The war drums begin the moment we step into the war room.
Not literal drums—though the Obsidian Court has those, too, carved from the bones of ancient wyrms and played only in times of siege—but the tension in the air, thick and electric, like the moment before lightning splits the sky. The chamber is carved from black basalt, its walls lined with maps of supernatural Europe, glowing runes marking ley lines, vampire strongholds, Fae enclaves, and the cursed forests where the Blood Wars were fought. At the center, a massive obsidian table pulses with magic, displaying a shifting hologram of the Northern Border—our weakest point, where the Veil between worlds is thinnest.
Kael stands at the head of the table, his amber eyes scanning the terrain, his wolf scent sharp with urgency. Cassian moves beside him, already shedding his ceremonial coat, rolling up the sleeves of his black shirt to reveal the scars that map his arms—old battles, old losses, old blood. He doesn’t look at me, but I feel him—the bond humming between us, steady, insistent, like a second heartbeat. The mark on my neck still burns faintly, a silver sigil now permanently etched into my skin, a brand of ownership, of truth, of *claim*.
I am his.
And he is mine.
And now, we fight.
“The Vael forces breached the outer wards an hour ago,” Kael says, voice low. “They’re moving fast. Shadow-walkers, blood-bound revenants, and something else—something I’ve never seen. They’re not just attacking. They’re *searching*.”
“For the curse,” I say, stepping forward. “For *me*.”
Cassian turns to me, gold eyes blazing. “Then they’ll find more than they bargained for.”
“You don’t know what they are,” I say. “House Vael wasn’t just a vampire house. They were alchemists. Experimenters. They didn’t just drink blood—they *refined* it. Twisted it. Created monsters.”
“And now they’re back,” Kael mutters. “After centuries of silence.”
“Because Thorne woke them,” I say. “He has their venom. He’s been feeding it to his allies, poisoning the Tribunal from within. This isn’t just an invasion. It’s a *coup*.”
Cassian’s jaw tightens. “Then we stop him. Here. Now.”
“We can’t,” I say. “Not without knowing his endgame. Not without knowing what the curse *really* is.”
He steps closer, his hand finding mine. “You’re not going out there. Not until we know what we’re facing.”
“I don’t have a choice,” I say, pulling my hand away. “The curse is in my blood. It’s *my* legacy. And if Thorne wants it, he’ll have to go through me to get it.”
“And I’ll be right behind you,” he says, voice rough. “But not yet. Not until we have a plan.”
I want to argue. Want to storm out, to meet the enemy head-on, to prove I’m not just his mate, but his *equal*. But he’s right.
We need information.
We need time.
And then—
—my phone buzzes.
Not a normal phone. Not a human device. But a witch’s scrying slate—black obsidian etched with runes, powered by blood and breath. I pull it from my pocket, my pulse quickening as the screen flickers to life.
A message.
From Mira.
My sister.
My only blood left.
And she hasn’t contacted me in *years*.
My fingers tremble as I unlock it with a drop of blood—my own, silver-tinged now from Cassian’s influence. The runes flare, and the message appears, written in her looping script, the same one she used when we were children, whispering secrets under the covers.
Harmony,
They’re watching. Don’t trust the locket. It was never his.
The curse wasn’t cast by the D’Vaires.
It was cast by *ours*.
Your bloodline didn’t break the pact.
We *made* it.
And if you don’t find the truth before the full moon, you’ll destroy everything.
—Mira
The breath leaves my lungs.
“Harmony?” Cassian’s voice cuts through the silence. “What is it?”
I can’t speak. Can’t move. The words burn in my vision, searing through every lie I’ve ever believed. The locket. The vow. The mission. All of it—built on a foundation of *falsehood*.
My mother didn’t die because Cassian cursed her.
She died because *we* cursed *ourselves*.
“It’s Mira,” I whisper, handing him the slate. “My sister. She says the curse wasn’t cast by your bloodline. It was cast by *mine*.”
