TIDE
The mark still burns.
Not with pain. Not with magic. But with *memory*.
I lie in Kael’s bed—his scent on the sheets, his body heat still lingering in the space beside me—and press my fingers to the bite on my neck. It pulses under my touch, warm, alive, *his*. The rune above my spine flares faintly, reacting to the bond, to the blood, to the truth I can no longer deny.
I didn’t just let him claim me.
I *begged* for it.
The words echo in the silence, sharp as glass: *“Take me. Please. I need you.”*
And he did.
Not gently. Not slowly. But with a hunger that matched my own—a claiming, a surrender, a collision of need so fierce it left me shattered, breathless, *ruined*.
And I don’t remember any of it.
Not the way his hands tore at my clothes. Not the way his fangs grazed my throat before sinking in. Not the way I arched beneath him, screaming his name as I came.
But I feel it.
In my bones. In my blood. In the way my body still aches, tender and swollen in places that betray me.
And in the way my heart still races when I look at him.
He’s gone now—vanished into the shadows again, like he always does when things get too real. Left me here, tangled in his sheets, marked by his bite, drowning in the aftermath.
I don’t know what time it is.
The chamber is dark, the black flames in the hearth dead, the runes on the walls pulsing faintly. The air smells of smoke and storm and something deeper, something ancient—*us*. I press my palm to my mouth.
Still tastes like him.
Like blood. Like fire. Like *truth*.
And that terrifies me more than any lie, any blade, any betrayal.
I came here to destroy him.
To sever the contract. To avenge my mother. To free my bloodline.
And instead?
I’m lying in his bed, half-naked, marked by his fangs, trembling every time I breathe.
I sit up.
Too fast. The room tilts. My head spins. The bond hums beneath my skin, a low, insistent thrum, pulling me toward him, toward the heat, toward the *need*.
I don’t fight it.
Can’t.
Because I don’t know if I want to.
I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, boots still on, tunic half-off, skin bare in places. My fingers tremble as I smooth the fabric, as I press my palm to the bite. It pulses. Responds. *Alive*.
Did I want this?
Or was it the bond? The magic? The heat?
Or was it *me*?
I don’t know.
And that’s the worst part.
I walk to the window—barefoot now, silent on the stone—and press my palm to the glass. The city sprawls below—gothic spires piercing the sky, gas lamps flickering, enchanted lanterns glowing like trapped stars. The Midnight Court is still. Whole. Safe.
But I’m not.
Not after last night.
Not after the vault. Not after Malrik. Not after the way he looked at me, the way he touched me, the way he said, *“Join me. Or become my slave.”*
And not after Kael.
Not after the way he held me. The way he kissed me. The way he *claimed* me.
I press my forehead to the glass.
Cold. Sharp. *Real*.
But it doesn’t ground me.
Nothing does.
Because I don’t know who I am anymore.
Am I still the weapon I came here to be?
Or am I something else?
Something softer. Weaker. *Falling*?
A knock.
“Ambassador Tide,” Mara’s voice, low and steady. “The Sovereign requests your presence in the Council chamber. The Fae delegation has arrived.”
I don’t answer.
Can’t.
Because I don’t know if I can face him.
Not after what I did.
Not after what I *let* happen.
“Tide?” she asks, softer this time. “Are you all right?”
I exhale, long and slow. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t sound fine.”
“I’m not.”
A pause. Then—
“Can I come in?”
I don’t answer.
Just press my palm to the door, whisper the unlocking charm, and it clicks open.
She steps inside—golden eyes sharp, coat torn at the shoulder, blood dried on her claws. She doesn’t look at the bed. Doesn’t look at my half-open tunic. Doesn’t look at the bite on my neck.
But she sees it.
Of course she does.
“You’re marked,” she says, voice quiet.
“I know.”
“Fully?”
I don’t answer.
Can’t.
Because I don’t know.
“He claimed you,” she says. “Didn’t he?”
“I don’t remember.”
“But you feel it.”
“Yes.”
She steps closer. “And you want to.”
