The moment I stepped into my chambers, I knew something was wrong.
It wasn’t the silence. The room was always silent—stone walls, cold fire in the hearth, the balcony doors sealed against the morning light. It wasn’t the untouched bed, the undisturbed books, the empty goblet on the side table. None of that mattered.
It was the *scent*.
Wrong. Alien. A cloying mix of night-blooming jasmine and iron-rich blood—too sweet, too deliberate. Not mine. Not hers.
Mira.
I inhaled slowly, my fangs dropping without permission, my body tensing with the instinctive surge of possession. The bond flared in my chest, a low, dangerous pulse that had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with rage. Avalon’s absence had already been a wound—thin, sharp, pulsing beneath my ribs. But this? This was an invasion.
Someone had been in my space. On my bed. In *our* bed.
And they’d left their mark.
I moved through the chamber like a shadow, my boots silent on the black marble. The scent grew stronger near the bed—a faint trace on the sheets, another on the pillow. I didn’t need to see the imprint of her body to know she’d lain there. I could *feel* it. The lingering warmth. The arrogance. The challenge.
Mira Thorne. My former Blood Consort. A vampire of House Ashen, beautiful, cunning, and utterly without loyalty. She’d served me for three years, fed from my wrist, worn my ring, whispered promises in the dark. But she’d never been mine. Not truly. I’d allowed the arrangement for political leverage, for access to her network, for the illusion of control. But the moment the fated bond activated with Avalon, I’d severed it. Cold. Final. No ceremony. No explanation.
And now she was here. In my chambers. On my bed. Smelling like she still had a claim.
My hand clenched into a fist. The bond with Avalon pulsed—hot, insistent, reacting to my anger, feeding on it. It had been hours since I’d seen her. Since I’d pinned her in the Blood Archive, felt her tremble beneath my hands, heard her breath hitch when I whispered that I was fighting the bond.
And I *was* fighting it.
Every second. Every breath. Every time I looked at her and saw not just the woman sent to kill me, but the one my body, my blood, my *soul* recognized as mine.
But Mira didn’t know that.
And she wasn’t supposed to be here.
I turned toward the wardrobe—my private one, warded with blood sigils, accessible only to me. The lock was intact. The seal unbroken.
But the door was slightly ajar.
I crossed the room in two strides and yanked it open.
And there it was.
My coat.
The one I wore during formal audiences—the black wool edged with silver runes, the insignia of House Nocturne stitched over the heart. The one I’d taken off last night before bed. The one that should have been folded neatly on the shelf.
It wasn’t.
It was draped over the arm of the chair, carelessly, like a discarded lover’s garment. And on the collar—
A single, perfect lip print. Crimson. Fresh.
I didn’t need to smell it to know whose blood had tinted the stain.
She’d worn it. Paraded in it. Let the Court see her wrapped in the symbol of my authority like she still had the right.
And worse—
She’d left a note.
Folded neatly in the inner pocket, written in her looping script on vellum scented with jasmine.
You always did look better on me.
I crushed the paper in my fist, the vellum disintegrating to ash. My vision darkened at the edges, the vampire in me rising, demanding blood, demanding retribution. But I forced it down. I couldn’t lose control. Not now. Not when the Council was watching. Not when Avalon was already slipping through my fingers.
I had to find her.
I strode to the door, my coat already on, the weight of it a reminder of what was at stake. The guards snapped to attention as I passed.
“Where is Lady Avalon?” I demanded.
One of them hesitated. “She left the chambers hours ago, my lord. We assumed—”
“You assume nothing,” I snapped. “Find her. Now.”
They scattered.
I didn’t wait. I moved through the corridors like a storm, my senses sharp, my mind racing. She wasn’t in the East Wing. Not in the dining hall. Not in the gardens. I could feel the bond—dull, distant, like a thread stretched too thin. She was avoiding me. Or worse—she’d already heard.
And then—
I felt it.
A spike of emotion through the bond. Not pain. Not fear.
Jealousy.
Sharp. Hot. Unmistakable.
It came from the west wing—the private quarters, the unused chambers, the forgotten places. I turned, moving faster, the bond pulling me like a tether. And then I heard it—
Voices.
Low. Angry. One familiar. One I hadn’t heard in years.
I rounded the corner and stopped.
The door to my old study was open. Inside, Mira stood by the window, wearing my coat, her dark hair spilling over one shoulder, her lips painted the same crimson as the stain on the collar. She looked like a queen. A conqueror. A liar.
And Avalon—
She stood in the center of the room, her fists clenched, her silver-lavender eyes blazing, her breath coming in sharp, shallow bursts. She hadn’t drawn her dagger. Hadn’t attacked. But her body was coiled like a spring, every muscle taut with fury.
“You let her wear your coat?”
Her voice was low. Controlled. But I could hear the tremor beneath it. The betrayal. The pain.
Mira smiled. Slow. Smug. “He didn’t *let* me, darling. I took it. Just like I took everything else from him.”
Avalon’s hand twitched toward her thigh—toward the hidden sheath. “You’re lying.”
“Am I?” Mira stepped closer, her hips swaying, her scent thick in the air. “Ask him how many times I’ve fed from his wrist. Ask him how many nights I spent in his bed. Ask him if he ever whispered your name when he was inside me.”
Avalon flinched.
And the bond *screamed*.
Fire ripped through my veins, a surge of possessive rage so violent I saw red. I didn’t think. I moved.
One second, I was in the hall.
The next, I had Mira by the throat, slamming her against the wall, my fangs fully descended, my grip unbreakable. Her eyes widened, not with fear, but with triumph.
“Kael,” she purred, even as her breath choked. “You always did love a show of dominance.”
