I don’t sleep.
Not after the Blood Markets. Not after the ritual chamber, not after the way Solene’s magic clawed at the bond like a starving thing, not after the way Vaelen carried me from the tunnels like I was the last ember in a dying fire. 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 Valenir is free.
My mentor. My protector. The man who called me *little star*. The man who once knelt before Solene to save me, only to be bound by her magic. Now he stands beside us—clear-eyed, broken, but loyal. He remembers. He knows. And he’s ready to fight.
And Vaelen—
He’s not the monster I thought he was.
He’s the boy who loved me at six. The man who let me hate him to keep me alive. The vampire who’s loved me for centuries.
And I—
I’m the witch who finally believes him.
A soft knock at the door.
“Who is it?” I whisper, not moving.
“Dain,” the voice says, low. “He’s awake. And he wants to talk. Alone.”
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.
“What does he want to talk about?” I ask.
“You,” Dain says. “And the bond. He says… he needs to offer you something. But he won’t say what.”
I close my eyes.
And for the first time—
I’m afraid.
Not of Solene. Not of war. Not of death.
But of the gift.
---
We meet in the solar—the high-ceilinged room at the east wing of the castle, where the morning sun spills through stained glass in fractured patterns of gold and crimson. Vaelen stands by the window, his back to me, his coat fastened at the throat, his fangs retracted but his eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. He doesn’t turn when I enter. Doesn’t speak. Just watches the sunrise.
Dain closes the door behind me. The lock clicks.
“You wanted to talk,” I say, voice steady. “So talk.”
He turns.
And for the first time, I see it—resignation in his eyes. Not the cold, controlled predator I’ve known. Not the man who pins me to walls and growls threats in my ear. But a man who’s made a choice. A final one.
“Sit,” he says.
I don’t.
“Then say it standing,” I say. “Whatever it is. Just say it.”
He exhales. Slow. Deliberate. Like he’s bracing himself.
“You’re wounded,” he says. “Again. Because of me. Because of *us*. And every time you bleed, I feel it. Not just in the bond. In here.” He presses a hand to his chest. “It’s tearing me apart.”
“And?” I ask. “I’ve bled before. I’ll bleed again. That’s not news.”
“But it doesn’t have to,” he says. “There’s a way to make you stronger. To protect you. To keep you safe.”
My breath catches.
“Immortality,” I say. “You want to turn me.”
He nods. “Yes. I can give you my blood. A full exchange. You’ll become vampire. You’ll live forever. You’ll be immune to poison. To blades. To magic. To *her*.”
I don’t move. Don’t breathe.
“You’d be safe,” he says. “Truly safe. No more fear. No more pain. No more dying for me.”
“And what about who I am?” I ask, voice tight. “My magic? My blood? My *soul*? What happens to the witch who bleeds to cast spells? The half-fae who feels the moon in her bones? The woman who’s fought her entire life not to be controlled?”
“You’d still be you,” he says. “Stronger. Faster. More powerful. Your magic would evolve. It would *grow*.”
“Or it would be erased,” I say. “Consumed. Replaced. I’ve seen what your kind do to hybrids. They strip them. They drain them. They turn them into weapons. Is that what you want? A perfect, obedient mate who never bleeds, never breaks, never *chooses*?”
“No,” he says, stepping forward. “I want *you*. The woman who climbs thornwalls. Who steals daggers. Who looks me in the eye and says she’s not afraid. I want the witch who fights with blood and fire. The fae who laughs at the moon. The woman who *chose* me, even when she hated me.”
“Then why offer this?” I ask. “Why now?”
“Because I can’t lose you,” he says, voice raw. “Not again. Not ever. Every time you step in front of a blade, every time you bleed for me, it’s like dying a little more. And I can’t—*I won’t*—live in a world where you’re gone.”
“So you’d change me?” I say. “To keep me alive?”
“To keep you *safe*,” he says. “Because the moment you walked back into this castle, I knew. The bond wasn’t broken. It was sleeping. And when I saw you… when our eyes met… it woke up. And I knew—no matter what, I had to protect you. Even if it meant changing you. Even if it meant losing the woman I love to save her life.”
Tears stream down my face.
“And if I said yes?” I ask. “If I let you turn me. Would you still love me? Or would you love the immortal creature you made?”
“I’d love *you*,” he says. “Always. No matter what. But… I won’t do it unless you say yes. Not just with your lips. With your soul. With your *choice*.”
“So it’s not really a choice,” I say. “It’s a test. Another one.”
“No,” he says. “It’s a gift. One I’m giving you. Freely. Without demand. Without magic. Without compulsion. You say the word, and it’s done. You say no, and I’ll never ask again. But I need you to know—this isn’t about control. It’s about love. The kind that doesn’t bend. The kind that doesn’t break. The kind that stands between a blade and the one it loves.”
My breath hitches.
And then—
I step forward.
Close. So close I can feel the heat of his body, the faint hum of his magic, the steady pulse of his blood beneath his skin. My fingers brush the collar of his coat. His breath hitches.
“You want to save me,” I say. “But you don’t understand. I’m not broken. I’m not weak. I’m not some fragile thing that needs to be preserved in glass. I’ve bled. I’ve fought. I’ve *lived*. And I’ll keep doing it. For my people. For my world. For *you*.”
“Then let me help you,” he says. “Let me make you stronger.”
“No,” I say. “Because if you turn me, you take that from me. You take my blood. My magic. My *power*. You take the very thing that makes me who I am. And then what am I? Your perfect mate? Your immortal queen? Or just another vampire who wears my face?”
He flinches.
“I don’t want a queen,” he says. “I want a partner. An equal. A woman who stands beside me, not behind me. Not above me. Not below me. *Beside* me.”
“Then let me stay *me*,” I say. “Let me bleed. Let me fight. Let me die for you if I have to. But don’t take my choice. Don’t take my power. Don’t take my *soul*.”
He stares at me. His crimson eyes burn into mine. “And if you die?”
“Then I die,” I say. “But I’ll die as myself. Not as your creation.”
“Cascade—”
“No,” I say, stepping back. “I love you. 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, offering me eternity like it’s a bargaining chip.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just watches me.
And then—
He nods.
Slow. Deliberate.
“Then I won’t ask again,” he says. “But know this—every time you bleed, I’ll be there. Every time you fall, I’ll catch you. Every time you die, I’ll bring you back. Not as a vampire. Not as an immortal. But as *you*. The woman I love. The woman who chooses me. Again. And again. And again.”
My breath hitches.
And then—
I rise onto my toes.
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 against the wall.
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 Solene. We make her see the truth.”
“And if she doesn’t?” I ask.
“Then we fight,” he says. “But not to destroy her. To save her.”
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.