My breath hitches.
“Don’t lie to me,” she says. “I’ve seen the way you look at him. The way you lean into him. The way you *heal* him. You’re not just bound by the contract. You’re not just tied by the bond. You’re *falling* for him.”
“I came here to destroy him,” I whisper.
“And yet,” she murmurs, “you’re still here.”
The words hit like a blade.
Because she’s using his voice against me. His own *truth*.
And it *hurts*.
“Malrik knows,” I say, voice breaking. “About the Seablood. About the contract. About *me*.”
“I know.”
“And he’ll use it.”
“He will.” She reaches out, fingers brushing my arm. “But you’re not alone.”
“I am.”
“No.” She steps closer. “You have Kael. You have me. You have *us*.”
“He doesn’t care about me,” I say, voice shaking. “He just wants the contract. The power. The throne.”
“And you think he’d take a blade for someone he doesn’t care about?”
I don’t answer.
Because I know the truth.
He did.
He let it pierce his heart. Let his blood spill onto the stone. For *me*.
“And the poison,” she continues. “You fed him your blood. Twice. You kissed him. You *saved* him. And when he was dying, you *screamed* his name like it was the only thing that mattered.”
“It was duty.”
“Liar.” She tilts her head. “You could have let him die. You could have walked away. But you didn’t. You *chose* him. You *saved* him. And now—”
“Now I’m trapped,” I whisper.
“No.” She steps back. “Now you’re *free*.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.” She turns toward the door. “Because you don’t have to destroy him to be free. You don’t have to hate him to be strong. You can *choose* him. Not because of the bond. Not because of the contract. But because you *want* to.”
“I don’t know if I can,” I say, voice breaking.
“Then stop fighting,” she says, hand on the door. “Stop hating. Stop pretending. Let him in. Let *us* in.”
And then she’s gone.
—
I don’t go to the Council chamber.
Don’t go to the garden.
Don’t go to the library.
I go to the vault.
Again.
The corridors grow colder the deeper I go, the torches dimmer, the air thicker with magic. The scent of iron and old blood clings to the stone, mingling with something else—something sharp, something *wrong*. My rune flares beneath my collar, reacting to the darkness, to the bond stretching between me and Kael, to the *fear* crawling up my spine.
I shouldn’t be here.
I know that.
But I need to see it. Need to touch it. Need to remind myself why I came.
I reach the vault door—a massive slab of black stone, etched with serpents and thorns, sealed with a blood sigil. I press my palm to it, whisper the unlocking charm, and the runes flare crimson. The door groans open, revealing the chamber beyond—cold, silent, filled with ancient relics, cursed tomes, and at the center, on a pedestal of bone and obsidian?
The Contract.
It’s still there—stretched taut, pulsing like a living thing, veins of dark magic threading through it like roots. The ink is red—*blood*—and it shifts as I approach, words rearranging themselves, whispering in a language I don’t understand but *feel*, deep in my bones.
I step closer.
My breath hitches.
I can see it—the names. My mother’s. My grandmother’s. And now, mine.
Tide of the Sea. Bound by Blood. Bound by Fate.
And beneath it?
Kael’s name. Kael Virell. Sovereign of the Midnight Court. Anchor of the Pact.
Our names are linked, connected by a thread of crimson light, pulsing in time with my heartbeat.
The bond.
It’s not just magic.
It’s *alive*.
I reach out—fingers trembling—just an inch from the surface.
And then—
“You’re not supposed to be here.”
I freeze.
Not Malrik this time.
Kael.
He’s standing in the archway, shirt gone, coat open, fangs bared, eyes like frozen fire. His presence hits me like a physical force—cold, sharp, *alive*—and the bond *screams*, a jolt of heat tearing through my veins.
“Neither are you,” I say, not turning.
“This is my vault.”
“And I’m not your prisoner.”
He steps closer. “No. You’re my equal. My partner. My *future*.”
My breath hitches.
“And I’m yours,” he says. “Whether you admit it or not.”
I turn.
Slow.
Deliberate.
