The battle on the northern ridge didn’t end with a roar—it ended with a silence so deep it felt like the world had paused to breathe. Vexis’s spell still crackled in the air, black fire licking at the edges of the shattered runes, but his form was gone—retreating into the Veil with a snarl, his Dark Council scattering like ash on the wind. The ground beneath us was scorched and split, the ice shattered, the bone bowl reduced to dust. Around us, the guards stood panting, bloodied but alive. Silas had shifted back to his human form, his coat torn, his golden eyes scanning the ridge line, searching for threats that no longer existed.
And Kael—
Kael was in my arms.
His body was warm, too warm, his skin burning beneath my hands, the wound in his chest a ragged tear of blackened flesh. He’d taken the spell meant for me—full force, no hesitation—and now he lay against me, his breath shallow, his eyes half-lidded, his fangs retracted. The mark on his chest—the thorned crescent—was glowing, not with its usual silver light, but with a deep, pulsing gold, as if the bond itself was trying to heal him.
“You idiot,” I whispered, my voice raw. “You absolute *idiot*.”
He didn’t answer. Just lifted a trembling hand, brushing his fingers against my cheek, smearing blood across my skin. His touch was weak, but his eyes—silver, burning—held mine with a clarity that cut through the chaos.
“Worth it,” he murmured.
“Don’t you *dare* die on me,” I said, my voice breaking. “Not after everything. Not after last night. Not after—”
“—after you claimed me?” he finished, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. “Too late. I’m already yours. Can’t escape now.”
I almost laughed. Almost.
Instead, I pressed my palm harder against his wound, feeling the unnatural heat of his body, the way his blood pulsed beneath my fingers. The bond flared—hot, insistent—and I knew what I had to do.
“Silas,” I said, not looking away from Kael. “Get the balm. Now.”
He didn’t argue. Just moved, retrieving the vial from my belt and handing it to me. The balm was charged with healing sigils—witch magic, blood-etched, meant to mend flesh and bone. But this wasn’t just flesh. This was dark magic. Cursed fire. And I—
I wasn’t sure it would be enough.
But I had to try.
I uncorked the vial, the scent of crushed moon-bloom and iron rising in the cold air, and poured a drop onto my fingers. The moment it touched his skin, the wound hissed, steam rising from the blackened edges. Kael groaned, his body tensing, his fangs snapping down—but he didn’t pull away. Just gripped my wrist, holding me in place, his eyes locked on mine.
“Do it,” he said, his voice guttural. “Don’t stop.”
I didn’t.
I smeared the balm across the wound, my fingers tracing the sigils into his skin, whispering the incantation under my breath—“By blood and bone, by fire and stone, let the wound close, let the flesh be known.” The sigils flared—silver, then gold—lightning arcing across his chest, sealing the tear, knitting the flesh back together. The black fire sizzled, dissolving into smoke, the heat receding, the mark on his chest pulsing with light.
And then—
It was over.
The wound was closed. Not perfect. A scar remained—a jagged line of silver across his chest, the shape of a thorned crescent burned into his skin. But he was alive. Breathing. Here.
I collapsed against him, my forehead resting on his shoulder, my breath coming in ragged bursts. His arms came around me, weak but steady, his fingers tangling in my hair.
“Told you,” he murmured. “Worth it.”
I didn’t answer. Just held him, the bond humming between us, warm and alive. Around us, the guards were tending to the wounded, Silas was securing the perimeter, the ridge slowly returning to stillness. But I didn’t care. Not about the battle. Not about Vexis. Not about the war that was still coming.
He was alive.
And that was enough.
Eventually, I pulled back, wiping the blood from my hands with the edge of my tunic. Kael sat up slowly, testing his strength, his coat flaring behind him as he stood. The scar on his chest gleamed in the dim light, a permanent mark, a reminder of what he’d done.
“You’re lucky I’m a damn good witch,” I said, standing with him.
“And I’m lucky you’re mine,” he said, stepping into me, his hand rising to my face, his thumb brushing the edge of my jaw. The bond flared—hot, immediate—and I didn’t pull away. Just leaned into his touch, my breath hitching.
“You’re not getting out of this that easily,” I said. “You still owe me a night in your chambers. And a proper apology for nearly getting yourself killed.”
“Oh, I’ll make it up to you,” he said, his voice low, rough. “Every damn day.”
I almost smiled. Almost.
