The first light of dawn bled through the silver willows outside, painting the room in streaks of pale gold and ash-gray. I didn’t open my eyes. Didn’t move. Just lay there, my head resting on Lysander’s chest, his arm a heavy, warm weight across my waist, his heartbeat—slow, steady, alive—thrumming beneath my ear. The bond hummed between us, not with the frantic urgency of magic or the desperate pull of survival, but with something deeper. Something quiet. Something real.
We had made love.
Not in fire. Not in fury. Not as an act of defiance or a desperate grasp at connection.
But as a choice.
And I had never felt more afraid.
---
I shifted slightly, my bare skin brushing against his, the scent of him—dark earth, old magic, blood and desire—filling my lungs. He stirred, his arm tightening around me, his fangs grazing my temple in a gesture so tender it made my throat ache.
“You’re awake,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.
“So are you,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
He didn’t answer. Just tilted my chin up, his crimson eyes searching mine in the dim light. Not with hunger. Not with possession.
With wonder.
“You stayed,” he said.
“So did you,” I replied.
A ghost of a smile touched his lips—faint, fragile, human. “I wasn’t going to let you run this time.”
“And if I had?”
“Then I would’ve chased you,” he said. “Through fire. Through blood. Through every damn lie we’ve ever told each other. I would’ve found you. And I would’ve made you see what I see.”
“And what’s that?” I asked, my breath unsteady.
He didn’t answer with words.
Just kissed me.
Slow.
Deep.
Real.
Not like the desperate, claiming kiss from last night. Not like the furious, electric collision of mouths that had set the world on fire. This was different. Softer. Slower. A quiet unraveling. A surrender not to magic, not to fate, but to us.
And when he pulled back, his thumb brushing my lower lip—still swollen from his touch—I didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. Just let him see me. All of me. The witch who had come to destroy him. The woman who had bled for the truth. The lover who had chosen him over vengeance.
“You feel it, don’t you?” he asked, his voice low. “Not just the bond. Not just the magic. Us.”
I swallowed. My throat tight. My heart pounding.
“I’ve felt it since the first time you touched me,” I admitted. “But I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to need you. To want you. To love you.”
His breath caught.
Not from shock.
From relief.
“Say it again,” he whispered.
“I love you,” I said. “Not because of the bond. Not because of the oath. Not because you saved me or fought for me or bled for me. But because you’re you. The man who signed a death warrant to save his daughter. The vampire who knelt in the moonlight garden. The ruler who chose me over power. I love you, Lysander. Every damn, infuriating, impossible inch of you.”
He didn’t speak.
Just pulled me closer, his body a wall, his breath warm against my neck. The bond flared—heat, awareness, need—but it wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t painful. It was home.
And then—
He whispered, “I love you too.”
Not a growl. Not a claim.
A vow.
---
We didn’t move for a long time.
Just lay there, tangled in the sheets, our bodies pressed together, our breaths syncing, our magic reaching for each other like two halves of a whole. The grimoire on the desk whispered, its pages shifting as if in approval. The runes on my skin pulsed faintly, not with warning, but with warmth. And outside, the city began to wake—lanterns flickering in the undercity, the distant hum of voices, the soft chime of a clock tower marking the hour.
Elara would be up soon.
Mira would be waiting.
The Council would demand answers.
But for now—
For this one, fragile moment—
We were just Cordelia and Lysander.
Not the avenger and the ruler.
Not the witch and the vampire.
Just two people who had fought the world, fought each other, fought themselves—and finally, finally—found their way to each other.
---
“We can’t stay here forever,” I said, my voice quiet.
“No,” he agreed. “But we can stay for one more hour.”
“And then?”
“Then we face them,” he said. “Together. As co-rulers. As equals. As—” he looked at me, really looked at me—“as lovers.”
I didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. Just nodded. “And if they don’t accept it?”
“Then they’ll learn to,” he said, his voice hardening. “Because I’m not hiding you. Not anymore. Not ever again.”
“And if they try to use it against us?”
“Let them,” he said. “We’ve survived worse. We’ve fought through lies, through blood, through fire. Do you really think a few whispers in the dark will break us?”
I smiled—just a little. “No. But I think they’ll try.”
“Let them try,” he said. “I’ll burn the world before I let anyone take you from me.”
The bond flared—hot, insistent, alive—and I didn’t pull away. Just leaned into him, my fingers tracing the scar across his abdomen, the one I’d seen in the visions, the one from a fight he’d fought to protect his daughter.
“You’re not a monster,” I said.
“No,” he said. “I’m a man who made a choice. And I’d make it again.”
“Even if it meant losing me?”
“Even then,” he said. “Because she was innocent. Because she was mine. And because I knew—” he cupped my face, his thumb brushing my cheek—“that you’d find the truth. That you’d see me. That you’d choose me anyway.”
My breath caught.
Not from magic.
From love.
“I did,” I said. “And I do.”
And then—
I kissed him.
Not slow. Not soft.
Hard.
Deep.
Claiming.
My fingers tangled in his hair, my body arching into his, the bond screaming between us like a live wire. He didn’t hesitate. Just rolled me beneath him, his weight pressing me into the mattress, his fangs grazing my neck, his hands sliding down my sides, his arousal hard against my thigh.
“You’re sure?” he asked, his voice rough.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” I said.
And then—
We made love again.
Not in fire.
Not in fury.
But in truth.
---
He entered me slowly—so slowly it made me gasp—his body pressing deep, filling me, claiming me in a way that had nothing to do with magic and everything to do with us. I didn’t close my eyes. Just kept them open, locked onto his, watching as his pupils dilated, as his breath hitched, as his control slipped.
“Look at me,” I whispered. “I want you to see me. All of me.”
“I do,” he growled. “I’ve always seen you.”
And then—
We moved.
Slow at first. Then faster. Harder. Deeper. Every thrust a promise. Every gasp a vow. Every moan a truth we’d spent lifetimes denying.
And when I came—my body arching, my magic flaring, my voice breaking his name—he followed, spilling inside me with a roar that echoed through the spire, the bond surging, the Duskbane sigil glowing, the world narrowing to just this—him, me, us.
---
After, we didn’t speak.
Just lay there, tangled in the sheets, his head on my chest, my fingers tracing the curve of his spine, his breath warm against my skin. The bond hummed—warm, alive, ours—and I didn’t pull away. Just held him, my heart full, my soul quiet.
“Still hate me?” he asked, his voice muffled against my skin.
I laughed—soft, surprised. “Every damn day.”
He lifted his head, his crimson eyes burning. “Good.”
And then—
He kissed me.
Not deep. Not claiming.
Soft.
Reverent.
Real.
And I knew—
This wasn’t just love.
It wasn’t just passion.
It was a vow.
---
Later, as the sun rose over the spire, as the city below stirred to life, 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.