And I see it—the way his eyes darken when he looks at me. The way his fangs descend when I breathe. The way his hand lifts, fingers brushing my cheek.
“You’re marked,” he says, voice rough.
“I know.”
“And you don’t remember.”
“No.”
“But you feel it.”
“Yes.”
He leans in, close enough that I can feel his breath on my neck. “You screamed my name. You begged for me. You *came* in my arms. And I let you.”
“You’re lying.”
“Am I?” He pulls back, eyes locking onto mine. “Then why are you half-naked? Why is my shirt on the floor? Why is my blood on your lips?”
I don’t answer.
Can’t.
Because he’s right.
And the worst part?
I *want* it to be true.
“You’re mine,” he says, voice rough. “And you always will be.”
“I hate you,” I whisper.
He smiles. Slow. Dangerous.
“You want me.”
And then—
He kisses me.
Soft. Slow. *Claiming*.
And I don’t pull away.
I *lean* in.
Because the truth is—
I don’t know if I came here to destroy him.
But I know I’m not leaving.
Not now.
Not ever.
—
Later, I walk the corridors, trying to burn off the aftermath.
The kiss. The bond. The *truth*. The way his hands felt on my skin. The way his breath tasted—smoke and storm and something deeper, something ancient. The way my body *responded*, not just to the magic, but to *him*.
I don’t go to the garden.
Don’t go to the training hall.
Don’t go to my room.
I go to the library.
The Midnight Archive—a vast chamber of black stone and silver shelves, filled with ancient tomes, cursed scrolls, forbidden knowledge. The air smells of dust and magic and something darker, something older. The runes on the walls pulse faintly, reacting to the magic in the air, to the bond stretching between me and Kael. I can feel him—his presence, his power, his *hunger*—like a second heartbeat.
I don’t know what I’m looking for.
Not revenge. Not escape. Not even answers.
Just… distraction.
I run my fingers along the spines—leather-bound, iron-clasped, some sealed with blood sigils. *The Laws of Blood*. *Rituals of Binding*. *The Seablood Lineage*. I pause.
That one.
I pull it free—thick, heavy, the cover cold beneath my fingers. I open it—pages yellowed, ink faded, illustrations of women with water swirling around them, runes glowing on their skin. I flip through—passages about ancient magic, blood oaths, the power to break contracts, to rewrite fate.
And then—
I freeze.
A passage, circled in red ink:
The Seablood heir may not only break the Blood Contract—but rewrite it. With consent. With sacrifice. With love.
My breath stops.
Rewrite it?
Not destroy. Not sever. But *rewrite*?
As equals?
As partners?
As—
“Looking for something?”
I slam the book shut.
He’s standing in the archway—shirt gone, coat open, fangs bared, eyes like frozen fire. His presence hits me like a physical force—cold, sharp, *alive*—and the bond *screams*, a jolt of heat tearing through my veins.
“Just browsing,” I say, voice steady.
He steps closer. “Liar.”
“I can read.”
“You can.” He stops in front of me, close enough that I can feel the heat of his body, the pull of the bond. “But you don’t have to hide. You want to know about the contract. About the Seablood. About *us*.”
“There is no *us*.”
“There is.” He reaches out, fingers brushing the book in my hands. “And you’re not just the heir. You’re the key. The only one who can *change* it. Not destroy. Not sever. But *rewrite*.”
“With consent,” I whisper.
“Yes.”
“And sacrifice.”
“Yes.”
“And love.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just watches me, chest rising and falling fast.
And then—
Soft, so soft I almost miss it—
“Yes.”
My breath hitches.
“You could break it,” he says. “The contract. Sever the chain. Free your bloodline. But it would kill me.”
“And if I rewrite it?”
“Then we rule. Together. As equals. But the magic resists change. It demands balance. It demands *sacrifice*.”
“And you’re asking me to choose.”
“No.” He leans in, close enough that I can feel his breath on my lips. “I’m telling you the truth. The rest is up to you.”
My chest tightens.
Because I came here to destroy him.
