The dream didn’t leave me.
Not when I woke, drenched in sweat, the mark on my chest burning like a brand. Not when I stumbled from the bed, my boots silent on the stone, the cold air of the chambers biting into my skin. Not even when I stood at the balcony doors, staring out at the moonlit spires of Shadowveil Court, the wind tugging at the silver runes on my coat.
I had killed her.
The vision clung to me like a curse—Avalon’s body beneath me, her silver-lavender eyes wide and unseeing, my fangs buried in her throat, her blood on my lips, my face streaked with tears. Not rage. Not triumph. Grief. A grief so deep it felt like the world had ended.
And the worst part?
I believed it.
Not because the bond fed on fear. Not because the ritual had left us vulnerable to visions. But because I knew—deep in the marrow of my bones—that I was capable of it.
Of loving her.
Of destroying her.
Of losing control.
I turned from the window, my breath unsteady, my fangs still descended just slightly, my body coiled like a spring. Avalon was still asleep—curled on her side of the bed, the Blood Oath ledger tucked beneath her pillow, the dagger hidden at her thigh. Her dark waves spilled across the silver-threaded sheets, her lips slightly parted, her chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths.
She looked… peaceful.
And it gutted me.
Because I knew it wouldn’t last.
Vexis was coming.
And when he did, there would be no peace. No safety. No mercy.
I didn’t wake her. Didn’t touch her. Just stood there, watching, the bond pulsing between us—hot, insistent, alive—and for the first time since I’d claimed the throne, I felt something I hadn’t in centuries.
Fear.
Not for myself.
For her.
Because Vexis wouldn’t come for me.
He’d come for her.
He’d seen the bond. Felt its strength. Known its truth. And he’d use it—twist it, break it, turn it into a weapon against me. He’d hurt her. Threaten her. Make me choose.
And I would.
Every damn time.
I turned and strode from the chambers, my coat flaring behind me, the guards falling into step behind me. The Court was still quiet—too quiet—but I could feel it—the tension, the anticipation, the inevitability. They knew. They could feel it—the shift, the crack in the armor, the unraveling of control.
I was not the same man.
And I didn’t want to be.
The war room awaited me—a vast chamber of black marble and silver flame, the walls lined with maps of the Veil, the floor carved with sigils of power. Silas was already there, standing by the obsidian table, his golden wolf eyes sharp, his stance relaxed but ready.
“My lord,” he said, bowing slightly. “You’re up early.”
“I didn’t sleep.”
He didn’t ask why. Just stepped aside, revealing the scroll on the table—sealed with black wax, the emblem of House Ashen pressed into the surface. Vexis’s mark. A serpent coiled around a broken crown.
“It arrived an hour ago,” Silas said. “By raven. No escort. No warning.”
I didn’t touch it. Just stared at it, the bond flaring—hot, immediate—reacting to the magic, to the threat, to the truth it carried. I could feel Avalon—her presence, her warmth, the way her breath hitched when I stepped closer. I could feel the way her body remembered mine, even when her mind fought it.
And I knew—
Whatever was in that scroll, it was meant to break us.
“Open it,” I said.
Silas hesitated. “It could be cursed.”
“Then I’ll burn with it.”
He didn’t argue. Just broke the seal with a silver blade, unrolling the vellum with careful, deliberate movements. The air thickened, the scent of sacred iron sharp in my nose, the magic so dense it made my skin burn.
And then—
He read it.
His voice was low, steady, but I could hear the tension beneath it—the way his breath hitched, the way his fingers tightened on the parchment.
“Kael Nocturne,” the message began, “you think you’ve won. You think the bond makes you strong. You think the hybrid is yours.”
“But you’re wrong.”
“She came to kill you. And she will. Not because of the Oath. Not because of the Council.”
“But because I told her the truth.”
My breath caught.
Not from shock.
From recognition.
He knew.
He knew about the blood test. About the lie. About the truth I’d kept from Avalon—the truth about her mother, about the Oath, about us.
And he was using it.
“You kept it from her,” the message continued. “You let her doubt. You let her hurt. You let her believe you were the monster.”
“And now she knows.”
“But she doesn’t know everything.”
“She doesn’t know that I was the one who ordered her mother’s execution.”
“Not for rebellion.”
“For loving me.”
My hands clenched into fists.
Not from anger.
From truth.
He was right.
I had let her doubt. I had let her hurt. I had let her believe I was the monster.
But not to manipulate her.
