The air in the Iron Crypts changed.
Not with wind. Not with sound.
With weight.
One moment, the chamber was still—torchlight flickering against black marble, the Oath Stone pulsing like a slow, ancient heartbeat, the bond between Avalon and me humming beneath my skin, warm and alive. The next, the atmosphere thickened, pressing down like a hand on my chest. The sigils on the floor dimmed. The torches guttered. Even the shadows seemed to freeze, their edges sharpening, their depths turning blacker than night.
And then—
A whisper.
Not from the tunnels. Not from the dark.
From the air.
“Nephew.”
Vexis.
My uncle. My father’s killer. The usurper who had twisted the Blood Oath into a weapon of control, who had used my mother’s death, my father’s legacy, to claw his way to power. He wasn’t here—not yet. But his voice slithered through the chamber like smoke, cold and slick, wrapping around us, testing our resolve.
I stepped in front of Avalon, my coat flaring behind me, the silver runes along the edges glowing faintly in the dim light. My fangs descended, not from hunger, but from instinct. My body knew what was coming. My blood remembered.
She didn’t move behind me. Didn’t speak. But I could feel her—the bond flaring, her magic rising, her breath steady, controlled. She wasn’t afraid. Not of him. Not of the dark. Not even of the truth Elara had just torn from her chest.
She was ready.
“You’re not welcome here,” I said, my voice low, guttural. “This is not your court. Not your blood. Not your war.”
The whisper laughed—soft, mocking. “But it is, nephew. It always has been. You just didn’t know it yet.”
And then—
He appeared.
Not with a crack of magic. Not with a storm of shadows.
With silence.
One second, the center of the chamber was empty. The next, he stood there—tall, gaunt, his coat of ash and shadow flaring behind him like wings, his eyes molten silver, the mark of House Ashen burning in his iris like a brand. His presence was a void, a hunger, a thing that fed on fear. The torches flickered out one by one. The sigils on the floor dimmed. Even the Oath Stone’s pulse slowed, as if it, too, bowed to him.
And behind him—
The Dark Council.
Seven figures in dark cloaks, their eyes glowing with power, their hands raised. Rogue witches with sigils carved into their skin. Exiled fae with thorned crowns. Corrupted lupines, their forms flickering between man and beast. They didn’t speak. Didn’t move. But their magic pressed against mine, a wall of dark energy, a storm held at bay.
“You brought an audience,” I said, not shifting. Not flinching. “How… predictable.”
Vexis smiled. Slow. Sharp. “I brought reinforcements. You brought a hybrid.”
His gaze flicked past me, to Avalon. Cold. Calculating. Hungry.
And I—
I moved.
Before he could speak, before he could reach for her, I stepped aside, not to flee, but to reveal. Avalon stepped forward, her boots cracking against the stone, the relic dagger strapped to her thigh, its sigils humming beneath the leather. Her silver-lavender eyes were locked on Vexis, unblinking, unyielding.
“You don’t get to look at her,” I said, my voice guttural, inhuman. “You don’t get to speak her name. You don’t get to breathe in her presence.”
He didn’t flinch. Just studied her—really studied her—for the first time. “You’ve let her claim you,” he said. “You’ve let a half-blood mark you. You’ve let her believe she’s your equal.”
“She is,” I said. “And if you harm her, you harm me. And if you harm me—” my voice dropped, the air around me crackling with power—“you start a war.”
He laughed. Low. Dark. The sound vibrated through the chamber like thunder beneath stone. “You think this is about war? You think this is about power? This is about legacy. About blood. About the truth you’ve buried beneath your lies.”
“The only truth here,” Avalon said, stepping forward, her voice sharp, edged with fire, “is that you killed my mother. You twisted the Oath. You used her death to control us. And now you’re going to pay for it.”
Vexis didn’t look at her. Just kept his eyes on me. “You let her speak for you? You let a witch dictate your every move? You’re not the prince I raised. You’re not the heir I trained. You’re weak.”
