The vision still burned behind my eyes.
Not the child—though the memory of those silver-lavender eyes, so like my own, sent a strange ache through my chest. Not the war, not the fire, not the blood. It was the end that haunted me. Me, standing over Kael’s body, dagger in hand, his blood on my lips, tears streaking my face. I hadn’t felt triumph. I hadn’t felt justice.
I’d felt *ruin*.
And worse—
I’d *wanted* it.
Not the killing. Not the blood. But the closeness. The finality. The way his body had gone still beneath me, how his breath had hitched once, twice, before stopping. The way his hand had twitched toward mine, even in death. As if, in the end, he’d still reached for me.
I shuddered, pressing my palms to my temples as Kael led me through the silent corridors of Shadowveil Court. The bond pulsed between us, a low, insistent hum, but neither of us spoke. The weight of what we’d shared—the blood, the visions, the *truth*—was too heavy for words. I could still taste him on my tongue, dark and ancient, laced with sorrow and something fiercer, something that made my pulse race even now. And he—
He walked beside me like a man holding back a storm.
His jaw was clenched. His hands were fists at his sides. His coat flared behind him with each step, the silver runes glowing faintly in the dim light. He hadn’t looked at me since the ritual. Not once. But I could feel his gaze when he thought I wasn’t paying attention. Could feel the way his breath hitched when my arm brushed against his. Could feel the bond tightening, coiling around us like a living thing.
We reached his chambers. The guards opened the door, then stepped back, their eyes down. Kael didn’t enter. He just stood in the threshold, his silhouette sharp against the torchlight, his voice low.
“Go inside. Rest. I’ll send someone with food.”
I didn’t move. “You’re not coming in?”
“I have business to attend to.”
“More Council meetings? More lies?”
He turned, his eyes silver, the mark in his iris glowing faintly. “Survival, Avalon. Not lies. *Survival.*”
“And what about us?” I whispered. “What about the visions? The child? The blood?”
His expression didn’t change. But his hand twitched—just slightly—toward mine. “That’s not something we discuss in hallways.”
And then he was gone, striding down the corridor, his boots echoing like a death knell.
I stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind me. The room was cold, the hearth unlit, the balcony doors sealed against the night. I didn’t bother with the bed. Just sank into the chair by the window, the Blood Oath ledger still clutched in my lap. The vellum was warm beneath my fingers, the embossed crescent and thorn pressing into my skin like a brand.
The ritual had changed nothing.
And everything.
I’d come here to kill Kael. To break the Oath. To avenge my mother.
But now—
Now I’d tasted his blood. Felt his soul. Seen a future where we were *more* than enemies. Where we were *parents*. Where I held a child with his eyes and my hair, and the bond wasn’t a curse—it was a *home*.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
No. I couldn’t think like that. I couldn’t *feel* like that. This was a trap. A manipulation. The bond was feeding on my grief, my loneliness, my *need*. It wanted me to believe in us. To trust him. To lower my guard.
And if I did—
I’d be just like my mother.
Executed for loving a monster.
I stood abruptly, pacing the room, my boots clicking against the stone. The mark on my collarbone throbbed, a dull, persistent heat. My palm—where the Blood Oath scar ran—tingled, the red glow now faded, but the memory of it fresh in my mind. Something had awakened in me the night of the storm. Something old. Something powerful.
And I didn’t know what it meant.
I stopped before the mirror, gripping the edge of the vanity. My reflection stared back—silver-lavender eyes wide, dark waves tangled, lips still slightly parted from the shock of the ritual. I looked… haunted. Not by the visions. Not by the blood.
By *him*.
And then—
A knock at the door.
“Lady Avalon,” a voice called. “You have a visitor.”
I didn’t answer. Just straightened my spine, wiped the emotion from my face, and said, “Enter.”
The door opened.
And *she* walked in.
Mira Thorne.