Cassian reads it, his expression unreadable. Then he looks at me. “Do you believe her?”
“I don’t know.” My voice cracks. “She’s the only family I have left. But she’s been in hiding for years. She could be lying. She could be compromised.”
“Or she could be telling the truth,” Kael says, stepping closer. “The Coven Triad exiled your bloodline for ‘forbidden awakening.’ What if that wasn’t a punishment? What if it was a *cover-up*?”
My stomach twists.
Because he’s right.
Because I’ve always known there were gaps in the story. My mother’s death. The locket. The dreams of screaming ancestors. They never added up. And now—
—Mira is telling me the truth was buried.
“We need to find her,” I say, rising. “If she knows what the curse really is, she can help us stop Thorne.”
“And walk into a trap?” Cassian snaps. “You think Thorne doesn’t know she contacted you? You think he hasn’t been waiting for this?”
“Then what do you suggest?” I shoot back. “Ignore her? Pretend the curse isn’t about *my* blood? That my *family* isn’t at the center of this?”
He steps into my space, gold eyes blazing. “I suggest we don’t rush in blind. We find out where she is. We verify the message. We go in with a plan.”
“And if she’s in danger?” I whisper. “If Thorne has her? If she’s already—” I can’t say it.
“Then we move fast,” he says, voice softening. “But we move smart. You’re not just a witch, Harmony. You’re my *mate*. And I won’t lose you to a rescue mission gone wrong.”
I want to hate him for that. For the control. For the way he assumes he gets to decide what I do, what risks I take. But I can’t.
Because he’s not wrong.
And because, deep down, I know he’s afraid.
Afraid of losing me.
Like I’m afraid of losing him.
“Fine,” I say, stepping back. “We verify the message. But we do it *now*.”
—
The scrying chamber is beneath the archives, a circular room lined with mirrors that don’t reflect—instead, they show glimpses of other realms, other times, other *truths*. The air is thick with incense, the scent of myrrh and sage cutting through the metallic tang of old magic. A silver bowl rests in the center, filled with blood—mine, drawn moments ago, still warm, still pulsing.
Cassian stands beside me, silent, his presence a constant hum in my bones. He doesn’t touch me, but I feel him—the bond, the way his magic syncs with mine, the way his breath hitches when I’m near. Kael waits at the door, a silent sentinel, his amber eyes scanning the shadows.
“To scry a blood relative,” I say, voice steady, “you need three things: a drop of blood, a personal item, and a memory.”
I place the scrying slate in the bowl, then press my thumb to the blade at my belt, letting a single drop of blood fall into the liquid. The surface ripples, dark red swirling with silver. Then I close my eyes and pull the memory to the surface.
Not of my mother’s death.
Not of the locket.
But of Mira.
My sister.
Laughing in the garden behind our childhood home, her dark hair catching the sunlight, her hands stained with crushed moonflowers. Teaching me how to cast my first protection spell. Whispering, *“One day, we’ll break the curse together.”*
The blood in the bowl *ignites*.
Not fire. Not flame. But light—silver and violet, spiraling into the air, forming a shape, a *vision*.
Mira.
She’s in a cell—stone walls, iron bars, the air thick with damp and decay. Her face is pale, her cheek bruised, her dark hair tangled. But her eyes—those storm-gray eyes, so like mine—are sharp, defiant. She’s not broken.
Not yet.
And then she speaks.
Not to us. Not to the room.
But to *me*.
“Harmony,” she says, voice weak but clear. “If you’re seeing this, it means I’m still alive. And it means Thorne doesn’t have me. Not yet.”
My breath catches.
“He’s been hunting me for weeks,” she continues. “He knows I have the truth. He knows about the *original* Curse Codex—the one our ancestor wrote. The one that proves the D’Vaires were framed.”
Cassian tenses beside me.
