The Unity Ball was not held in the Grand Hall.
Too many ghosts. Too many memories. Too much blood spilled beneath its gilded arches.
Instead, they chose the Moonlit Garden—the hidden sanctuary beneath the Obsidian Spire, where silver willows wept over black roses, where the fountain still bore the scars of battle, where the air hummed with old magic and newer promises. Lanterns floated above the trees, their glow soft as candlelight, casting long, wavering shadows across the moss-covered stones. Fae musicians played on a platform woven from living vines, their instruments shaped from frost and bone, their music a slow, haunting melody that curled through the trees like smoke.
I stood at the edge of the clearing, my storm-gray eyes scanning the crowd.
Not enemies. Not allies. Not yet.
But something.
Vampires in silver, not black. Werewolves without fangs bared. Fae nobles who met my gaze without flinching. Human observers sipping spiced tea from crystal flutes. Rogue witches in cloaks stitched with truth-runes. Even a few Nocturne thralls, their eyes no longer hollow, their collars broken.
And at the center of it all—
The dais.
Not for speeches. Not for proclamations.
For dancing.
I hadn’t expected this. Lysander hadn’t either. The Council had announced it at dawn—*“A celebration of unity. A first step toward peace.”* But I knew the truth. This wasn’t just a ball.
It was a test.
And we were the ones being watched.
---
Elara found me first.
She stepped through the willows, her dark hair braided with silver thread, her gown a deep violet that shimmered like twilight. In her hand, she carried not the grimoire, but a flute of bloodwine—clear, not red, its surface swirling with faint gold. She didn’t look like a child anymore. Not even like a girl on the edge of becoming.
She looked like a queen.
“You’re hiding,” she said, stepping beside me.
“I’m observing,” I corrected.
She didn’t argue. Just sipped her wine. “They’re watching you.”
“I know.”
“And him?”
I followed her gaze.
Lysander stood near the fountain, his crimson eyes burning in the dim light, his presence a storm wrapped in silence. He wore no armor tonight. No dagger at his hip. Just a long coat of deep silver, the crest of House Duskbane etched over his heart. His fangs were retracted. His aura was calm. But I felt it—the tension beneath the stillness, the weight of every decision, every life he’d taken, every lie he’d lived.
And then—
He looked at me.
Not across the garden.
Not through the crowd.
But into me.
The bond flared—hot, insistent, alive—a current of magic and desire that made the air hum. The Duskbane sigil on my wrist pulsed, warm and crimson. And for a heartbeat, the world narrowed to just us—the witch and the vampire, the avenger and the ruler, the woman who had come to destroy him and the man who had chosen to save her.
“He’s not hiding,” Elara said quietly. “He’s waiting.”
“For what?”
“For you.”
I didn’t answer.
Just watched as he stepped forward, his boots silent on the moss, his gaze never leaving mine. The crowd parted for him—not in fear, not in reverence, but in recognition. He was no longer just a vampire lord. He was a co-ruler. A father. A man who had bled for his daughter, who had knelt in the moonlight garden, who had let me touch him and not pulled away.
And then—
He stopped before me.
No words. No bow. No gesture.
Just presence.
“You look… different,” he said, his voice low, rough.
“So do you,” I said.
He didn’t smile. But something in his expression softened. “No dagger.”
I glanced at my side—empty. “I left it in the war room.”
“Good,” he said. “You shouldn’t need it tonight.”
“And you?” I asked. “No armor. No weapon.”
“I don’t need them,” he said. “Not with you.”
The bond flared again—deeper this time, warmer, real—and I didn’t pull away. Just let it burn, let it coil around us, let it pull us closer until our breaths mingled, until his fangs grazed my lower lip, until my fingers curled into the fabric of his coat.
And then—
The music changed.
Not louder. Not faster.
But different.
A slow, steady rhythm—drums beneath the strings, a heartbeat beneath the melody. The Fae musicians shifted, their instruments glowing faintly, their voices weaving a chant in a language older than memory.
And then—
Lysander held out his hand.
Not a command. Not a demand.
An invitation.
“Dance with me,” he said.
The garden stilled.
Not a whisper. Not a breath.
Just the music. The bond. The us.
Elara stepped back, her eyes wide, her breath unsteady. Mira, standing near the entrance, gave me a small nod. Kaelen, silent and lethal as ever, watched with something like approval in his gaze.
And then—
I took his hand.
---
He didn’t lead me to the dais.
Just to the center of the clearing, where the moonlight pooled like liquid silver, where the black roses glowed with dew, where the fountain whispered secrets only witches could hear.
And then—
He pulled me close.
Not into an embrace. Not into a waltz.
But into a dance older than blood.
His hand slid to the small of my back, warm and solid, his fingers pressing through the fabric of my gown. My other hand rested on his shoulder, my palm feeling the strength beneath the silver coat, the steady beat of his heart. We didn’t move at first. Just stood there, our bodies close, our breaths mingling, the bond humming between us like a live wire.
