The Iron Crypts loomed beneath Lyon like a wound in the earth—ancient, suffocating, steeped in the scent of rust and old blood. The air was thick, the torchlight flickering against moss-covered stone, the silence broken only by the distant drip of water and the low hum of trapped magic. We’d ridden through the night, Kael in his black coat edged with silver runes, me in dark leather and steel, the dagger hidden at my thigh. Silas led the way, his wolf-shadow flickering behind him, his golden eyes scanning the shadows. The bond pulsed between Kael and me—hot, insistent, alive—but neither of us spoke. The weight of what was coming—the truth, the war, the *choice*—was too heavy for words.
And now, standing at the entrance to the central chamber, I felt it.
The Oath.
Not just the memory of it. Not just the scar on my palm, faded but still warm. But the *presence* of it—deep beneath the earth, buried in blood and bone, a pulse of dark magic older than House Nocturne, older than the Concord itself. It wasn’t just a vow. It wasn’t just a curse.
It was *alive*.
“You feel it,” Kael said, his voice low, rough. He stood beside me, his coat flaring behind him, the silver runes glowing faintly in the dim light. His hand brushed mine, just once, a silent reassurance. Not possession. Not control.
Connection.
“It’s not just the Oath,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “It’s the *source*. The original binding. The one that started it all.”
He didn’t answer. Just nodded, his eyes silver, the mark in his iris glowing faintly. He’d seen it in the visions. Felt it in the bond. Known it in his blood.
And now, so did I.
“We don’t have to do this,” he said. “Not yet. We can pull back. Regroup. Wait for the right moment.”
I turned to him, my silver-lavender eyes locking onto his. “And if there is no right moment? If Vexis activates it? If he uses it to break the Council, to enslave the covens, to turn the Lupine Clans against each other?”
His jaw clenched. “Then we stop him.”
“And if we can’t?”
“Then we die trying.”
I almost smiled. Almost.
Instead, I stepped forward, my boots echoing against the stone. “Then let’s make sure we don’t have to.”
The chamber was vast—a cavern of black marble and silver flame, the walls carved with sigils of power, the floor a mosaic of blood-red stone. At the center stood the Oath Stone—a monolith of obsidian veined with crimson, pulsing like a heart. Chains of enchanted iron hung from the ceiling, their links inscribed with ancient runes. And on the altar before it—
The ledger.
Not the copy I’d hidden beneath my pillow. Not the forgery I’d studied in the quiet of Kael’s chambers. This was the original. The true Blood Oath ledger—bound in human skin, the ink made from crushed bone and dried blood, the pages thick with centuries of names, of vows, of *souls*.
And mine was there.
Not just my name. Not just my mother’s.
Our bloodline.
Every woman who had come before me, every daughter born of forbidden love, every witch who had dared to love a vampire. Their names were etched in red, their fates sealed in ink. And at the end—
Avalon.
My name. My fate. My *curse*.
I stepped forward, my breath unsteady, my hand reaching for the ledger. The bond flared—hot, immediate—and I knew Kael was watching me, his presence like a storm held at bay. I could feel him—the way his breath caught when I stepped closer, 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—
I touched it.
The moment my fingers brushed the cover, the chamber *exploded*.
Not with sound. Not with fire.
With *memory*.
Visions flooded me—my mother, young and fierce, her silver-lavender eyes wide with defiance as she stood before the Council, her voice ringing through the chamber. *“I did not rebel. I loved. And love is not a crime.”* The executioner’s blade. The blood on the stone. The silence that followed.
And then—
Vexis.
Standing over her body, his hand on her throat, his fangs buried in her neck. Not to feed. Not to kill.
To *bind*.
Her blood, drawn in a circle. The Oath Stone pulsing. The runes flaring. A vow spoken in blood, in pain, in *revenge*.
“No witch shall love a vampire and live. No child of their union shall walk free. The bloodline shall be bound, generation to generation, until the last heir breaks the chain… or dies trying.”
I gasped, staggering back, my hand flying to the mark on my collarbone. It burned, not with pain, but with *truth*. The Oath wasn’t just about control.
It was about *erasure*.
“Avalon,” Kael said, catching me before I fell, 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. “Look at me.”
I did.
His eyes were silver, the mark in his iris glowing faintly. But it wasn’t just the bond I saw in them. It was *fear*. Not for himself. For me.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said. “You don’t have to carry this.”
“And if I don’t?” I whispered. “If I walk away? What happens to the others? To the witches still bound? To the fae caught in the crossfire? To the Lupine Clans who’ll be blamed when the war starts?”
He didn’t answer. Just held me, his hand steady on my waist, his breath even. And in that silence, I knew.
He would let me go.
He would let me walk away.
And he would follow me into the fire if I asked.
“I can’t,” I said, my voice breaking. “I can’t let them suffer. Not because of me. Not because of *her*.”
“Then don’t do it for her,” he said, his voice low, rough. “Do it for you. For us. For the future we’ve seen.”
“And if I can’t?”
“Then I’ll break it for you,” he said. “Even if it kills me.”
My breath caught.
Not from shock.
From *truth*.
He wasn’t just saying it. He meant it. And I—
I couldn’t let him.
“No,” I said, stepping back, my hand still on the ledger. “This is my blood. My name. My *curse*. And I’m the only one who can break it.”