Instead, I turned, my boots cracking against the ice as I walked to the center of the circle. The bone bowl was gone. The runes were shattered. But the dagger—the relic—was still there, lying in the snow where it had fallen during the fight. I knelt, my fingers brushing the hilt, and the moment I touched it, the sigils flared—silver, then gold, then white—lightning arcing up my arm, filling my veins with power.
And then—
It *spoke*.
“Blood of the Oath,” the voice whispered, not in my ears, but in my blood. “Heir of the Winter Court. You have broken the chain. Now break the master.”
I gasped, staggering back, the dagger clutched to my chest. The bond pulsed—hot, immediate—and I knew.
This wasn’t just a weapon.
This was a *prophecy*.
Kael stepped beside me, his hand brushing mine. “What did it say?”
“It said we’re not done,” I whispered. “Vexis isn’t the end. He’s just the beginning.”
He didn’t flinch. Just covered my hand with his, pressing it harder against the hilt, letting me feel the truth I already knew.
He was not unfeeling.
He was not unbreakable.
He was mine.
And I was his.
“Then we’ll break him too,” he said. “Together.”
We left the northern ridge as the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, the sky painted in streaks of violet and gold. The journey back to Shadowveil Court would take two days—through the Veil, across the frozen moors, past the ruins of the old coven strongholds. We traveled in silence, Kael at my side, his coat flaring behind him, the silver runes glowing faintly in the morning light. The bond hummed between us—tense, aching, alive—but neither of us spoke. The weight of what had happened—the battle, the blood, the relic—was too heavy for words.
By midday, the land began to change.
The earth softened beneath our boots, the ice giving way to frost-covered grass, the skeletal trees thinning into groves of silver-barked willow. The air grew warmer, the scent of pine returning, the Veil thinning around us like mist under sunlight. And then—
We saw it.
Shadowveil Court.
A fortress of black stone and silver flame, its spires piercing the sky like frozen daggers, its walls carved with sigils of power, its gates sealed with chains of enchanted iron. No banners flew. No guards stood watch. But I could feel them—the vampires. Watching. Waiting. Judging.
“They know we’re here,” I said.
“Of course they do,” Kael said, his hand brushing mine. “The Nocturne House sees all. Knows all. And forgives nothing.”
I almost laughed. Almost.
Instead, I stepped forward, my boots cracking against the frozen ground. “Then let them see me.”
The gates parted without sound, the iron splitting like glass, the chains falling away. No welcome. No challenge. Just silence.
And then—
We were home.
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 woman who had walked into Shadowveil Court with a dagger and a death wish.
I was something else now.
Something stronger.
We found our chambers as the sun dipped below the horizon, the sky turning violet, the air so cold it burned my lungs. The room was unchanged—the silver-threaded sheets, the bone-white vanity, the dagger hidden beneath the folds of my gown. But it didn’t feel like a prison anymore.
It felt like a sanctuary.
I sat on the edge of the bed, the relic across my lap, the sigils glowing faintly in the dim light. Kael stood by the window, his coat flaring behind him, the silver runes catching the last light of dusk. He didn’t speak. Just watched me, his eyes silver, the mark in his iris glowing faintly.
“You’re thinking,” he said.
“I’m remembering,” I said. “My mother. The Oath. The truth.”
He didn’t move. Just stepped closer, his boots silent on the stone, and knelt before me. His hand rose, slow, deliberate, and brushed the mark on my collarbone. The bond flared—hot, immediate—and I gasped, my fingers tightening on the hilt of the dagger.
“You don’t have to carry this alone,” he said. “You don’t have to be her. You don’t have to be *me*.”
“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 covered my hand with his, pressing it harder against the relic, letting me feel the truth I already knew.
He was not unfeeling.
He was not unbreakable.
He was hers.
And she was mine.
“Then we’ll break it together,” he said. “Not for the Council. Not for the truce. Not even for the war.”
“Then why?”
“Because we’re *alive*,” he said. “And because we *choose* each other. Every damn day.”
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—
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 kissed him back.
Not gently. Not tenderly.
But with hunger.
My hands tore at his coat, ripping it from his shoulders, sending it sliding to the stone. His shirt followed—buttons popping, fabric tearing—as my fingers traced the ridges of his abdomen, the hard muscle beneath. He groaned—low, guttural, aroused—and the bond exploded, a surge of magic so violent it made the walls shake.
He lifted me, his hands on my waist, and I wrapped my legs around him, my boots kicking off as he carried me to the bed. He laid me down, his body caging me in, his eyes burning silver, the mark in his iris glowing faintly.
