I don’t sleep.
Not after Solene’s escape. Not after the blood. Not after the way I stood between her blade and Vaelen—again—like my body had already decided, long before my mind, that I’d rather die than let her take him from me. 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. His arm is still around me, heavy and warm, his chest a solid wall against my back. I can feel his heartbeat—steady, strong, alive—and the rhythm of his breath, slow and even. He’s asleep. Finally.
But I’m not.
The bond hums beneath my skin, no longer a curse, no longer a weapon—but a living thing, pulsing with something I can’t name. Something warm. Something real. But it’s also heavy. Thick. Like a fever has taken root in my blood, spreading through my veins, tightening in my core. The mark on my spine flares with every heartbeat, a dull throb, a constant reminder of what I’ve done—what I’ve let him do. I told myself it was the ritual. The Blood Moon. The magic. But the truth is, I didn’t just submit. I participated. I moaned. I clawed his back. I screamed his name. I let him mark me.
And I’d do it again.
The thought doesn’t terrify me anymore.
It thrills me.
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 claiming, of the way he thrust inside me until I came apart, of the way the bond sang not with magic, not with politics, but with something deeper. Something real.
The satchel is gone.
Stolen.
By Solene.
All of it—every file, every ledger, every vial of blood, every faded photograph—is in her hands now. And she’ll use it. Not to expose the truth. Not to reveal the lies. But to twist them. To weaponize them. To prove, to the Council, to the world, that the bond is a corruption. That Vaelen is a monster. That I am his victim.
And this time, she won’t fail.
Because this time, she won’t need to.
She’s already convinced herself.
A soft knock at the door.
“Who is it?” I whisper, not moving.
“Dain,” the voice says, low. “The prince’s war council is assembled. They’re waiting.”
I don’t answer. Just press my ear to Vaelen’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. It’s slower than a human’s. Calmer. Like he’s not just resting—he’s recharging. Vampires don’t sleep like we do. Not really. They enter a state of stillness, of regeneration. But he’s been doing it more often lately. Since the poisoned blade. Since the venom. Since I took it from him.
And since I kissed him.
Since I chose him.
He stirs, murmurs my name, and I shift slightly, careful not to wake him. My bare shoulder brushes his chest, and the bond flares—a jolt of heat spiraling through me, tightening in my core. His arm tightens around me, possessive even in sleep. I don’t pull away. I’ve stopped fighting this. Stopped pretending I don’t want it. Want him.
“Let them wait,” I say, voice barely above a whisper.
Dain doesn’t argue. Just says, “They’re not just his council. They’re yours now, too.”
I close my eyes.
And for the first time—
I believe him.
---
When Vaelen finally wakes, it’s with a slow, deliberate stretch, like a predator testing its limbs before the hunt. His fangs are retracted, but his eyes glow faintly in the dim light, and the air around him hums with restrained power. He turns his head, looks at me.
“You’re awake,” he says, voice rough with sleep.
“So are you,” I say, shifting to face him. “And so is Solene. She has the satchel. She knows where to go. She’ll use the old archives to sever the bond. And she won’t stop until she’s convinced the Council that I’m under your thrall.”
He doesn’t react. Just watches me. “Then we stop her.”
“How?” I ask. “She’s not just a witch. She’s a master of blood magic. She trained me. She knows every trick, every weakness, every way to twist the truth.”
“Then we don’t fight her with magic,” he says, sitting up. “We fight her with truth.”
“And if they don’t believe us?”
“Then we give them a reason to.”
I frown. “What are you suggesting?”
He rises from the bed, pulls on a black coat, fastens it at the throat. “We need allies. Not just soldiers. Not just guards. People who know her. Who’ve seen her lies. Who’ve survived her games.”
“Like who?”
“Like your brother,” he says, turning to me. “Elias.”
My breath hitches.
Elias.
Alive.
Hidden.
Waiting.
Solene faked his death to protect the bond. She gave him a sleeping draught, made the world believe he was dead, and sent him into hiding. Ten years. Ten years of silence. Ten years of grief. And now—
Now he’s the only one who can prove she’s been lying all along.
“You know where he is?” I ask, voice tight.
“I know how to find him,” Vaelen says. “But I need your blood. Your magic. Your connection to him. You’re his sister. His blood. His blood calls to yours.”
I don’t hesitate.
I pull the silver dagger from my boot, press the tip to my palm. Blood wells, thick and dark. I let three drops fall onto the stone floor, whisper the words:
“Sanguis fratris, ostende mihi iter.”
Blood of brother, show me the way.
The air shimmers. The candle flames flicker, then go out. The room grows cold. The bond screams, a surge of heat and pain tearing through my spine, but I hold still. I need this.
Then—
Darkness.
And then—
Light.
I’m standing in a forest I’ve never seen—ancient trees, silver bark, moon-bloom vines crawling up the trunks. The scent of old earth and iron fills the air. And there, in a clearing, is a cottage—wooden, ivy-covered, smoke curling from the chimney. A ward pulses around it, faint but strong. Blood magic. Protection.
And inside—
Life.
Warmth.
And the faint, familiar hum of my brother’s magic.
The vision shatters.
I gasp, collapsing to my knees, blood dripping from my palm, tears streaming down my face. My chest heaves. My body trembles. The bond screams, a tidal wave of pain and grief and knowing.
“You saw him,” Vaelen says, kneeling beside me, hands on my shoulders.