He didn’t argue. Just watched me, his expression unreadable. But his chest rose and fell too fast. His jaw was clenched. And for the first time, I saw it—
He was afraid.
Not of the Oath.
Of losing me.
I turned back to the ledger, my fingers tracing the embossed crescent and thorn on the cover. The bond pulsed—hot, insistent—and I knew what I had to do. Not because of the Council. Not because of the truce. Not even because of the war.
Because I was *done* being afraid.
“The ritual,” I said, my voice steady. “It requires a sacrifice. A life for a life.”
Kael stilled. “You don’t have to—”
“I know,” I said, cutting him off. “But I want to.”
“Then let it be mine,” he said, stepping forward, his hand on my arm. “Let me be the one to break it.”
“And if I say no?”
“Then I’ll make you regret it,” he said, his voice guttural, inhuman.
I almost smiled. Almost.
Instead, I reached for him, my hand cupping 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’re not the only one who can play that game,” I said. “And you’re not the only one who can bleed.”
He didn’t flinch. Just leaned into my touch, his hand covering mine. “Then prove it.”
I didn’t answer. Just turned back to the ledger, my fingers tracing the sigils on the cover. The ritual was ancient—older than the Concord, older than the Houses. It required blood, yes. Pain, yes. But more than that—
Truth.
A confession spoken in blood. A vow broken in fire. A life offered not in death, but in *surrender*.
And I—
I was ready.
I drew the dagger from my thigh, the blade forged from sacred iron and fae bone, the edge sharp enough to cut through magic. The bond flared—hot, immediate—and I knew Kael was watching me, his presence like a storm held at bay. I could feel him—the way his breath caught when I raised the blade, 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—
I cut my palm.
Not deep. Not fatal.
But enough.
Blood welled—dark, ancient, laced with power—and I let it drip onto the ledger, onto the page where my name was written, onto the Oath itself. The moment it touched the ink, the chamber *ignited*.
The sigils on the floor flared—silver, then gold, then white—lightning arcing across the stone, 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—
I spoke.
Not in words. Not in vows.
In *truth*.
“I am Avalon,” I said, my voice echoing through the chamber, not my own, but something older, something fiercer. “Daughter of Elara. Heir of the Winter Court. Blood of the Oath. And I reject you.”
The ledger trembled.
“I do not fear you. I do not serve you. I do not *belong* to you.”
The Oath Stone pulsed.
“My mother died for love. Not rebellion. And I will not let her sacrifice be in vain.”
The chains shattered.
“The bloodline is not cursed. It is *free*.”
The runes flared.
“And I break you—”
The chamber *exploded*.
Not with sound. Not with fire.
With *light*.
A blinding, silver-white wave of magic ripped through the chamber, shattering the sigils, cracking the stone, silencing the Oath. I screamed, not from pain, but from *release*, as the mark on my collarbone *burned*, not with pain—but with *fire*. The bond flared—white-hot—and I turned—
Kael was watching me.
His eyes were silver, the mark in his iris glowing faintly. His hand was on my waist—just resting there, his palm flat against the fabric of my dress, his fingers curled slightly, as if he’d reached for me in his sleep and hadn’t realized it.
“You did it,” he said, his voice rough.
“Not yet,” I whispered.
Because the Oath was broken.
But the cost—
The cost was still coming.
I collapsed into his arms, exhausted, overwhelmed, my body trembling. 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 his.
And then—
He kissed me.
Not angry. Not desperate.
But true.
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 on the floor 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.”
Silas cleared his throat.
We broke apart like we’d been struck.
He stood in the doorway, his golden wolf eyes wide, his expression unreadable. “If you’re quite finished,” he said, his voice careful, “Vexis is on the move. And he’s not coming alone.”
Kael didn’t look at him. Just kept his eyes on me, his hand still on my waist, his breath still unsteady. “Then we’ll be ready,” he said. “Together.”
I didn’t answer. Just stepped closer, my hand rising to his face, my thumb brushing the spot where my fangs had broken his skin. The bond flared—hot, undeniable. His breath caught. His eyes fluttered shut.
“You let me bite you,” I said. “You let me taste your blood. You let me—”
“—claim me,” he finished. “Yes.”
“And you didn’t punish me.”
“Because you didn’t betray me,” he said. “You fought me. You challenged me. And in that moment, you were mine.”
I didn’t answer. Just leaned in, my forehead resting against his, my breath mingling with his. The bond hummed between us, not with fire, but with something deeper. Something quiet.
And then—
“Kael,” Silas said. “The scouts just reported. Vexis is moving. He’s heading for the Iron Crypts.”
We broke apart, but I didn’t step away. Just kept my hand on his chest, my fingers pressed against the mark. The bond pulsed—hot, insistent, alive.
“Then we go to him,” I said.
Kael looked at me, his eyes silver, the mark in his iris glowing faintly. “It’s a trap.”
“Then we’ll break it,” I said. “Together.”
He didn’t argue. Just nodded, his hand brushing mine. “Then we leave at dawn.”
I didn’t move. Just stood there, my hand still on his chest, the bond humming between us like a second heartbeat. The mark on my collarbone pulsed, warm and alive.
Not a curse.
A promise.