Not to control her.
To protect her.
And now Vexis was using that against me.
“The Blood Oath was never about control,” the message went on. “It was about revenge. About breaking the line that could destroy us all.”
“And she is that line.”
“The key.”
“The only one who can break the Oath.”
“And when she does—”
“She’ll destroy you.”
“So I’ll make you a deal, nephew.”
“Break the bond.”
“Send her away.”
“And I’ll let her live.”
“Refuse—”
“And I’ll make sure she dies like her mother.”
The scroll burned to ash.
Silence.
And then—
“You knew,” Silas said, his voice low. “About Vexis. About the Oath. About her mother.”
I didn’t answer. Just stared at the ashes, my chest rising and falling too fast, my fangs aching, my body coiled like a spring.
“And you didn’t tell her,” Silas continued. “You let her believe you were the one who ordered the execution. You let her hate you.”
“Because I wanted to protect her,” I said, my voice rough. “Because if she’d known too soon—if Vexis had confirmed it—she’d have gone after him. And he would have killed her.”
“And now?”
“Now he’s using it,” I said. “He’s using her grief. Her rage. Her love.”
“And what will you do?”
I didn’t answer. Just turned and strode from the war room, my coat flaring behind me, the guards falling into step behind me. The bond pulsed—hot, insistent, alive—and I knew she was awake. Knew she was waiting. Knew she was choosing.
I reached my chambers and stopped, my hand on the door. The bond flared—hot, immediate—and I knew she was on the other side. Knew she was close. Knew she was mine.
I opened the door.
She was by the window, her back to me, her dark waves spilling over one shoulder. The Blood Oath ledger lay on the vanity, untouched, unopened. The dagger was still at her thigh. The vial of balm sat beside it, its contents still.
She didn’t turn. Just stood there, rigid, her breath unsteady.
“You came back,” she said, her voice low.
“I said I would.”
She turned then, her silver-lavender eyes sharp, her jaw clenched. “Why? Because the bond demands it? Because the Council expects it? Or because you actually want to be here?”
I didn’t flinch. Just stepped inside, closing the door behind me. “All of it. None of it. I don’t know.”
She almost smiled. Almost.
Instead, she crossed the room, stepping out of her boots, unbuttoning her tunic. The dagger slid into the hidden sheath beneath the folds of her gown. The ledger lay on the vanity, untouched, unopened. The vial of balm sat beside it, its contents still.
“Then figure it out,” she said, climbing onto the bed, keeping to the far edge, as far from me as possible.
I didn’t argue. Just stripped off my coat, folding it over the chair with precise, deliberate movements. Then my boots. Then my gloves. Then my shirt.
And there it was.
The mark.
On my chest. A crescent pierced by a thorn. The same as hers. But darker. Deeper. Older.
She saw me looking.
“It appeared the night of the ritual,” I said, my voice low. “When you tasted my blood. When the visions came.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I didn’t know how,” I said, climbing onto the bed, lying on my back on the opposite edge, my hands clasped over my 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.
Avalon’s hand on my waist in the dark. Her 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 Avalon’s body, a dagger in my hand, her blood on my lips, my face streaked with tears.
I had killed her.
I woke gasping, my body drenched in sweat, my heart pounding. The mark on my chest burned, not with pain—but with fire. The bond flared, white-hot, and I turned—
Avalon was watching me.
Her eyes were silver-lavender, wide, unguarded. Her hand was on my chest—just resting there, her palm flat against the mark, her fingers curled slightly, as if she’d reached for me in her sleep and hadn’t realized it.
“You had the vision again,” she said, her voice rough.
“The child,” I whispered. “The one with silver-lavender eyes. That was—”
“Ours,” she said. “In one possible future.”
“And the other? The one where I kill you?”
“Also possible,” she said. “But not inevitable.”
“Then how do we stop it?”
“By choosing,” she said. “By fighting. By trusting.”
I didn’t answer. Just lay there, my body rigid, my breath shallow. Her thumb moved—just slightly—brushing against the edge of the mark, 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 her—her thoughts, her hunger, the cold, controlled fury beneath her calm. I could feel the way her breath caught, the way her fangs dropped just slightly, the way her grip tightened for a fraction of a second before she forced it back under control.
She felt it too.
Our eyes locked. The connection deepened, a current of magic and something darker, something primal, surging between us.
“You feel it,” I murmured. “Don’t lie.”