I nod. “He’s alive. In the Silverwood. Near the old coven ruins.”
“Then we go,” he says. “Now.”
“We can’t just walk in,” I say. “Solene’s wards are strong. And if she senses us coming—”
“Then we don’t let her sense us,” he says. “We go through the tunnels. The old fae passages beneath the city. They’re forgotten. Unmonitored. And they lead straight to the edge of the Silverwood.”
“And if the wards are still active?”
“Then we break them,” he says. “Together.”
I look at him—really look. At the man who kept his promise. At the man who let me hate him to keep me alive. At the man who’s loved me for centuries.
And I know—
This isn’t vengeance.
This isn’t duty.
This is truth.
“Then let’s go,” I say, rising. “Before she uses the satchel. Before she turns the Council against us. Before she destroys everything.”
---
The tunnels are cold. Dark. The air thick with the scent of damp stone and old magic. We move fast, silent, weapons drawn. Dain follows behind us, broad-shouldered, expression neutral, but his eyes flick to the bite on my shoulder, visible through the thin fabric of the robe. His jaw tightens.
“You’re not just his mate,” he says, voice low. “You’re his equal.”
I don’t answer. Just keep walking.
But the words settle in my chest, warm and heavy.
Equal.
Not prisoner. Not pawn. Not weapon.
Equal.
And maybe—just maybe—something more.
We reach the exit—a hidden grate beneath a moss-covered stone. Vaelen lifts it, and we climb out into the forest. The Silverwood. Ancient. Sacred. The trees hum with old magic, their roots deep in the earth, their branches reaching for the moon. The air is thick with the scent of moon-bloom and iron and something sweet, something his.
And then—
Music.
Low. Primal. A deep, resonant beat that echoes the pulse of the bond. It pulses through the stone, up my feet, into my chest. The cottage.
We move fast, silent, through the trees. The ward pulses ahead—faint, but strong. Blood magic. Protection. But not unbreakable.
“We need to weaken it,” I say. “With our blood. Together.”
Vaelen nods. Pulls his dagger. Slashes his palm. Blood wells, black and thick. I do the same. We press our hands together, let the blood mix, and whisper the words:
“Sanguis duorum, frangite vinculum.”
Blood of two, break the bond.
The ward shimmers. Flickers. Cracks.
And then—
It breaks.
We step forward. Into the clearing. Toward the cottage.
And then—
A figure steps into the doorway.
Tall. Lean. Silver hair pulled back. Eyes sharp with something I’ve never seen in them: hope.
Elias.
My brother.
Alive.
Not dead.
Not gone.
Here.
My breath stops.
“Cascade,” he says, voice rough. “You found me.”
I don’t speak. Don’t move.
Just run.
Across the clearing. Into his arms. He catches me, lifts me, spins me, and I sob into his shoulder, tears streaming down my face. My chest heaves. My body trembles. The bond screams, a tidal wave of pain and grief and knowing.
“I thought you were dead,” I whisper.
“I know,” he says, holding me tight. “But I had to be. To protect the bond. To give you time.”
I pull back, look at him. “And now?”
“Now,” he says, glancing at Vaelen, “I fight. With you. For the truth.”
Vaelen steps forward. “We need your testimony. Your blood. Your magic. Solene has the satchel. She’s going to use it to sever the bond. To turn the Council against us.”
Elias nods. “Then we stop her. Together.”
I look at him—really look. At the man who sacrificed himself to protect me. At the brother who loved me enough to let me believe he was dead. At the witch who’s been waiting in the shadows for ten years, just to see this moment.
And I know—
This isn’t vengeance.
This isn’t duty.
This is truth.
“Then let’s go,” I say. “Before she destroys everything.”
---
We return through the tunnels, faster this time. Elias walks beside me, his presence a steady anchor, a reminder that I’m not alone. That I never was.
When we reach the chambers, the war council is still waiting—vampire generals, fae emissaries, witch elders, werewolf alphas. They rise as we enter.
“This is Elias,” I say, stepping forward. “My brother. The man Solene faked the death of. The man who’s been in hiding for ten years to protect the bond.”
Murmurs ripple through the room.
“And he’s here to testify,” Vaelen says. “To prove that Solene has been manipulating the truth. That she used blood magic to control Valenir. That she’s not a martyr—she’s a traitor.”
“And if they don’t believe him?” Dain asks.
“Then we give them proof,” I say, pulling the vial of Vaelen’s blood from my belt. “Blood of memory. Show me the truth.”
I press the tip of my dagger to my palm. Blood wells. I let three drops fall onto the vial.
“Sanguis memoriæ, ostende mihi veritatem.”
The air shimmers. The vial glows. And then—
Light.
A vision unfolds above us—Solene, in the old archives, handing the vial to Elias. “Drink it,” she says. “To protect the bond.”
The chamber erupts.
“Fake!” a witch elder shouts. “Projection magic!”
“No,” Mareth says, rising. “That’s blood-memory. Unforgeable.”
“Then we move,” I say. “Before she uses the satchel. Before she turns the Council against us. Before she destroys everything.”
Vaelen turns to the council. “We go to the old archives. Now. And we end this.”
They nod. Rise. Move.
And as we prepare to leave, Elias steps beside me, places a hand on my shoulder.
“You’ve grown,” he says, voice soft.
I look at him. “So have you.”
He smiles. “And you’re not alone anymore.”
I don’t answer.
But my fingers find Vaelen’s.
And the bond—
It sings.