out. “And I’m going to make sure you never forget it.”
His hands slide up my sides, pushing the tunic higher, baring my breasts to the cool air. His mouth follows, hot and wet, sucking one nipple into his mouth, then the other. I cry out, fingers digging into his back. The bond flares, a jolt of pleasure so intense it makes my vision blur.
“Vaelen—”
“Shh,” he murmurs, nipping at my breast. “Let me love you.”
His hand slides down my stomach, over the curve of my hip, then between my thighs. I gasp as his fingers find me—slick, swollen, ready. He strokes me slowly, deliberately, his thumb circling my clit.
“You’re so wet,” he growls. “So fucking needy. You’ve been waiting for this. For me.”
“No—”
“Liar,” he says, sliding a finger inside me. I cry out, hips bucking. “You’ve been aching for me since the first time I touched you. Since the first time I pinned you to the wall.”
Another finger. Deeper. Faster. My breath comes in ragged gasps. My body arches, pressing into his hand. The bond screams, a tidal wave of sensation crashing through me—pleasure, heat, need.
“You want me inside you,” he whispers, his breath hot on my neck. “You want my cock buried deep, my fangs in your throat, my name on your lips as you come.”
“I hate you,” I gasp.
“Liar,” he says, curling his fingers, hitting that spot that makes me see stars. “You love me. You’ve always loved me.”
I cry out, my back bowing. My core clenches around his fingers. I’m so close—
And then—
He stops.
I whimper, my hips lifting, searching for him.
He chuckles, low and dark. “Not yet, little witch. Not until you say it.”
“Say what?”
“That you’re mine.”
My breath hitches.
He slides his fingers out, slowly, torturously, then brings them to his lips, sucking them clean. His eyes never leave mine. “Say it.”
I glare at him. “Never.”
He smirks. “Then I guess you’ll have to wait.”
He leans down, his mouth closing over my clit, sucking hard. I scream, my back arching off the bed. My hands fly to his hair, holding him there. The bond erupts, a surge of magic so intense it makes the runes flare brighter.
He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t slow. His tongue flicks, circles, devours me, driving me higher, closer—
And then—
I come.
Hard.
A cry tears from my throat, raw and desperate. My body convulses, my core clenching, pulsing, burning. The bond screams, a tidal wave of pleasure and magic that throws us both into the pillows.
Vaelen rises above me, his eyes glowing, his fangs bared, his cock straining against his trousers. He’s beautiful. Terrifying. Mine.
“Now,” he says, voice rough. “Say it.”
I shake my head, breathless. “I can’t—”
“You can,” he says, gripping the hem of my tunic. With one sharp tug, he rips it open, baring me to the moonlight. “You’re mine, Cascade. Say it.”
He unbuttons his trousers, frees his cock—thick, veined, impossibly hard. He positions himself between my thighs, the head of his cock brushing my entrance.
“Say it,” he growls. “Or I’ll make you beg.”
My breath hitches.
I want to say no.
I want to push him away.
I want to destroy him.
But I can’t.
Because I don’t want to.
Because I need him.
Because—
“I’m yours,” I whisper.
His eyes flare. A low growl rumbles in his chest. “Louder.”
“I’m yours,” I say, voice stronger. “I’m yours.”
He smiles. Slow. Dangerous. Satisfied.
And then—
He thrusts.
Deep.
Hard.
All the way.
I cry out, my body stretching to take him, my core clenching around his cock. He stills, buried to the hilt, his forehead pressed to mine, his breath coming fast.
“You feel so good,” he rasps. “So fucking perfect. Like you were made for me.”
I don’t answer.
I can’t.
Because he starts to move.
Slow at first. Deep. Rolling his hips, dragging every inch of his cock through my slick heat. Each thrust sends sparks through my nerves, each retreat leaves me aching for more. The bond flares, a surge of magic that ties us together, body and soul.
His hands find mine, pinning them above my head. His fangs graze my neck. His breath is hot on my skin.
“Say my name,” he growls.
“Vaelen,” I gasp.
“Again.”
“Vaelen.”
He thrusts harder, faster, driving me into the mattress. The bed creaks. The runes pulse. The Blood Moon bleeds crimson light across our bodies.
“You’re mine,” he says, each word punctuated by a thrust. “You’ve always been mine. You’ll always be mine.”
I cry out, my body tightening around him. I’m close again—so close—
And then—
He bites me.
Not on the neck.
On the shoulder.
Sharp. Deep. A claiming bite. A mark.
Pleasure and pain explode through me, throwing me over the edge. I come with a scream, my body convulsing, my core pulsing around his cock. He follows, growling my name, his hips jerking as he spills inside me, hot and thick.
The bond sings.
Not with hunger.
Not with need.
With completion.
With unity.
With love.
We collapse together, breathless, tangled, claimed. His weight is solid on top of me, his heart pounding against my chest. His fangs are still in my shoulder, his mouth warm around the wound. He licks it slowly, sealing it, marking me.
And then—
I push him.
Hard.
He rolls off me, blinking in surprise. I scramble back, pressing myself into the headboard, my hands flying to the bite on my shoulder. Blood beads at the edges. The mark—dark, crescent-shaped—throbs with heat.
“What—”
“Don’t,” I snap, my voice shaking. “Don’t you dare look at me like that.”
He sits up slowly, his expression unreadable. “Like what?”
“Like I’m yours,” I say, tears burning my eyes. “Like this means something. Like I wanted this.”
“You did,” he says, voice low. “You said it. You came for me. You let me mark you.”
“It was the venom,” I say, even as my body still hums from his touch. “The magic. The bond. It doesn’t mean anything.”
He stands, pulling his trousers up, his cock still half-hard, glistening with my arousal. “It means everything,” he says, stepping closer. “It means you’re mine. Whether you want to admit it or not.”
“I won’t let you use my body to destroy my mission,” I say, rising on trembling legs. “I came here to expose the truth. To dismantle the treaty. And I will.”
He stares at me. Then, slowly, he nods. “Then do it. But don’t pretend this didn’t happen. Don’t pretend you don’t feel it.”
He turns, walks to the door. The wards hum, then part, allowing him to step outside.
“Vaelen—”
He pauses, glancing back.
“You felt it too,” I whisper.
He smiles. Slow. Dangerous. Knowing.
“Every second,” he says. “And I’ll feel it again. Soon.”
Then he’s gone.
I sink back onto the bed, my fingers pressing to the mark on my shoulder. It burns. It aches. It thinks.
And I—
I don’t know what I am anymore.
But I know one thing.
The bond is no longer just a curse.
It’s a claim.
And I’m running out of lies.