“You’re sure?” he asked, his voice rough, strained. “This isn’t just the bond. This isn’t just magic. This is you. Choosing me.”
I didn’t answer.
Just reached up, my fingers brushing the edge of his jaw, and pulled him down.
Our mouths crashed together again, tongues clashing, teeth scraping, breath mingling. His hands were everywhere—on my waist, my hips, my thighs—pulling me closer, grinding me against the hard length of him. I arched into him, moaning into his mouth, my fingers tangling in his ink-black hair.
And then—
He tore my tunic open.
Buttons flew. Fabric ripped. Cool air kissed my skin, but I didn’t feel it—only the heat of his hands, the rough drag of his palms as he traced the curve of my breasts, the pebbled peaks of my nipples through the thin lace of my chemise. He leaned down, his mouth closing over one, teeth grazing the sensitive flesh, and I cried out, my back arching off the bed.
“Kael—”
“Say it again,” he growled, his voice inhuman, his fangs fully descended now. “Say my name like you mean it.”
“Kael,” I gasped, my fingers tightening in his hair. “Don’t stop—”
He didn’t.
His hands slid down my body, peeling away the remnants of my tunic, the chemise, the leather of my trousers. He stripped me bare, his eyes burning as he took me in—every scar, every curve, every inch of me. And then—
He lowered his head.
His mouth traced the line of my hip, the dip of my navel, the soft skin of my inner thigh. I trembled, my breath coming in ragged bursts, my body aching for him. And then—
He tasted me.
Not with magic. Not with magic. Not with magic.
With hunger.
His tongue slid through my folds, slow, deliberate, savoring. I cried out, my fingers digging into the sheets, my hips lifting toward him. He groaned—deep in his chest—and the bond flared, white-hot, as he lapped at my clit, teasing, tormenting, driving me to the edge.
“Kael—please—”
“Beg,” he murmured against my skin. “Beg for me.”
“I need you—” I gasped. “Inside me—”
He didn’t make me wait.
He rose above me, his body a shadow against the flickering torchlight, his cock thick and heavy, the tip glistening with pre-come. He positioned himself at my entrance, his eyes locked on mine.
“This is forever,” he said, his voice rough. “Once I’m inside you, there’s no going back.”
“Then don’t make me wait,” I whispered.
And he didn’t.
He thrust into me—deep, hard, full—and I screamed, not from pain, but from rightness. He filled me, stretched me, claimed me in a way no magic ever could. My body remembered his, even when my mind had fought it. My hips rose to meet his, my nails raking down his back as he began to move—slow at first, then faster, harder, driving into me with a rhythm that matched the pulse of the bond.
“You’re mine,” he growled, his fangs grazing my neck. “Say it.”
“Yours,” I gasped. “I’m yours—”
“And I’m yours,” he said, his voice breaking. “Every damn part of me.”
He bit me then—not deep, not enough to draw blood, but enough to make the bond scream. Pleasure ripped through me, white-hot and blinding, and I came—hard, shuddering, my body clenching around him as wave after wave crashed over me.
He followed me over the edge, his body tensing, his cock pulsing inside me as he spilled himself deep. He collapsed on top of me, his breath ragged, his face buried in my neck, his arms tight around me.
And then—
Silence.
Not the silence of before.
This silence was peace.
Warm. Whole. Ours.
I ran my fingers through his hair, my breath slowing, my body still humming with the aftershocks. The mark on my collarbone glowed faintly, warm and alive. The bond hummed between us—no longer a scream, no longer a curse.
A song.
He lifted his head, his eyes silver, the mark in his iris glowing faintly. He didn’t speak. Just looked at me—really looked at me—and for the first time, I saw it.
Not just the vampire prince.
Not just the cold controller.
But the man.
The one who had loved me even when I’d tried to kill him.
The one who had let me claim him.
The one who had just made me his.
And gods help me—
I had never wanted anything more.
He brushed a strand of hair from my face, his touch feather-light. “You’re not what I expected,” he said.
“Neither are you,” I whispered.
He almost smiled. Almost.
Instead, he pulled me closer, tucking me against his chest, his arms tight around me. “Sleep,” he murmured. “I’ll keep watch.”
I didn’t argue. Just closed my eyes, my body heavy with exhaustion, my heart full with something I couldn’t name.
And as I drifted into sleep, I knew—
This wasn’t just about survival.
It wasn’t just about power.
It was about him.
And I was already lost.
But for the first time—
I didn’t want to be found.