The silence in our chambers was no longer heavy with secrets, but thick with something else—something warm, pulsing, alive. It wasn’t just the bond humming between us, a low, steady thrum beneath my skin. It was the weight of what we’d done. What we’d survived. What we’d chosen.
Kael slept.
Not the cold, still rest of a vampire who didn’t need it, but the deep, even breathing of a man who’d been broken and put back together. He lay on his back, one arm flung over his eyes, the other resting just above my hip, his fingers curled slightly against the warm skin. The scar across his chest—a jagged silver thorned crescent burned into his flesh—gleamed faintly in the dim light of the torches. A reminder. A warning. A testament.
I didn’t sleep.
I watched him.
Not with suspicion. Not with calculation.
With something softer. Something dangerous.
My fingers traced the edge of the relic dagger, its sigils cool beneath my touch. It lay on the bone-white vanity, where I’d placed it after we’d returned. Not hidden. Not stashed away. But displayed. Like a challenge. Like a promise.
The voice still echoed in my blood.
“You have broken the chain. Now break the master.”
But what did it mean?
Vexis was the master, wasn’t he? The one who’d ordered my mother’s death. The one who’d twisted the Blood Oath into a weapon. The one who’d tried to kill Kael on the ridge.
Or was there someone else?
I shifted, the silver-threaded sheets slipping from my shoulder, the cool air kissing my bare skin. The mark on my collarbone burned—not with pain, but with presence. The bond was stronger now. Not because of magic. Not because of fate.
Because of choice.
Because of him.
And because of me.
I reached for the dagger, my fingers brushing the hilt. The moment I touched it, the sigils flared—silver, then gold, then white—lightning arcing up my arm, filling my veins with power. I gasped, my fingers tightening on the blade, the voice whispering again, louder this time.
“The chain is broken, but the roots remain. Seek the source. Cut the heart.”
I dropped the dagger like it had burned me.
It clattered against the vanity, the sound too loud in the quiet room. Kael stirred, his arm dropping from his eyes, his breath catching. His eyes opened—silver, burning—and for a second, he wasn’t himself. He was the Prince of House Nocturne. The cold controller. The predator.
And then—
He saw me.
And he softened.
“You’re awake,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.
“You’re alive,” I said.
He almost smiled. Almost.
Instead, he reached for me, his hand sliding up my arm, his fingers tangling in my hair. The bond flared—hot, immediate—and I didn’t pull away. Just leaned into his touch, my breath hitching.
“You were thinking,” he said. “I can feel it. The bond hums when you’re restless.”
“It’s the dagger,” I said. “It spoke again.”
He didn’t flinch. Just sat up, the sheets falling from his chest, the scar gleaming in the low light. “What did it say?”
“That the chain is broken, but the roots remain. That I need to seek the source. Cut the heart.”
His jaw clenched. “Vexis.”
“Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe it’s something deeper. Something older.”
He didn’t answer. Just reached for the dagger, his fingers closing around the hilt. The sigils flared again, but he didn’t react. Just studied the blade, his expression unreadable.
“This was forged in the Winter Court,” he said. “But not by the Fae. By a witch. One who knew the truth of the Oath.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because my father told me,” he said, his voice low. “Before Vexis killed him.”
My breath caught.
Not from shock.
From recognition.
I’d seen it in the visions. In the cursed blood. Vexis, standing over his brother’s body, whispering, “The throne is mine now.”
But I hadn’t known the rest.
“Your father,” I said. “He knew about the Oath?”
“He created it,” Kael said, his voice rough. “Not as a curse. Not as a weapon. But as a *vow*.”
“A vow?”
“To protect,” he said. “To keep the bloodline safe. To prevent war. But Vexis twisted it. Used it to control. To punish. To destroy.”
I didn’t speak. Just reached for him, my hand rising to his chest, pressing against the scar. The bond flared—hot, undeniable. His breath hitched. His eyes fluttered shut.
“You didn’t know,” I said.
“No,” he said. “And when I found out, it was too late. My father was dead. The Oath was corrupted. And I—” he exhaled, rough, broken—“I became the monster I was meant to destroy.”
I didn’t flinch. 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.
“You’re not a monster,” I said. “You’re the man who let me bite him. Who let me claim him. Who stood in front of a killing spell for me.”
He didn’t answer. Just pulled me closer, his arms tight around me, his face buried in my neck. I could feel his heartbeat—unnatural, ancient, alive—pulsing against my skin.
And then—
“We need to find the source,” he said, his voice muffled against my skin. “The original binding. The one that started it all.”
“And if we do?”
“Then we cut it,” he said. “And we burn it.”
I didn’t argue. Just nodded, my fingers tracing the line of his spine. The bond pulsed—hot, insistent, alive.
But I knew.
This wasn’t just about breaking the Oath.
It was about breaking the lie.
And the truth—
The truth was still buried.
We dressed in silence—me in dark leather and steel, him in his black coat edged with silver runes. The dagger was strapped to my thigh, its sigils humming beneath the leather. The vial of balm—charged with healing sigils—was fastened at my hip. My boots clicked against the stone as I stepped into the corridor, Kael at my side, his presence like a storm held at bay.
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 Silas in the war room, his golden wolf eyes sharp, his stance relaxed but ready. The obsidian table was covered in maps, scrolls, sigils of power glowing faintly in the dim light. He didn’t look up as we entered. Just kept his eyes on the parchment, his fingers tracing a line through the Veil.
“You’re back,” he said, his voice careful.
“We never left,” Kael said.
Silas looked up then, his gaze flicking between us—the way our auras intertwined, the way the bond pulsed between us, the way our hands almost touched. “Vexis is regrouping. Scouts report movement near the Iron Crypts. He’s not waiting.”
“Then we won’t either,” I said. “We go to him.”
“It’s a trap,” Kael said.
“Then we’ll break it,” I said, stepping into him, my hand rising to his chest, pressing against the scar beneath his shirt. The bond flared—hot, undeniable. His breath hitched. His eyes fluttered shut.
“You’re sure?” he asked, his voice rough. “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—
We broke apart.
Breathless. Shaking. Alive.
“We have to go,” I said again, my voice rough.
“I know.”
He stepped back, his coat flaring behind him, the silver runes glowing faintly in the dim light. The mark on his chest—crescent pierced by a thorn—burned beneath the fabric, a reminder of what we’d done, what we’d become.
And then—
We left.
Silas waited at the entrance, his golden eyes sharp, his stance relaxed but ready. The guards fell into step behind us, silent, obedient. The air was thick with tension, with magic, with something darker, something familiar.
And then—
“Kael,” Silas said, his voice low. “The scouts just reported. Vexis is at the Iron Crypts. He’s not alone.”
We stopped.
I turned to Kael, my silver-lavender eyes sharp, my jaw clenched. “Then we’ll break him.”
He didn’t answer. Just covered my hand with his, pressing it harder against his chest, letting me feel the truth I already knew.
I was not unfeeling.
I was not unbreakable.
I was hers.
And she was mine.
“Together,” I said.
She didn’t smile. Just nodded, her fingers tightening around mine.
And then we walked into the dawn.
The world held its breath.
And we—
We were ready.
The Iron Crypts loomed beneath Lyon like a wound in the earth—ancient, suffocating, steeped in the scent of rust and old blood. 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.