The storm didn’t stop. It raged through the night like a living thing, pounding the towers of Shadowveil Court with fists of wind and water, shaking the stones beneath my skin. I lay in Kael’s bed, rigid, eyes open, every breath a battle. He was inches away, his body a wall of heat and silence, but I might as well have been chained to a corpse. The bond pulsed between us—steady, insistent, *hungry*—but we didn’t speak. We didn’t move. We didn’t touch.
And yet.
When the lightning flashed, I saw his hand on my waist again. Just resting there. Just holding me. Just *claiming* me in sleep, unaware.
I didn’t pull away.
Not because I wanted him to touch me.
Not because I’d forgotten why I was here.
But because the moment I did, the bond *burned*. A searing ache in my chest, a tightening in my throat, a dizzying wave of nausea that made my vision blur. It wasn’t just emotional. It wasn’t just magic. It was *physical*. Like my body was rejecting the separation, like it had already accepted him as mine, no matter how much my mind screamed otherwise.
So I stayed still.
I let his hand remain.
I let the heat of him sink into my skin.
And I hated myself for it.
By the time dawn broke, the storm had passed. The rain slowed to a whisper, the thunder faded to a growl in the distance. The first pale light of morning crept through the balcony doors, casting long, silver fingers across the black marble floor. Kael was already gone. The sheets on his side of the bed were cold. The air smelled faintly of him—dark wine and winter pine—but he was nowhere to be seen.
I sat up slowly, my muscles stiff, my body aching from tension, not sleep. The mark on my collarbone still throbbed, a dull, persistent heat. My palm—where the Blood Oath scar ran like a knife across my skin—tingled, the red glow now faded, but the memory of it fresh in my mind.
Something had awakened in me last night.
Something old. Something powerful.
And I didn’t know what it meant.
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, my bare feet touching the cold stone. The dagger was still hidden beneath the folds of my dress, the weight of it a comfort. A reminder. I wasn’t just his fated mate. I wasn’t just a pawn in his political game.
I was Avalon.
And I had a mission.
I stood, stripping off the crimson gown and stepping into simpler clothes—black trousers, a fitted leather corset, a dark tunic. Practical. Unobtrusive. The kind of outfit that wouldn’t draw attention in the lower corridors, where the servants moved like shadows and the walls were lined with forgotten archives.
Because today, I wasn’t playing the part of the obedient mate.
Today, I was stealing the Blood Oath ledger.
The ledger was the key. The physical record of the Oath that bound my bloodline to Kael’s family. The document that had sentenced my mother to death. The proof that the bond between us wasn’t fate—it was *manipulation*. That Kael’s father had used ancient magic to enslave her, to control her, to execute her when she tried to break free.
And if I could destroy it, the Oath would unravel. The bond would weaken. And I could kill him.
But the ledger wasn’t just guarded. It was *hidden*. Locked away in the Blood Archive, a chamber deep beneath the Court, accessible only to the Prince and his most trusted lieutenants. A place of silence and shadows, where the air tasted like old blood and the walls were lined with centuries of secrets.
Getting in wouldn’t be easy.
But I’d spent ten years preparing for this.
I braided my hair tightly, securing it with a plain silver clasp. Then I slipped the dagger into the sheath at my thigh, checked the hidden pocket in my tunic for the vial of moon-blessed ink Elara had given me—useful for erasing sigils—and stepped out into the hall.
The guards were there, of course. Two of them, pale-faced and silent, their eyes tracking my every move. But they didn’t stop me. Didn’t question me. Kael had given his orders, and they obeyed.
For now.
I moved through the corridors with purpose, my boots clicking against the stone, my breath steady. The Court was quieter in the morning, the floating candles dim, the sigils on the walls pulsing faintly. I passed a cluster of servants carrying linens, their heads down, their steps quick. A vampire elder shuffled past, his robes trailing behind him like a shroud.
No one looked at me.
No one dared.
But I felt their stares anyway. Felt the weight of their suspicion, their fear. The half-breed. The hybrid. The woman who had walked into their ancestral temple and triggered a fated bond with their prince.
I didn’t care.
I turned down a narrow staircase, the air growing colder, the walls narrowing. This was the lower level—the servant’s wing, the storage corridors, the forgotten places where the Court’s secrets were buried. The Blood Archive was at the end of this hall, behind a door of black iron, sealed with a blood-lock.
And I had a way in.
I stopped before the door, my fingers brushing the cold metal. The lock was ancient—a circular plate etched with runes, designed to open only to the blood of a Nocturne heir. But Elara had taught me a trick. A blood sigil, drawn in moon-blessed ink, could mimic the resonance of pure vampire blood—for a few seconds. Long enough to open the door. Long enough to get inside.
I pulled the vial from my pocket, uncorked it, and dipped my fingertip into the ink. It shimmered faintly, silver and cold. Then I pressed my finger to the lock, tracing the sigil Elara had shown me—a spiral, a crescent, a thorn. The runes on the plate flickered. The air hummed.
And then—
A soft click.
The door swung open.
I stepped inside.
The Blood Archive was a long, narrow chamber, lit by a single floating flame that cast shifting shadows across the walls. Shelves lined the room, stacked with ancient tomes, scrolls sealed with wax, leather-bound ledgers bound in iron. The air was thick with the scent of old paper and dried blood, the silence so deep it pressed against my eardrums.
And there, at the center of the room, on a pedestal of black stone, sat the ledger.
It was smaller than I’d expected—no larger than my hand, bound in dark leather, the cover embossed with the Nocturne crest: a crescent moon pierced by a thorn. My mark.
My blood.