And then—
We began to move.
Slow. Deliberate. Intimate.
No steps. No pattern. Just motion—our bodies swaying, our hips brushing, our chests nearly touching. The music wrapped around us, the drums pulsing beneath the melody, the Fae voices chanting in whispers. The garden faded. The crowd disappeared. The world narrowed to just this—his hand on my back, my palm on his shoulder, our breaths syncing, our magic reaching for each other like drowning lovers grasping for shore.
“You’re not trembling,” he said, his voice a murmur against my ear.
“I’m not afraid,” I said.
“And if you were?”
“Then I’d still be here,” I said. “Because fear doesn’t stop me. It fuels me.”
He didn’t answer.
Just spun me—slow, careful, his hand never leaving my back. My gown flared, the hem catching the moonlight, the runes stitched into the fabric glowing faintly. And then—
He pulled me back.
Closer.
Tighter.
Until my body was pressed against his, until my breath hitched, until my storm-gray eyes locked onto his crimson ones.
“You’re shaking now,” he said.
“It’s not fear,” I whispered.
“Then what is it?”
“It’s the bond,” I said. “It’s the magic. It’s… us.”
He didn’t flinch. Just studied me—his gaze burning, his breath unsteady. “And if I kissed you?”
“Then I’d let you,” I said. “And I wouldn’t stop.”
The air stilled.
Not from magic.
From anticipation.
And then—
He leaned in.
Not fast. Not desperate.
Slow. Inevitable. Final.
His fangs grazed my lower lip. His breath was warm against my skin. His hand tightened on my back, pulling me impossibly closer. And then—
He stopped.
Just an inch away. Just a breath.
“Say it,” he said, his voice a growl. “Say you want this.”
My heart hammered.
Not from fear.
From need.
“I want this,” I said. “I want you.”
And then—
He kissed me.
Not gentle. Not soft.
Hard. Deep. Claiming.
His mouth crashed against mine, his fangs nipping my lip, his tongue sweeping inside, tasting, devouring. I didn’t pull away. Just kissed him back—furious, desperate, electric—my fingers fisting in his coat, my body arching into his, the bond flaring so hot it burned.
The garden erupted.
Not in violence.
In truth.
Witches gasped. Vampires hissed. Fae envoys stumbled back, their glamours flickering. Even the musicians faltered, their voices breaking mid-chant.
And then—
They began to clap.
Not polite. Not hesitant.
Thunderous. Unstoppable. Real.
We didn’t stop. Just kept kissing, our bodies pressed together, our magic entwined, the bond screaming between us like a live wire. And then—
He pulled back.
Just enough to breathe. Just enough to speak.
“Still hate me?” he murmured, his thumb brushing my lower lip, still swollen from his kiss.
I didn’t answer.
Just smiled.
Slow. Dangerous. Real.
“Every damn day,” I said.
He grinned—sharp, feral, alive—and then spun me again, his hand low on my back, pulling me flush against him, our hips grinding, our breaths ragged.
And then—
The music shifted.
Not slower. Not softer.
But deeper.
A new rhythm—older, darker, laced with magic. The runes on my gown flared gold, then crimson, then black. The Duskbane sigil on my wrist burned, not with pain, but with power. And then—
The bond answered.
Not with fire.
With truth.
---
I saw it—not a vision, not a memory.
A future.
Me, standing at the head of the Council, my voice cutting through the silence. Lysander at my side, not in silver, but in black—his armor etched with the crest of House Duskbane, his fangs bared, his aura flaring crimson. Elara between us, her fingers gripping the grimoire, her storm-gray eyes burning. The coalition behind us—wolves, witches, Fae, humans—united, unbroken, alive.
And then—
A child.
Not Elara.
Another.
With raven hair. Storm-gray eyes. A dagger etched with runes.
Our child.
And then—
I snapped back.
Still in his arms. Still dancing. Still his.
“You saw it,” he said, his voice low, rough.
“I saw us,” I whispered.
“And if it’s real?”
“Then I’ll spend every damn day proving I deserve it,” I said.
He didn’t answer.
Just kissed me again—slow, deep, claiming—and then pulled me into a final spin, his hand low on my back, his body a wall, his breath warm against my neck.
And as the music faded, as the lanterns dimmed, as the first stars pierced the sky, I knew—
This wasn’t just a dance.
It was a vow.
And I would spend every damn day proving I deserved it.
---
Later, as the moon rose over the spire, as the garden emptied, as the music faded into silence, I found it.
Hidden in the inner seam of his coat—a vial of blood.
Old. Dried. Labeled in delicate script: “For Power.”
And beneath it, a name.
Seraphine.
My breath caught.
He’d lied.
Again.
But this time—
I wasn’t afraid.
Because the bond hummed between us, a live wire of magic and desire, and I knew, with cold certainty, that I wasn’t losing.
I was winning.
And if he thought I wouldn’t find the truth—
He didn’t know me at all.
But I knew him.
And I would spend every damn day proving I deserved it.