I don’t sleep.
Not after the Summer Court. Not after the memory was taken—ripped from me like a limb, leaving a phantom ache that pulses with every beat of my heart. 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.
But we have something stronger now.
Truth.
And allies.
Elias is here. Alive. Not dead. Not gone. And he’s standing with us. Not just for me. Not just for the bond. But for the future. For the world Solene wants to twist into her own image of purity and control.
Kaelen is here. With his pack. With his loyalty. With the weight of the northern forests behind him.
And now—
We have the original Moonstone Treaty.
Sealed. Intact. Unbroken.
Proof that Solene forged the documents. That she lied. That she’s been manipulating the truth for ten years.
And I had to pay for the key to Valenir’s mind with a memory.
Not just any memory.
Mother’s last words.
I don’t remember them. Not anymore. I only remember the loss. The hollow where they used to be. The silence where her voice once whispered promises of protection, of love, of a future I thought I’d never have. Now, there’s nothing. Just a gaping absence, a wound that won’t heal. And the cruelest part? I don’t even know what I’ve lost. I don’t know if it was her telling me she was proud of me. Or if she begged me to forgive her. Or if she said she loved me one last time.
I’ll never know.
And that—
That is the price of war.
A soft knock at the door.
“Who is it?” I whisper, not moving.
“Dain,” the voice says, low. “The enchanters have arrived. From the Summer Court. They’re ready to begin the ritual. But… they say it will be painful. For both of you.”
I stiffen. My fingers tighten around the hilt of the silver dagger tucked beneath my pillow. The enchanters. Fae of the highest order, trained in the unraveling of blood-bound spells. They’ve come to break Solene’s hold on Valenir, to reach the man beneath the magic, the mentor who once taught me how to fight, how to survive, how to see.
But if it hurts him…
It will hurt me.
The bond ensures that.
“Tell them to wait,” I say. “We’ll be there.”
---
The ritual chamber is deep beneath the castle, a circular room of black stone lit by seven silver candles. The air is thick with the scent of crushed moonstone and old blood, with the low hum of containment wards. In the center, Valenir sits bound to a chair of woven thorn, his head bowed, his breathing slow, his eyes vacant. He’s not himself. Not anymore. Solene’s magic has wrapped around his mind like ivy, choking out the truth, twisting his loyalty, his memories, his very soul.
And I have to tear it out.
The enchanters stand in a circle around him—three of them, tall, ethereal, their wings folded like blades of glass. Their eyes glow faintly, their hands raised in preparation. Vaelen stands beside me, silent, his fangs retracted but his eyes burning crimson. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t touch me. Just watches.
“The ritual requires a blood tether,” the lead enchanter says, her voice like wind through dead leaves. “You must be bound to him, witch. Not just by magic. By memory. By emotion. By pain.”
“Then bind me,” I say, pulling the silver dagger from my boot.
She shakes her head. “Not with your blood. With his.”
She steps to Valenir, presses a finger to his temple. A drop of blood wells—dark, thick, tainted with magic. She catches it on a silver needle, then steps toward me.
“This will hurt,” she says.
“So will everything else,” I say. “Do it.”
She presses the needle to my palm.
Fire.
White-hot, searing pain rips through me, spreading up my arm, into my chest, down my spine. I gasp, but I don’t pull away. The blood bonds us—me to him, me to the spell, me to the past. And then—
I see it.
A memory.
Not mine.
But his.
Valenir, in the training yard, years ago. I’m twelve. He’s teaching me how to fight with a dagger. “Always watch the eyes,” he says. “Not the blade. The eyes will tell you where the strike is coming.”
I lunge. He blocks. I fall. He helps me up. “Again,” he says. “You’re stronger than you think.”
And then—
Another memory.
Me, bleeding, after a failed mission. He kneels beside me, pressing a cloth to my side. “You’re alive,” he says. “That’s all that matters.”
“But I failed,” I whisper.
“No,” he says. “You fought. You survived. That’s victory enough.”
And then—
The spell.
Solene, in the archives, whispering over a vial of dark liquid. “Drink it,” she says. “It will make you strong. It will make you loyal.”
He hesitates. “Cascade—”
“Is blind,” Solene says. “She doesn’t see the danger. The bond is corrupting her. We must protect her. From him. From herself.”
He drinks.
And the memory shatters.
“Now,” the enchanter says. “We begin.”
They chant—low, guttural, in the old tongue. The candles flare. The wards pulse. The air shimmers. And then—
Pain.
Not just in my hand. In my mind. In my soul. The bond between Valenir and me—familial, not fated—screams as the enchanters begin to unravel the spell, thread by cursed thread. I fall to my knees. My vision blurs. My breath comes in short, sharp gasps.
And then—
I see it.
Another memory.
Me, as a child, running through the garden. Valenir chasing me, laughing. “Catch me, little star!” I scream.
He catches me. Lifts me into the air. “Always,” he says. “I’ll always catch you.”
And then—
The spell tightens.
He’s on his knees, screaming. “No! I won’t do it! I won’t betray her!”