She tried to pull away. Her muscles screamed in protest, not from resistance, but from need. Her body didn’t want to leave. It wanted to step closer. To press against me. To feel my hands on her, my mouth on her neck, my 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 chest. It burned, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. My breath came in ragged bursts, my skin still tingling where she’d touched me.
Avalon didn’t move. Just watched me, her expression unreadable. But her chest rose and fell too fast. Her jaw was clenched. And for the first time, I saw it—
She was fighting it too.
“This bond,” I panted, “is a curse. It means nothing.”
“It means everything,” she 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,” she said, stepping closer, “you’re my prisoner. But if you want to live, you’ll pretend to be my salvation.”
She reached for me again.
This time, I didn’t flinch. I stood my ground, my fingers twitching toward the dagger. But she didn’t touch me. She stopped inches away, her breath warm against my skin. Her 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,” she said. “I’ll let the bond do it for me.”
She turned and walked away, her boots echoing down the hall.
And for the first time, I understood.
This wasn’t just about revenge.
This was about survival.
I stood there for a long moment, my hand still pressed to my chest, the echo of her touch burning through the fabric. The bond pulsed—dull, distant, like a thread stretched too thin. But it was still there. Still alive.
And so was she.
That was enough.
I turned and strode down the corridor, my boots echoing like a death knell. The guards fell into step behind me, silent, obedient. The Court was quiet—too quiet. The servants moved with their heads down, the vampires watched with their golden or silver eyes, the werewolves tensed at the scent of tension in the air.
They knew.
They could feel it—the shift, the crack in the armor, the unraveling of control.
I was not the same man who had stood in the ancestral temple and declared, “Then you’ll die with me.”
I was something else now.
Something weaker.
Something stronger.
I reached the war room—a vast chamber of black marble and silver flame, the walls lined with maps of the Veil, the floor carved with sigils of power. Silas was already there, standing by the obsidian table, his golden wolf eyes sharp, his stance relaxed but ready.
“My lord,” he said, bowing slightly. “You wanted to see me.”
“I did.” I crossed the room, my coat flaring behind me, the silver runes glowing faintly in the dim light. “What do you know about Vexis’s message?”
“It was delivered by raven,” Silas said. “Sealed with black wax. The Council intercepted it before it reached you.”
“And the contents?”
He hesitated. “It’s a warning. He knows about the bond. He knows about Avalon’s bloodline. He’s calling her out.”
“By name?”
“Yes.” Silas met my gaze. “He says she’s not just a hybrid. He says she’s the key. The only one who can break the Blood Oath.”
My breath caught.
Not from shock.
From recognition.
Elara had said the same thing.
And now Vexis.
And now the Council.
And now me.
“He’s lying,” I said, though I didn’t believe it.
“Or he’s telling the truth,” Silas said. “And he wants her to believe it. To use it. To break you.”
I didn’t answer. Just walked to the window, staring out at the moonlit spires of Shadowveil Court. The air was cold, the scent of winter pine sharp in my nose. The bond pulsed—dull, distant, like a thread stretched too thin.
“She’s not ready,” I said.
“She’s stronger than you think,” Silas said. “She’s been fighting her whole life. She’s not afraid of the truth.”
“She’s afraid of me,” I said, turning. “She’s afraid of what she feels. Of what the bond means. Of what happens if she lets herself want me.”
Silas didn’t flinch. Just held my gaze, his expression steady. “And what about you? Are you afraid of what happens if she does?”
I didn’t answer.
Because I was.
Not of her power. Not of her bloodline. Not of the Oath.
Of love.
Of losing control. Of being vulnerable. Of being used.
Of being weak.
“She’s not like her,” Silas said, stepping closer. “She’s not like the witch who betrayed you.”
“I know,” I said, my voice rough. “But that doesn’t make it easier.”
He didn’t argue. Just nodded, his golden eyes sharp. “Then stop treating her like a pawn. Stop hiding behind duty. Stop pretending you don’t feel it.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then she’ll walk away,” he said. “And you’ll lose her. And the bond. And the truce. And the war that’s coming.”
I didn’t answer. Just stared at him, my chest rising and falling too fast.
And then—
“Leave me,” I said. “I need to think.”
He bowed and left, the door clicking shut behind him.
I stood there for a long moment, my hands braced on the obsidian table, my breath unsteady. The bond pulsed—dull, distant, like a thread stretched too thin. But it was still there. Still alive.
And so was she.
That was enough.
