The world didn’t explode.
It shattered.
Vexis’s spell tore through the chamber like a blade of black fire, splitting the floor, shattering the mosaic, sending cracks spiderwebbing toward the Council’s dais. The air turned thick, suffocating, charged with the stench of ozone and old blood. I didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate.
I moved.
My body slammed into Kael’s, knocking him aside as the bolt of dark magic seared past, missing his chest by inches, scorching the stone where he’d stood. Heat blistered my back through the leather, the sigils on my dagger flaring in protest, the bond screaming between us—hot, immediate, alive.
“You’re fast,” Vexis said, his voice smooth, mocking. “But not fast enough.”
He raised his hand again.
And this time, he didn’t aim at Kael.
He aimed at the Council.
Spells ripped from his fingers—crimson, black, silver—lightning arcing across the chamber, the ground splitting, the air crackling with power. The Werewolf Alpha shifted mid-leap, her golden fur bristling, claws slashing through the air as she intercepted a bolt meant for the Witch Elder. The Fae King raised a wall of frost, the ice shattering under the force of the impact. The Council scattered, their robes flaring, their magic rising, but they weren’t fighters. They were judges. Politicians. And Vexis—
He was a predator.
“Silas!” I shouted, rolling to my feet, the relic dagger in my hand, its sigils humming with power. “Protect the Council!”
He didn’t answer. Just shifted—golden fur, fangs, claws—and lunged, a blur of light and shadow, tearing through the ranks of the Dark Council agents who had materialized from the shadows. The guards followed, their weapons flashing, their loyalty unshaken. But Vexis—
He came for me.
And I—
I was ready.
He moved like smoke, his form flickering between shadow and flesh, his eyes molten silver, the mark of House Ashen burning in his iris. I didn’t wait for him. I charged.
My dagger flashed, slashing through the air, striking his forearm. Black blood welled—thick, viscous, alive—and the sigils on the blade flared, silver and gold, burning into his flesh. He hissed—not from pain, but from recognition.
“You think that little trinket can kill me?” he snarled, backhanding me across the face.
I flew.
My body slammed into the wall, the impact knocking the breath from my lungs, the torches flickering, the sigils on the floor dimming. Pain exploded through my ribs, my vision blurring, but I didn’t stay down. I rolled, came up on one knee, the dagger still in my hand.
And then—
Kael was there.
His coat flared behind him, the silver runes glowing, his fangs fully descended, his eyes burning silver. He moved like a storm, his shadow-walking tearing through the air, his fist connecting with Vexis’s jaw with a crack that echoed through the chamber. Vexis staggered, but didn’t fall. Just laughed—low, dark, guttural—and swung.
Kael dodged.
But not fast enough.
The edge of Vexis’s spell grazed his shoulder, burning through fabric, searing flesh. He growled—not from pain, but from fury—and lunged again, fangs bared, hands like claws.
They clashed—flesh, fang, fire—two princes of warring bloodlines, one born of vengeance, the other of survival. I watched for only a second, my breath ragged, my body aching, the bond flaring between us—hot, insistent, alive—before I turned to the Council.
They were regrouping—on their feet, their magic rising, their eyes sharp. The Witch Elder raised her staff, the sigils flaring, the air thickening with power. The Fae King summoned a storm of thorns, the barbs glinting in the torchlight. The Werewolf Alpha stood between them and the battle, her claws flexing, her golden eyes locked on Vexis.
“You don’t get to do this,” I said, stepping in front of them, my dagger raised. “You don’t get to use them. You don’t get to twist the truth. You don’t get to win.”
“And you do?” Vexis spat, breaking away from Kael, blood dripping from his lip, his coat torn, his eyes blazing. “You, the half-blood? The abomination? The one who should have died with her mother?”
My breath caught.
Not from anger.
From memory.
My mother, young, fierce, her silver-lavender eyes wide with defiance as she stood before the Council. *“I did not rebel. I loved. And love is not a crime.”*
The executioner’s blade.
The blood on the stone.
And then—
Vexis, kneeling over her body, his fangs in her neck, binding her blood to the Oath.
“She wasn’t an abomination,” I said, my voice low, rough. “She was brave. She was strong. She was free.”
“And look where it got her,” he sneered. “Dead. Forgotten. Erased.”
“No,” I said, stepping forward, my boots cracking against the stone. “She’s not erased. She’s in me. In my blood. In my magic. In every damn breath I take.”
And then—
I lunged.
Not at him.
At the truth.
My dagger flashed, not toward his heart, but toward the floor—slashing through the mosaic, cutting into the ancient stone, drawing a line of blood from my palm as I pressed my hand against the sigil. The relic responded—its sigils flaring, silver and gold, the voice whispering in my blood.
“Blood calls to blood. Memory calls to truth.”
The chamber exploded.
Not with sound. Not with fire.
With memory.
Visions flooded the chamber—my mother, standing 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.”
The Council watched.
Silent.
Still.
And when the vision faded, I turned to them, my silver-lavender eyes blazing.
“That,” I said, “is the truth.”
Vexis didn’t flinch. Just smiled—a slow, sharp curve of his lips—and stepped forward, his boots cracking against the stone. “And if I say it’s a lie? That you forged it? That you’re using blood magic to manipulate us?”
“Then you’re a coward,” I said. “Hiding behind lies. Hiding behind power. Hiding behind the fear you’ve spent centuries cultivating.”
He didn’t answer.
Just raised his hand.
And the runes flared again—crimson, black, silver—and the ground cracked beneath our feet. But this time—
So did I.
My magic surged—blood and bone, moon and iron—ripping through my veins, lighting the sigils on the floor until the entire chamber blazed with silver light. The bond flared—white-hot—and I felt Kael at my back, his presence like a storm held at bay, his fangs descended, his eyes burning silver.
“You think you can win?” Vexis snarled, his voice guttural. “You think love makes you strong?”
“No,” I said, stepping into him, my dagger in hand, my voice steady. “I think truth does.”
And then—
I struck.
Not with magic.
Not with blood.
With memory.
My dagger flashed, slashing through the air, striking the mark on his chest—the sigil of House Ashen, the brand of his betrayal. The blade bit deep, black blood welling, the sigils flaring, the air crackling with power. He screamed—not from pain, but from loss—as the mark burned, the magic unraveling, the bond he’d twisted to his will shattering like glass.
He staggered.
But didn’t fall.
Just raised his hand—and the chamber 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 collarbone. It burned, not with pain, but with recognition. This wasn’t just magic.
This was a trial.
But I didn’t falter.
I stepped forward.
And then—
Kael was there.
His arm wrapped around me, pulling me against his chest, his breath warm on my neck, his scent—dark wine and winter pine—filling my lungs. “Look at me,” he said, his voice rough. “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 grief. Not for my mother. Not for the past.
For me.
“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 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 dagger. “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.
Vexis didn’t move. Just stood there, his coat of shadow flaring, his eyes molten silver, his form flickering. “You think this changes anything?” he said, his voice guttural. “You think facing the past makes you strong? You think touching cursed blood makes you free?”
“It makes us real,” I said, stepping forward, my boots cracking against the stone. “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.
“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 tore through the ranks of the Dark Council, his golden eyes blazing, his claws ripping through flesh. 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.