She didn’t wear Kael’s coat this time. No, she’d chosen something far more deliberate—a sheer black gown that clung to her curves, the neckline plunging, the fabric so thin I could see the shadow of her nipples beneath. Her dark hair spilled over one shoulder, her lips painted the same crimson as the stain on Kael’s collar. And on her neck—
A fresh bite mark.
Fang-shaped. Still glistening. Still *bleeding*.
My breath caught.
Not from shock.
From *rage*.
She smiled, slow and smug, stepping inside like she owned the place. “You look… fragile,” she purred. “The ritual must have been exhausting.”
I didn’t answer. Just stared at the mark on her neck. At the blood welling at the edges. At the way her pulse throbbed beneath it.
“Kael always did prefer a challenge,” she continued, running a hand down her throat, smearing the blood. “But he *adores* a conquest. And you—” She tilted her head, studying me. “—are so *desperate* to hate him. It’s almost endearing.”
“Get out,” I said, my voice low.
“Or what?” She stepped closer, her hips swaying, her scent thick in the air—jasmine and iron and something cloying, something *false*. “You’ll tell him I was here? That I wore his coat? That I let him *feed* from me?”
“He wouldn’t touch you,” I said, my fists clenching. “Not after the study. Not after he told you to leave.”
“Oh, he didn’t *feed* from me,” she said, laughing. “I fed from *him*. Three times. Just like the old days. And he *let* me. Do you know how hard it is to sneak into a vampire prince’s chambers? How dangerous?” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. “But he didn’t stop me. Didn’t fight me. Just lay there and *let* me taste him.”
“You’re lying.”
“Am I?” She turned her head, exposing the bite mark. “Ask him. Go ahead. Run to him like a good little mate and ask if he let me drink from his wrist. Ask if he moaned my name when I sank my fangs into his skin.”
The bond *screamed*.
Fire ripped through my veins, a surge of jealousy so violent it made my vision blur. I didn’t think. I moved.
One second, I was across the room.
The next, I had her by the throat, slamming her against the wall, my fangs—*my fangs*—descending without permission, my grip unbreakable. She gasped, not from pain, but from triumph.
“There it is,” she purred. “The *real* you. Not the cold, calculating assassin. Not the grieving daughter. The *jealous* woman. The one who *wants* him.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I growled, my voice guttural, inhuman.
“Oh, I do,” she said, her fingers scratching at my wrist. “You came here to kill him. But now you’ve tasted his blood. Felt his soul. Seen a future where you’re *his*.” Her eyes narrowed. “And you’re terrified of it.”
“I’m not terrified,” I spat. “I’m *disgusted*.”
“Then why are you trembling?”
And she was right.
I was.
Not from anger.
From *need*.
The bond flared—hot, insistent, reacting to my fury, feeding on it. My skin burned where I touched her, the mark on my collarbone pulsing in time with my heartbeat. I could feel Kael—his presence, his panic, his *hunger*—rushing toward us like a storm.
And then—
The door burst open.
Kael stood in the threshold, his coat open, his eyes like frozen stars, his fangs fully descended. He didn’t look at Mira. Didn’t look at the bite mark. His gaze locked onto mine—silver, furious, *possessive*.
“Let. Her. Go.”
His voice was low. Gutural. Inhuman.
I didn’t move. Just held Mira against the wall, my fingers tightening.
“You let her wear your coat,” I said, my voice shaking. “You let her *bite* you. You let her—”
“I didn’t,” he snarled, stepping forward. “She’s lying. The bite is fake. The blood—*paint*. She’s trying to provoke you.”
“Prove it,” I whispered.
He didn’t hesitate.
In one fluid motion, he crossed the room, wrenched Mira from my grip, and slammed her against the opposite wall, his hand around her throat. “Show her,” he growled. “Show her the truth.”
Mira laughed, even as her breath choked. “Do it. Go ahead. Show her how you *really* feel.”
And then—
He tore open her gown.