I straightened, my coat flaring behind me, the silver runes glowing faintly in the dim light. I turned and strode back through the corridors, my boots echoing against the stone. The guards followed, silent, obedient. The Court was still quiet—too quiet. But I could feel it—the tension, the anticipation, the inevitability.
They knew.
They could feel it—the shift, the crack in the armor, the unraveling of control.
I was not the same man.
And I didn’t want to be.
I reached my chambers and stopped, my hand on the door. The bond pulsed—hot, immediate—and I knew she was awake. Knew she was waiting. Knew she was choosing.
I opened the door.
She was by the window, her back to me, her dark waves spilling over one shoulder. The Blood Oath ledger lay on the vanity, untouched, unopened. The dagger was still at her thigh. The vial of balm sat beside it, its contents still.
She didn’t turn. Just stood there, rigid, her breath unsteady.
“You came back,” she said, her voice low.
“I said I would.”
She turned then, her silver-lavender eyes sharp, her jaw clenched. “Why? Because the bond demands it? Because the Council expects it? Or because you actually want to be here?”
I didn’t flinch. Just stepped inside, closing the door behind me. “All of it. None of it. I don’t know.”
She almost smiled. Almost.
Instead, she crossed the room, stepping out of her boots, unbuttoning her tunic. The dagger slid into the hidden sheath beneath the folds of her gown. The ledger lay on the vanity, untouched, unopened. The vial of balm sat beside it, its contents still.
“Then figure it out,” she said, climbing onto the bed, keeping to the far edge, as far from me as possible.
I didn’t argue. Just stripped off my coat, folding it over the chair with precise, deliberate movements. Then my boots. Then my gloves. Then my shirt.
And there it was.
The mark.
On my chest. A crescent pierced by a thorn. The same as hers. But darker. Deeper. Older.
She saw me looking.
“It appeared the night of the ritual,” I said, my voice low. “When you tasted my blood. When the visions came.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I didn’t know how,” I said, climbing onto the bed, lying on my back on the opposite edge, my hands clasped over my 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.
Avalon’s hand on my waist in the dark. Her 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 Avalon’s body, a dagger in my hand, her blood on my lips, my face streaked with tears.
I had killed her.
I woke gasping, my body drenched in sweat, my heart pounding. The mark on my chest burned, not with pain—but with fire. The bond flared, white-hot, and I turned—
Avalon was watching me.
Her eyes were silver-lavender, wide, unguarded. Her hand was on my chest—just resting there, her palm flat against the mark, her fingers curled slightly, as if she’d reached for me in her sleep and hadn’t realized it.
“You had the vision again,” she said, her voice rough.
“The child,” I whispered. “The one with silver-lavender eyes. That was—”
“Ours,” she said. “In one possible future.”
“And the other? The one where I kill you?”
“Also possible,” she said. “But not inevitable.”
“Then how do we stop it?”
“By choosing,” she said. “By fighting. By trusting.”
I didn’t answer. Just lay there, my body rigid, my breath shallow. Her thumb moved—just slightly—brushing against the edge of the mark, 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 her—her thoughts, her hunger, the cold, controlled fury beneath her calm. I could feel the way her breath caught, the way her fangs dropped just slightly, the way her grip tightened for a fraction of a second before she forced it back under control.
She felt it too.
Our eyes locked. The connection deepened, a current of magic and something darker, something primal, surging between us.
“You feel it,” I murmured. “Don’t lie.”
She tried to pull away. Her muscles screamed in protest, not from resistance, but from need. Her body didn’t want to leave. It wanted to step closer. To press against me. To feel my hands on her, my mouth on her neck, my 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 chest. It burned, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. My breath came in ragged bursts, my skin still tingling where she’d touched me.
Avalon didn’t move. Just watched me, her expression unreadable. But her chest rose and falls too fast. Her jaw was clenched. And for the first time, I saw it—
She was fighting it too.
“This bond,” I panted, “is a curse. It means nothing.”
“It means everything,” she 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,” she said, stepping closer, “you’re my prisoner. But if you want to live, you’ll pretend to be my salvation.”
She reached for me again.
This time, I didn’t flinch. I stood my ground, my fingers twitching toward the dagger. But she didn’t touch me. She stopped inches away, her breath warm against my skin. Her 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,” she said. “I’ll let the bond do it for me.”
She turned and walked away, her boots echoing down the hall.
And for the first time, I understood.
This wasn’t just about revenge.
This was about survival.