Solene stands over him, dagger in hand. “Then you’ll die.”
He drinks.
And the memory shatters.
“Hold on,” Vaelen says, kneeling beside me, his hand on my back. “Just hold on.”
But it’s getting worse.
The pain is unbearable. My body convulses. My magic rebels. Blood drips from my nose. My fingers claw the stone.
And then—
I see it.
The final memory.
Valenir, in the council chamber, standing before Solene. “She’s my daughter in all but blood,” he says. “I won’t let you hurt her.”
“Then you’ll serve me,” Solene says. “Or you’ll watch her die.”
He kneels. “I serve you.”
And the spell breaks.
Valenir screams.
I scream.
The candles go out.
The wards flicker.
And then—
Silence.
Just the drip of blood. The low hum of the air. The pounding of my heart.
And then—
He moves.
Valenir lifts his head.
His eyes—
They’re clear.
Not vacant. Not twisted. Not controlled.
Free.
“Cascade?” he whispers.
I can’t speak. Can’t move. Just nod.
He sobs. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to—”
“I know,” I say, crawling toward him. “I know.”
He reaches for me. His hands are shaking. His face is wet with tears. “I tried to fight it. I tried—”
“You don’t have to explain,” I say, pressing my forehead to his. “You’re back. That’s all that matters.”
He clutches me. Holds me like I’m the only thing keeping him from falling apart. And maybe I am.
“She made me believe you were the enemy,” he says. “She made me think I had to stop you. That the bond was a corruption. That he was using you.”
“But it’s not,” I say. “And he’s not.”
He looks at Vaelen. Really looks. “You… you let her hate you. To keep her alive.”
Vaelen nods. “I did.”
Valenir closes his eyes. “Then I was wrong. And I’m sorry.”
“Then help us,” I say. “Help us stop her. Before she destroys everything.”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
---
We move fast through the castle, silent, weapons drawn. Valenir walks beside me, his presence a steady anchor, a reminder that I’m not alone. That I never was. 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.”
“And you’re not just his lieutenant,” I say. “You’re his brother. In battle. In loyalty. In blood.”
He doesn’t answer. But I see it—the flicker in his eyes, the slight nod. Respect. Not just for him. For me.
Vaelen walks beside me, silent, his coat fastened at the throat, his fangs retracted but his eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. He hasn’t spoken since the ritual. Not after the way I screamed. Not after the way I bled. And I haven’t forgiven him. Not fully. But I haven’t let go, either.
The bond hums between us—low, insistent, a constant reminder of what we are. What we’ve become.
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.
She’s here.
Solene.
“She’s coming,” I say, drawing my dagger. “And she’s not alone.”
Vaelen steps beside me, fangs bared, eyes glowing crimson. “Then let her come.”
Kaelen shifts into half-form—claws extending, fangs lengthening, his growl a low rumble in his chest. “We fight together.”
“We fight as one,” I say.
And the bond—
It sings.
Not with pain.
Not with fear.
With power.
---
The entrance groans open.
And she steps in.
Solene.
Draped in black, her silver hair pulled back, her eyes sharp with ambition. But there’s something different. A hardness. A coldness. A lie beneath the surface.
She sees me.
And for the first time—
She smiles.
“Cascade,” she says, voice smooth, warm. “You’ve grown.”
“So have you,” I say, stepping forward. “In lies.”
She doesn’t flinch. Just watches me. “You don’t see it. But I do. The bond is a curse. A corruption. It’s not love. It’s magic. Compulsion. Control.”
“No,” I say. “It’s not. The bond doesn’t make me love him. It makes me see him. Really see him. The man who let me hate him to keep me alive. The man who’s loved me for centuries.”
“And what about me?” she whispers. “Did I not love you? Did I not train you? Did I not give everything to protect you?”
“You did,” I say. “And I love you. But love isn’t control. Love isn’t manipulation. Love isn’t forcing someone to see the world your way.”
She shakes her head. “You’re blinded. By him. By the bond.”
“And you’re blinded,” I say. “By grief. By fear. By the lies you’ve told yourself for ten years.”
Her hand flies to her dagger.
“Solene,” I say, voice low. “Put it down.”
“I have to break it,” she whispers. “Before it consumes you. Before it destroys everything.”
“You don’t get to decide that,” I say. “Not for me. Not for him. Not for the bond.”
“I do,” she says. “Because I’m the only one who sees the truth.”
And then—
She moves.
Fast.
Her dagger flashes—silver, cursed, dripping with venom.
But she doesn’t go for me.
She goes for him.
“Vaelen—!”
I don’t think.
I don’t hesitate.
I step in front of him.
The blade sinks into my side—just below the ribs, deep, twisting.
But I don’t fall.
I can’t.
Because he’s behind me.
And I’m all that’s between him and death.
“Cascade—!”
His voice. Raw. Desperate. Shattered.
I turn. Slowly. Painfully. Blood drips from my side, pooling at my feet. My breath comes in short, sharp gasps. My vision blurs.