To sever the chain.
To avenge my mother.
But now?
Now I’m not sure I can.
“You’re not like him,” I whisper.
“Who?”
“The vampire king who took her.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just watches me, eyes dark, fangs bared.
“You’re not a monster,” I say. “You’re not a predator. You’re… *more*.”
“And you?” he asks. “Are you still just a weapon?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then stop fighting,” he murmurs. “Stop hating. Stop pretending. Let me in. Let *us* in.”
My breath hitches.
And then—
A knock.
“Sovereign,” Mara’s voice, low and steady. “The Council requests your presence. They’re demanding answers about the poison.”
“Tell them I’ll be there,” Kael says, not looking away from me.
“And Tide?”
“She’s with me.”
“Yes, sir.”
The footsteps fade.
He stands, wincing as the wound pulls. “We should go.”
“I’m not your puppet.”
“No.” He steps closer, one hand lifting to my jaw. “You’re my equal. My partner. My *future*.”
My breath hitches.
“And I’m yours,” he says. “Whether you admit it or not.”
I don’t answer.
Just look at him—shirtless, wounded, lethal, *mine*.
And for the first time—
I believe it.
—
The Council chamber is colder than usual. The torches dim. The air thick with tension. Lira sits at the far end, arms crossed, a smirk on her lips. Elric watches us, eyes sharp. Borin leans back, golden eyes narrowed. Mara stands by the door, silent, observant.
And then—
“Well?” Lira asks, voice sharp. “Did he take you? Did he *claim* you? Or are you still pretending to resist?”
All eyes turn to me.
Kael doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. Just watches her, his expression unreadable.
I lift my chin.
“No,” I say, voice clear. “He didn’t.”
“Then why does your rune glow?” Lira snaps. “Why does the bond hum? Why do you *tremble* when he looks at you?”
“Because the bond is strong,” Elric says, cutting in. “Not because of consummation. The magic responded. That’s enough.”
“It’s not enough,” Lira hisses. “A bond without completion is unstable. It will fray. It will break. And when it does—war begins.”
“Then let it break,” I say, stepping forward. “If the bond is so fragile, then perhaps it was never meant to be.”
“You’re lying,” Lira spits. “You’re drenched in him. I can smell it. Your skin hums. Your pulse jumps. You’re *marked*.”
“And you’re desperate,” I reply, voice cold. “You wear his shirt like a trophy, but you’ve never been near him. You spread lies like poison. And the Council lets you.”
“Enough,” Kael says, stepping between us. “The bond stands. The alliance holds. Tide is under my protection. If anyone has a problem with that, they can take it up with me—*personally*.”
The threat hangs in the air.
No one speaks.
“Meeting adjourned,” he says.
We leave in silence.
Back in his chambers, he finally speaks.
“You told them no,” I say, whirling on him. “You told them the bond wasn’t consummated.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Because it wasn’t.”
“You *bit* me! You *claimed* me!”
“Claiming isn’t consummation,” he says. “Not fully. Not completely. Not the way I want it.”
She stares at me. “You want it.”
“Yes.”
“Then why stop?”
“Because I want you to *choose* it,” he says. “Not because the bond forces you. Not because magic compels you. But because *you* do.”
She doesn’t answer.
Just turns and walks to the window, arms crossed, back to me.
And then—
Soft, so soft I almost miss it—
“Maybe I do.”
I don’t move.
Don’t breathe.
Just listen.
“Maybe I *do* want you,” she says, voice quiet. “Maybe I *do* want this. Maybe I’m just… *afraid*.”
I step closer. Slow. Deliberate.
“Then don’t be,” I murmur, stopping just behind her. “Let me in. Let me *have* you. Not as a prisoner. Not as a pawn. But as *yours*.”
She doesn’t turn.
Just stands there, breathing fast, her rune glowing faintly.
And then—
She leans back.
Just an inch.
Just a breath.
But it’s enough.
I wrap my arms around her. Pull her against me. Press my lips to her neck, just above the bite.
And the bond?
It *sings*.