“You have no right to be here,” I growled, my voice guttural, inhuman. “No right to wear my coat. No right to speak her name.”
“Or yours?” Avalon said, her voice sharp. “How many times, Kael? How many times did you let her touch you? Let her *taste* you?”
I didn’t release Mira. I didn’t look at Avalon. But I felt her—every word, every breath, every heartbeat. The bond flared, not with desire, but with something deeper. Something raw.
Hurt.
She thought I’d chosen Mira over her.
She thought I’d let another woman claim what was mine.
And gods help me, the thought made my chest burn.
“Three times,” Mira gasped, her fingers scratching at my wrist. “Three blood exchanges. That’s a bond, little half-breed. What do you have? A cursed mark and a lie?”
Avalon stepped forward. “You’re lying. The bond would’ve shown—”
“Not if he *hides* it,” Mira sneered. “He’s good at that. Hiding. Denying. Pretending he doesn’t want what he can’t have.”
I tightened my grip. “One more word, and I’ll rip your throat out.”
“Do it,” she challenged. “Prove to her that you’re still the monster she thinks you are.”
And then—
Avalon shoved me.
Not hard. Not enough to move me. But the contact—skin to skin, fury to fury—sent a jolt through the bond like lightning. I staggered back, not from force, but from the surge of magic, the raw, unfiltered emotion flooding through me.
Her touch burned.
Not with pain.
With *fire*.
She stepped between us, her back to me, her eyes locked on Mira. “You don’t know him. You never did. You’re just a ghost clinging to scraps of attention.”
Mira laughed. “And you’re a prisoner pretending to be a queen. You think this bond makes you special? It’s a curse. A trap. And when he tires of you, he’ll discard you like he did me.”
“No,” I said, stepping forward. “I discarded you because you were weak. Because you crave power you can’t earn. Because you think seduction is strength.”
Mira’s smile faltered.
“Avalon,” I continued, my voice low, meant only for her, “doesn’t need to seduce me. She *challenges* me. She fights me. She *hates* me.” I stepped closer, my hand brushing her arm, the bond flaring at the contact. “And that’s why she’s mine.”
Mira’s eyes narrowed. “You’re lying. You don’t feel anything for her. You can’t.”
“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” I said. “You’re no longer welcome in my court. Leave. Now. Or I’ll have you dragged out.”
She didn’t move. Just stared at me, her chest rising and falling. “You’ll regret this.”
“I regret many things,” I said. “But letting you go isn’t one of them.”
She tore my coat off, throwing it at my feet. “Enjoy your cursed mate, Kael. When she kills you, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
And then she was gone.
The door slammed shut behind her.
Silence.
I looked down at the coat. Then at Avalon.
She hadn’t turned around. Her shoulders were rigid, her breath unsteady. The bond pulsed between us—tense, aching, alive.
“You let her wear your coat,” she said again, her voice quiet.
“I didn’t,” I said. “She stole it. Like she stole everything else.”
“And the blood exchanges?”
“Once,” I said. “And it meant nothing.”
“Three times makes a bond,” she whispered.
“Not if it’s not *wanted*,” I said. “Not if it’s taken by force. Not if the vampire refuses the claim.”
She turned to face me. “You refused her?”
“I refused *all* of them,” I said. “The Consorts. The Heirs. The Chosen. I allowed Mira because she had information. Not because I desired her.”
Her eyes searched mine. “And me? Do you desire me?”
The bond flared—hot, undeniable. My fangs ached. My hands clenched. The air between us shimmered with magic.
“Every damn day,” I said, my voice rough. “And it terrifies me.”
She didn’t flinch. Just held my gaze, her breath catching. “Then why does she smell like you?”
I stepped closer. “Because she’s desperate. Because she wants power. Because she thinks if she can make you doubt me, she wins.”
“And do I?”
“You tell me.”
I reached for her. Not to pin. Not to control.
To *touch*.
My hand cupped her face, my thumb brushing her cheekbone. The bond *screamed*—a surge of heat, of magic, of something deeper than either of us understood. Her breath hitched. Her eyes fluttered shut. And for one fragile second, she leaned into my touch.
Then she pulled away.
“Don’t,” she whispered. “Don’t make me want you.”
“Too late,” I said. “You already do.”
She turned and walked out, leaving me standing in the study, my hand still outstretched, the scent of her—moon-bloom and iron and something wild—filling the air.
And the coat at my feet, stained with another woman’s lie.
That night, I found her in the chapel.
The small, hidden one behind the tapestry of black silk. The candles burned with cold blue flame, the statue of the Moon Mother watching with closed eyes. She knelt before the altar, the Blood Oath ledger in her hands, her head bowed.
She didn’t look up when I entered.
I didn’t speak. Just knelt beside her, close enough that our arms brushed, close enough that the bond hummed between us like a live wire.
“You came here to weep,” I said quietly.
She didn’t answer.
“You don’t have to,” I said. “Not in front of me.”
“Why not?” she whispered. “You’ve already seen me weak. Angry. Jealous.”
“And strong,” I said. “Fierce. Unbreakable.”
She turned to me, her eyes glistening. “You don’t know me.”
“I know enough,” I said. “I know you came here to kill me. I know you’d do it again if you could. I know you hate me.”
“And yet you keep me close.”
“Because the bond demands it,” I said. “And because I’m selfish enough to want you near, even if you despise me.”
She looked down at the ledger. “This changes nothing.”
“No,” I agreed. “It doesn’t. The Oath is in our blood. But *this*—” I touched the mark on her collarbone, my fingers lingering, “—isn’t just magic. It’s *us*.”
She didn’t pull away.
And for the first time, I wondered—
Was I the one who’d been trapped all along?