Not gently. Not carefully. With a single, violent motion, he ripped the fabric down the center, exposing her chest, her stomach, the curve of her hips.
And there—
Nothing.
No bite marks. No scars. No evidence of feeding.
Just smooth, unbroken skin.
“The blood is from a vial,” Kael said, his voice cold. “The mark—painted. She’s been working with the Dark Council. Spreading lies. Trying to break us.”
Mira’s smile faltered. “You’ll regret this.”
“I regret many things,” Kael said. “But letting you go isn’t one of them.” He turned to me, his eyes silver, the mark in his iris glowing faintly. “You believe me?”
I didn’t answer. Just stared at Mira’s exposed body, at the lie written in paint and deception.
“You’re jealous,” he said, stepping closer.
“I hate you,” I spat.
“Then why are you trembling?”
And he was right.
I was.
Not from fear.
From *want*.
The bond flared—hot, undeniable. My breath hitched. My pulse jumped. My skin burned where he touched me.
And then—
He kissed me.
Not gentle. Not tender. A *claim*. A *challenge*. His lips crashed against mine, hard and demanding, his hand fisted in my hair, holding me still. I didn’t kiss him back—couldn’t. I was frozen, stunned, my body rigid against his. 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 floor until the entire room blazed with silver light. I could taste him—dark wine and winter pine and something *fierce*—and for one reckless second, I forgot why I was here. Forgot Mira. Forgot the Oath. Forgot everything but the way his lips felt beneath mine.
And then—
I bit him.
Not a love bite. Not a tease.
A *wound*.
My fangs sank into his lower lip, breaking skin, drawing blood. He groaned—low, guttural, *aroused*—and the bond *exploded*, a surge of magic so violent it made the walls shake. I tasted him—his blood, his power, his *soul*—and for the first time, I didn’t pull away.
I *fed*.
Just a sip. Just a taste.
But it was enough.
He broke the kiss, stepping back, his lip bleeding, his breath ragged, his eyes blazing. The mark on my collarbone *burned*, not with pain—but with *fire*.
“You’d hate me for it,” he said, breathless.
“I already do,” I whispered.
And then—
He smiled.
Not warm. Not kind.
A predator’s smile.
“Good,” he said. “Then you’ll remember.”
Mira was gone. The guards had taken her—dragged her out, still laughing, still smug. The room was silent, the torches flickering, the bond humming between us like a live wire.
Kael stood before me, his lip still bleeding, his coat open, his chest rising and falling too fast. I could still taste his blood on my tongue, dark and ancient, laced with something *fierce*. And the bond—
It wasn’t just magic.
It was *us*.
He reached for me. Not to pin. Not to control.
To *touch*.
His hand cupped my face, his thumb brushing my cheekbone. The bond flared—hot, undeniable. My breath hitched. My eyes fluttered shut.
“You bit me,” he murmured.
“You deserved it.”
“And you liked it.”
I didn’t answer.
Because he was right.
And then—
He pulled me into his chest, his arms wrapping around me, holding me like I was something fragile, something *his*.
“Fight me if you have to,” he said. “Hate me if you want. But don’t lie to me. Don’t lie to yourself.”
“And what am I lying about?”
“That you want me,” he said. “That you *need* me. That you’d rather die than let another woman touch me.”
My breath caught.
Not from shock.
From *truth*.
He was right.
I *was* jealous.
I *did* want him.
And I *would* kill anyone who tried to take him from me.
“I won’t let you go,” he said, his voice rough. “Not to the Oath. Not to the Council. Not to *anyone*.”
“And if I try to kill you?”
“Then I’ll make you regret it,” he said. “Every damn day.”
I buried my face in his coat, my hands fisting in the fabric, my body trembling.
And for the first time since I’d walked into Shadowveil Court—
I let myself *want* him.
The mark on my collarbone pulsed, warm and alive.
Not a curse.
A promise.