But I’m still standing.
And Solene—
She’s frozen.
Because Vaelen is there—his hand around her throat, his fangs bared, his eyes glowing crimson.
“You don’t get to touch her,” he growls. “Not again. Not ever.”
He throws her back. She hits the wall, the blade skittering away.
And then—
Silence.
Just the drip of blood. The low hum of the wards. The pounding of my heart.
And him.
His arms around me. Pulling me close. Supporting my weight. His body warm against my back, his breath hot on my neck.
“You idiot,” he whispers. “You idiot. Why would you do that?”
I try to speak. Can’t.
The venom is spreading. My knees buckle. I fall to one knee, then the other. My vision blurs. My hands clench the stone.
And then—
He’s there.
His arms around me. Lifting me. Carrying me.
Not like a prisoner.
Not like a burden.
Like something precious.
Like something hers.
---
The world comes back in fragments.
Firelight.
Stone walls.
The scent of moon-bloom and iron and something sweet, something his.
And him.
He’s beside me—kneeling on the floor, his hands pressing to the wound in my side, his magic flaring, his breath coming fast. Blood drips from his fingertip, smeared across the blade of his dagger. He whispers the words—“Sanguis pura, sanguis vera”—and the magic flows into me, slow, steady, agonizing.
The venom burns. My body rebels. My muscles spasm.
But I don’t pull away.
Because he’s here.
Because his hands are on me.
Because the bond—
It sings.
Not with pain.
Not with fear.
With need.
“You’re not supposed to do this,” I rasp. “Blood magic… it takes from you.”
“Shut up,” he says, not looking at me. “You took a poisoned blade for me. The least I can do is keep you from dying.”
“And if it kills you?” I ask.
“Then it kills me,” he says, voice flat. “But I’d rather die saving you than live knowing I let you die.”
My breath hitches.
He doesn’t see it. Doesn’t feel it. But I do.
Because those words—
They’re the truth.
And the truth is more dangerous than any blade.
Minutes pass. Hours. I don’t know. The venom retreats, slow, grudging, but it’s leaving. My strength returns. My magic stabilizes.
And then—
He stops.
His hand falls away. His breath comes fast. His face is pale. His lips are colorless.
“You’re drained,” I say, sitting up slowly. “You gave too much.”
“I gave enough,” he says, wiping his hand on his trousers. “You’re alive. That’s what matters.”
“And you?” I ask. “Are you alive?”
He glares at me. “Don’t patronize me.”
“I’m not,” I say, reaching for him. “I’m asking.”
He doesn’t pull away.
My hand frames his face. My thumb brushes his cheek. His skin is cold. His breath hitches.
“You could’ve died,” I say, voice rough. “Because of me.”
“And you did,” he says. “Because of me. So I’d say we’re even.”
“We’re not,” I say. “Because I’d do it again. A hundred times. A thousand. I’d take every blade meant for you. I’d burn in every fire. I’d bleed in every war. Just to keep you alive.”
He stares at me. “Why?”
“Because I love you,” I say. “Not because of the bond. Not because of the Council. Not because of fate. Because of you. The man who let me hate him to keep me alive. The man who’s loved me for centuries. The man who’s standing here, naked, vulnerable, and still waiting for me to choose him.”
His breath hitches.
And then—
I rise onto my knees.
And I kiss him.
Not fierce. Not angry.
Soft.
Slow.
Real.
His lips part beneath mine. His hands find my waist, pulling me closer. The bond erupts—white-hot, all-consuming, a tidal wave of magic and emotion that throws us both back onto the floor.
But this time—
I don’t fight it.
I let it in.
I let him in.
And when we break apart, breathless, trembling, his forehead resting against mine, I whisper the words I never thought I’d say:
“I believe you.”
He closes his eyes, as if the words are a physical pain.
Then he opens them.
And for the first time—
I see it.
Not just hunger.
Not just possession.
Hope.
“Then stay with me,” he says. “Not because of the Council. Not because of the bond. But because you want to.”
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.
“I want to,” I whisper.
And the bond—
It sings.
---
Later, we return to his chambers, the guards silent, watchful, as we pass. The fire is lit, the bed turned down, the satchel still hidden beneath the floorboard. He doesn’t sleep on the floor.
He lies beside me.
Close.
Our thighs brush.
The bond screams.
But this time—
Neither of us pulls away.
“You should rest,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing the mark on my spine. “Tomorrow, we confront Valenir. We make him remember. We make him see the truth.”
“And if he doesn’t?” I ask.
“Then we fight,” he says. “But not to destroy him. To save him.”
I turn my head, looking up at him. “You’re impossible.”
He smirks. Slow. Dangerous. “And you’re the only woman who’s ever made me feel alive.”
I close my eyes. Breathe.
And for the first time in ten years—
I let myself rest.
Not because I’m weak.
Not because I’m trapped.
But because I choose to.
Because I want to.
Because—
Despite everything—
Despite the lies, the betrayal, the blood—
I believe him.
And the bond—
It sings.