“I’m not weak,” I said. “I’m alive. And she doesn’t speak for me. She speaks with me. As my equal. As my mate. As my truth.”
He didn’t flinch. Just raised his hand.
The runes on the floor flared—crimson, then black, then white—and the air ripped open.
Not with sound. Not with fire.
With truth.
Visions flooded me—Avalon, young, bleeding, her mother’s body at her feet. Me, centuries ago, my fangs buried in the throat of a witch who had loved me, then left me broken. Vexis, standing over my father’s corpse, whispering, “The throne is mine now.” The Blood Oath, not as a curse, but as a vow—“No love shall survive. No bond shall endure. The line will be broken.”
I staggered, my hand flying to the mark on my chest. It burned, not with pain, but with recognition. This wasn’t just magic.
This was a trial.
But Avalon—
She didn’t falter.
She stepped forward, her boots cracking against the stone, and knelt before the Oath Stone. The sigils flared, the ledger on the altar glowing with dark power. She didn’t hesitate. Just placed her hand on the cover, her palm pressing against the embossed crescent and thorn.
And the chamber exploded.
Not with sound. Not with fire.
With memory.
Visions flooded her—her mother, young, 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.”
She screamed.
Not from pain.
From truth.
Her body convulsed, her back arching off the ground, her fingers clawing at the stone. The bond flared—white-hot—and I was at her side in an instant, my arm around her waist, pulling her against me. Her breath came in ragged bursts, her skin burning, her fangs fully descended now, her eyes wide, unseeing.
“Avalon,” I said, my voice rough. “Look at me. Look at me.”
She didn’t. Just writhed in my arms, her body trembling, her voice a low, guttural moan. The cursed blood was working—tearing through her veins, forcing her to face the past, the pain, the grief she’d buried for years.
And I—
I couldn’t let her face it alone.
“Kael, no—” Silas said, stepping forward. “It’s not meant for you. It could kill you.”
“Then I’ll die with her,” I said.
And I placed my hand over hers on the ledger.
The moment my skin touched the cover, the world shattered.
Not with sound. Not with fire.
With truth.
Visions flooded me—Avalon, the night of the ritual, her hand on my waist in sleep, her lips on my neck. The child with silver-lavender eyes, laughing in a sunlit garden. The war. The blood. The fire. The betrayal. Me, standing over her body, a dagger in my hand, her blood on my lips, my face streaked with tears.
I had killed her.
I gasped, staggering, 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 did it,” she said, her voice rough. “You touched it. You faced it.”
“So did you,” I said, my breath ragged. “And you didn’t break.”
She almost smiled. Almost.
Instead, she leaned into me, her forehead resting against mine, her breath mingling with mine. The bond hummed between us—no longer a scream, no longer a curse.
A song.
And then—
Vexis laughed.
Not mocking.
Not triumphant.
But angry.
“You think this changes anything?” he said, stepping forward, his eyes molten silver, his voice guttural. “You think facing the past makes you strong? You think touching cursed blood makes you free?”
“It makes us real,” Avalon said, standing, her body still trembling, but her voice steady. “And that’s more than you’ll ever be.”
He didn’t flinch. Just raised his hand—and the runes flared again, the dark magic surging, the ground cracking beneath our feet. The Dark Council moved, forming a circle around us, their eyes glowing with power, their hands raised.
“Then let’s see how real you are,” he said. “When you’re dead.”
And then—
Chaos.
Spells tore through the air—crimson, black, silver—lightning arcing across the chamber, the ground splitting, the ice shattering. Silas shifted, his wolf-form a blur of gold and shadow, tearing through the ranks of the Dark Council. The guards fought, their weapons flashing, their shadows flickering. But Vexis—
He came for Avalon.
And I—
I moved.
Not with speed. Not with power.
With truth.
