The first time I kissed Cordelia in public, it was an act of war.
Not with swords. Not with blood. But with fire—fire in the form of defiance, of possession, of a truth too long buried beneath lies and oaths. It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t staged. It was a collision of need and fury and something deeper I still couldn’t name. And when my mouth crashed against hers in the moonlit garden, when the crowd erupted in gasps and whispers and thunderous applause, I didn’t care.
Let them see.
Let them know.
She was mine.
And I was hers.
But today—
Today would be different.
---
The Unity Rally wasn’t held in the Grand Hall. Not in the moonlit garden. Not even in the Chamber of Echoes, where the Contract Stone had once offered us freedom and we had chosen each other instead.
It was in the heart of Geneva’s surface city—the Place du Bourg-de-Four—where humans walked unaware of the supernatural world beneath their feet, where cobblestones echoed with centuries of footsteps, where the scent of coffee and fresh bread curled through the morning air like a promise of normalcy. A stage had been erected in the square, draped in silver and black, the crest of the new Council carved into the archway: a circle interwoven with runes, fangs, claws, and petals—witch, vampire, werewolf, fae, united.
I stood at the edge of the stage, my coat open, my dagger sheathed, my crimson eyes scanning the crowd. Thousands had gathered—humans, witches in cloaks stitched with truth-runes, werewolves with fangs retracted, fae nobles who walked without glamour, vampires in silver instead of black. No barriers. No wards. No fear.
Just presence.
And in the center of it all—
Cordelia.
She stood beside me, not in armor, not in mourning, but in a gown of storm-gray silk, its hem stitched with silver thread that shimmered like lightning. Her raven hair was unbound, her storm-gray eyes sharp, her dagger at her hip—her dagger, the one she’d carried since the beginning. She didn’t look like a queen. Not like a ruler. Not even like the woman who had once come to destroy me.
She looked like truth.
And she was more dangerous than any weapon.
---
“You’re tense,” she murmured, not looking at me.
“I’m always tense,” I said. “Especially when you’re about to do something reckless.”
She finally turned, her lips curving into a slow, dangerous smile. “And what if I am?”
“Then I’ll stop you.”
“You won’t,” she said. “Because you know it’s the right thing to do.”
I didn’t argue. Just watched as she stepped forward, her boots silent on the stone, her presence a storm. The crowd stilled. Not in fear. Not in reverence.
In anticipation.
And then—
She spoke.
---
“You’ve been told lies,” she said, her voice cutting through the square like a blade. “For over a century, the Midnight Accord was not a peace treaty. It was a prison. A weapon. A lie built on blood and silence. Witches were stripped of their autonomy. Hybrids were exiled. Children were used as leverage. And the truth—” she held up the grimoire, its cover worn, its pages whispering—“was buried.”
The crowd murmured—witches gasped, humans leaned forward, fae envoys exchanged glances.
“But no more,” she continued. “The Council Reforms have been ratified. The Bloodfire Shrine is open. The Contract Stone is under joint supervision. And from this day forward—” she looked at each species, one by one—“no one will be silenced. No one will be controlled. No one will be used.”
Alpha Vex stepped forward, his broad frame filling the space. “The Northern Pack stands with Cordelia Vale. We will protect these reforms. We will enforce them. And if anyone tries to break them—” his voice dropped, feral—“they will answer to us.”
Kaelen stood behind him, silent, lethal, his storm-gray eyes burning. Mira was at the edge of the stage, her dark eyes scanning the crowd, her dagger at her hip. And Elara—
She stood beside me, her fingers curled around her journal, her storm-gray eyes sharp. Not a child. Not a ward.
A leader.
And then—
Seraphine stepped forward.
No glamour. No power play. Just presence. Her silver hair was unbound, her gown simple, her hands empty. The vial she carried was filled with clear water, labeled in delicate script: “For Truth.”
“The Shadow Court will no longer serve as enforcers,” she said, her voice soft but clear. “We will be judges. Witnesses. Protectors of the truth. And if a leader—any leader—breaks an oath, they will face justice. No exceptions. No immunity.”
The crowd stilled.
Even the vampire elders from House Vein looked at her—really looked at her.
Not with disdain.
With respect.
And then—
I stepped forward.
Not as a vampire lord.
As a man.
“I have spent centuries ruling with control,” I said, my voice low, rough. “With fear. With silence. I believed it was the only way to keep the peace. But I was wrong. Peace isn’t built on lies. It’s built on truth. On trust. On love.”
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 when I looked at Cordelia—
She was already looking at me.
Not with anger.
Not with hatred.
With fire.
And then—
I kissed her.
Not slow. Not soft.
Hard. Deep. Claiming.
My hand slid to the back of her neck, my fangs grazing her lower lip, my body pressing hers against the edge of the stage. She didn’t pull away. Just kissed me back—furious, desperate, electric—her fingers fisting in my coat, her body arching into mine, the bond screaming between us like a live wire.
The crowd erupted.
Not in violence.
Not in fear.
In truth.
Witches gasped. Werewolves howled. Fae envoys stumbled back, their glamours flickering. Humans clapped, some cheering, others whispering, but none turning away.
And then—
They began to chant.
Not my name.
Not hers.
“Us. Us. Us.”
Over and over, rising like a tide, until the square trembled with it.
“Us. Us. Us.”
And I didn’t stop. Just kept kissing her, our bodies pressed together, our magic entwined, the bond flaring so hot it burned. And when I finally pulled back—just enough to breathe—her storm-gray eyes were dark, her lips swollen, her breath unsteady.
“Still hate me?” I murmured, my thumb brushing her lower lip.
She didn’t answer.
Just smiled.
Slow. Dangerous. Real.
“Every damn day,” she said.
I grinned—sharp, feral, alive—and then spun her, my hand low on her back, pulling her flush against me, 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 her gown flared gold, then crimson, then black. The Duskbane sigil on her 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. Cordelia at my side, not in silver, but in black—her armor etched with the crest of House Vale, her dagger bared, her aura flaring storm-gray. 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 her arms. Still kissing. Still hers.
“You saw it,” she said, her 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.
She didn’t answer.
Just kissed me again—slow, deep, claiming—and then pulled me into a final spin, her hand low on my back, her body a wall, her 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 kiss.
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 city emptied, as the music faded into silence, I found it.
Hidden in the inner seam of her cloak—a vial of blood.
Old. Dried. Labeled in delicate script: “For Power.”
And beneath it, a name.
Seraphine.
My breath caught.
She’d kept it.
Again.
And this time—
She wasn’t studying it.
Wasn’t using it.
Just… remembering.
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 she thought I wouldn’t find the truth—
She didn’t know me at all.
But I knew her.
And I would spend every damn day proving I deserved it.