I crossed the room slowly, my breath shallow, my pulse steady. The bond flared—just slightly—as I reached for it, a warning, a protest. But I ignored it. This wasn’t about the bond. This was about justice. About vengeance. About my mother.
I opened the ledger.
The pages were thin, brittle, written in a looping script of old vampire tongue. Names. Dates. Oaths. Blood pacts sealed with a drop of crimson, now faded to brown. And then—
There.
My mother’s name.
Lyra of the Grey Coven. Blood Oath sealed under moonlight. Bound to House Nocturne in perpetuity. Penalty for breach: death.
Beneath it, a signature—Kael’s father, Lord Malrik Nocturne.
And beneath that—a second name.
Avalon. Heir of Lyra. Blood Oath inherited. Bound in blood, bound in death.
My hands trembled.
Not from fear.
From rage.
They’d *passed* it down. Like a curse. Like a disease. My mother had died for this. And now, they expected me to live for it.
Well, no more.
I reached for the dagger, ready to slash the page, to burn the book, to destroy it all—
And then—
“You think I don’t feel it?”
The voice hit me like a blade.
I spun.
Kael stood in the doorway, his silhouette sharp against the dim light of the hall, his coat open, his eyes like frozen stars. He didn’t look angry. Didn’t look surprised. Just… inevitable.
“This bond is torture,” he said, stepping inside.
I didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just held the ledger in one hand, the dagger in the other, my body coiled like a spring.
He closed the door behind him. The lock clicked shut. The room was sealed.
“You came here to steal it,” he said, voice low. “Not to read it. Not to understand. To destroy it.”
“And if I did?” I challenged. “Would that be so wrong?”
“It wouldn’t break the Oath,” he said, stepping closer. “The ledger is a record. Not the source. The magic is in the blood. In *you*.”
“Then I’ll find another way,” I said. “I’ll burn every trace of it. I’ll kill you if I have to.”
He didn’t flinch. Just kept coming, his boots silent on the stone. The bond flared—hot, insistent—as he closed the distance between us. I could feel his heat, his scent, the way his breath hitched when he stopped just inches away.
“You think I don’t want to be free of it?” he said, his voice rough. “You think I *wanted* this bond? You think I *wanted* you?”
My breath caught.
Not from his words.
From the truth in them.
He *didn’t* want me. Not really. He wanted control. Power. The throne. And I was a threat to all of it.
But the bond didn’t care.
It flared again—hotter, deeper—as he reached for me. Not to take the ledger. Not to disarm me.
To *pin* me.
One hand shot out, gripping my wrist, twisting it behind my back. The other braced against the shelf, caging me in. The dagger clattered to the floor. The ledger slipped from my fingers.
And then I was pressed against the stone, my chest rising and falling too fast, my skin burning where he touched me. His body was heat against mine, his breath warm on my neck. The bond *screamed*—a surge of magic that made my knees weak, my breath catch, my pulse race.
And I wasn’t afraid.
I was *aroused*.
It wasn’t just the proximity. It wasn’t just the heat. It was the way his chest pressed against my back, the way his thigh slid between mine, the way his fangs dropped just slightly, grazing the shell of my ear.
“You think I don’t feel it?” he growled, his voice low, raw. “This bond. This *need*. It’s in my blood. In my bones. In my *fucking soul*.”
I turned my head, my lips brushing his jaw. “Then let me go.”
“I can’t.”
“Then fight it.”
“I *am*,” he said, his voice breaking. “Every second. Every breath. Every time I look at you.”
And then—
He released me.
Just like that. Stepped back. Turned away. His chest rose and fell too fast. His hands clenched into fists. But he didn’t touch me again.
“Take the ledger,” he said, voice cold. “It’s useless. The Oath is in your blood. In mine. And no amount of fire or steel will break it.”
I didn’t move. Just stared at him, my heart pounding, my skin still tingling.
“Then what will?” I whispered.
He didn’t answer.
Just walked to the pedestal, picked up the ledger, and tossed it into my hands.
“You want to destroy it?” he said. “Go ahead. Burn it. Tear it apart. But know this—” He stepped closer, his eyes silver, the mark in his iris glowing faintly. “—the bond will remain. And if you die trying to break it, I die with you.”
He turned and walked to the door.
“And I won’t let that happen.”
He opened the door, then paused, his hand on the frame.
“Don’t steal from me again, Avalon. Next time, I won’t let you go.”
And then he was gone.
I stood there, the ledger in my hands, my breath shallow, my skin still burning.
He’d let me go.
He’d *let* me.
Not because he didn’t care.
But because he did.
I looked down at the ledger. Then, slowly, I closed it.
And for the first time, I wondered—
Was I the hunter?
Or was I the prey?
I didn’t return to his chambers. I couldn’t. Not yet. Not with my skin still humming, my body still aching from the way he’d held me, the way his voice had broken when he said he was fighting the bond.
So I walked.
Through the lower corridors. Through the servant’s wing. Through the forgotten places where the Court’s secrets were buried. I didn’t know where I was going. I just needed to move. To think. To breathe.
And then—
I found it.
A small chapel, hidden behind a tapestry of black silk. The air was thick with incense, the walls lined with candles that burned with cold blue flame. At the center of the room, a statue of the Moon Mother, her hands outstretched, her eyes closed in sorrow.
I stepped inside.
And for the first time since I’d entered Shadowveil Court, I let myself *feel*.
Not anger.
Not vengeance.
But grief.
For my mother.
For the life I’d lost.
For the man who had just pinned me to a shelf and made me tremble with desire.
I sank to my knees, the ledger still in my hands, and I wept.