I stepped in front of her, my body a shield, and took the full force of his spell—a bolt of black fire that ripped through my chest, burning through flesh, through bone, through soul. I screamed, not from pain, but from release, as 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 wound, her fingers curled slightly, as if she’d reached for me in her sleep and hadn’t realized it.
“No,” she whispered. “No.”
And then—
She kissed me.
Not angry. Not desperate.
But true.
Her lips crashed against mine, hard and demanding, her hand fisted in my hair, holding me still. I didn’t kiss her back—couldn’t. I was frozen, stunned, my body rigid against hers. 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 ground until the entire chamber blazed with silver light. I could taste her—mint and iron and something wild—and for one reckless second, I forgot why I was here. Forgot the war. Forgot the truce. Forgot everything but the way her lips felt beneath mine.
And then—
She bit me.
Not a love bite. Not a tease.
A wound.
My fangs sank into her lower lip, breaking skin, drawing blood. She groaned—low, guttural, aroused—and the bond exploded, a surge of magic so violent it made the walls shake. I tasted her—her blood, her power, her soul—and for the first time, I didn’t pull away.
I fed.
Just a sip. Just a taste.
But it was enough.
She broke the kiss, stepping back, her lip bleeding, her breath ragged, her eyes blazing. The mark on her collarbone burned, not with pain—but with fire.
“You’d hate me for it,” she said, breathless.
“I already do,” I whispered.
And then—
She smiled.
Not warm. Not kind.
A predator’s smile.
“Good,” she said. “Then you’ll remember.”
The battle raged on.
But we—
We were no longer just fighting.
We were alive.
And the moon—
The moon was watching.
We fought back-to-back—me with shadow and fang, her with blade and blood magic. Silas tore through the corrupted lupines, his golden eyes blazing, his claws ripping through flesh. The guards held the line, their weapons flashing, their loyalty unshaken. But Vexis—
He was relentless.
He came at us again and again, his spells tearing through the air, his voice a whip of dark power. He didn’t care about the others. Didn’t care about the Dark Council. He only wanted one thing.
Her.
And I—
I would die before I let him have her.
“You can’t win,” he snarled, his eyes molten silver, his voice guttural. “You’re bound by the Oath. You’re cursed by blood. You’re weak.”
“We’re not weak,” Avalon said, her voice steady, her dagger in hand. “We’re free.”
And she lunged.
Not at him.
At the Oath Stone.
Her blade flashed, slashing through the air, striking the monolith with a crack that echoed like thunder. The stone shattered—not into pieces, but into light, silver and gold and white, arcing across the chamber, up the walls, across the ceiling. The air crackled, the scent of ozone thick, the magic so dense it made my skin burn.
And then—
The ledger burst into flame.
Not fire. Not magic.
Truth.
The names burned—centuries of blood, of vows, of souls—turning to ash, rising like smoke, vanishing into the Veil. The chains on the ceiling snapped. The sigils on the floor dimmed. The Oath Stone’s pulse slowed—then stopped.
And the bond—
The bond flared—hot, immediate, alive—but not with pain.
With freedom.
Vexis screamed—not from injury, but from loss. His power faltered. His form flickered. The Dark Council stumbled, their magic unraveling, their eyes wide with fear.
And then—
He vanished.
Not in smoke. Not in shadow.
In defeat.
The chamber fell silent.
Not empty. Not still.
It breathed.
The torches flickered back to life. The sigils glowed faintly. The air cleared. And we—
We were still standing.
Avalon turned to me, her silver-lavender eyes wide, unguarded. Her lip was still bleeding. Her hand trembled on the hilt of the dagger. But she was smiling.
Not warm. Not kind.
A victor’s smile.
“We did it,” she said.
I didn’t answer.
Just pulled her into me, my arms wrapping around her, my face burying in her neck, my breath ragged. She held me, her fingers tangling in my hair, her body pressed against mine.
And the bond—
It didn’t scream.
It sang.
And the moon—
The moon was watching.