“The curse wasn’t cast to punish them,” Mira says. “It was cast to *protect* them. Our ancestor, Elspeth, was in love with a D’Vaire heir. But the Coven Triad forbade it. So she made a pact—she cursed her own bloodline, swore that if a D’Vaire ever tried to claim one of us, the curse would awaken and destroy them.”
My stomach drops.
“But she didn’t want to hurt them,” Mira whispers. “She wanted to *save* them. To keep the Triad from killing them both. So she buried the truth. Hid the real Codex. And now Thorne has found it. He’s going to use it to break the curse—not to free you, but to *harvest* your blood. To steal the D’Vaire power for himself.”
The vision flickers.
“Find the Codex before he does,” she says. “It’s hidden in the old Coven sanctuary, beneath the ruins of Blackthorn Abbey. And Harmony—” Her eyes lock onto mine. “Don’t trust the locket. It was never his. It was *hers*. Elspeth’s. She left it as a clue.”
And then the light fades.
The blood goes still.
Silence crashes down.
“She’s alive,” I whisper, tears burning my eyes. “She’s alive, and she’s trying to help us.”
Cassian turns to me, jaw tight. “Then we get her. But we get the Codex first. If Thorne has it—”
“He’ll have the power to control the curse,” I finish. “To use it as a weapon.”
“Then we move now,” Kael says, stepping forward. “Before he does.”
Cassian nods. “Gear up. We leave in ten.”
—
I’m in the armory, strapping on my leather bracers, when Cassian finds me.
He doesn’t speak. Just watches as I slide the cursed dagger into its sheath, the blade humming against my thigh, reacting to the bond, to the curse, to the truth that’s unraveling with every step.
“You’re not going alone,” he says.
“I didn’t say I was.”
He steps closer, his hand brushing mine. “I know you want to save her. I know this is your blood, your legacy. But you’re not just fighting for her. You’re fighting for *us*.”
“And if I lose her?” I whisper. “If I’m too late?”
He cups my face, his gold eyes burning into mine. “Then we mourn. But we don’t stop. Because if Thorne gets that Codex, he won’t just kill her. He’ll destroy everything we’ve built.”
I lean into his touch, just for a moment. “I came here to kill you.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m fighting to keep you alive.”
He smiles—small, rare, *real*. “Then we fight together.”
“Always.”
—
The ruins of Blackthorn Abbey rise from the mist like the bones of a dead god.
Once, it was a sanctuary for rogue witches, a place of forbidden knowledge and hidden power. Now, it’s a graveyard—crumbling stone arches, shattered stained glass, ivy strangling the walls, the air thick with the scent of decay and old magic. The full moon hangs low, casting silver light over the ruins, making the shadows move like living things.
We move in silence—Cassian, Kael, and me—our boots silent on the cracked stone. The bond hums between us, a live wire under my skin, syncing our breath, our steps, our magic. Kael takes point, his wolf senses scanning for traps, for enemies, for the faintest shift in the air.
And then I feel it.
The curse.
Not a whisper. Not a dream.
A *scream*.
It rips through my veins, white fire racing across my skin, sigils flaring beneath my dress. I stagger, clutching my stomach, my breath coming in short, panicked bursts.
“Harmony!” Cassian is at my side in an instant, his hand on my back. “Breathe.”
“It’s the Codex,” I gasp. “It’s here. And it’s *awake*.”
Kael’s eyes narrow. “We’re not alone.”
And then—
—the shadows move.
Not wind. Not mist.
But *figures*.
Three of them—cloaked in black, faces hidden, their scent sharp with Vael venom and dark magic. They step from the ruins, blocking the entrance to the crypt below, their hands crackling with energy.
“You’re too late,” one hisses. “The Codex is already ours.”
Cassian steps in front of me, fangs bared, his voice a growl. “Then you’ll die with it.”
And then—
—the fight begins.
Kael lunges first, shifting mid-leap, his body exploding into his wolf form—massive, black-furred, fangs bared. He takes down one of the cloaked figures, tearing through the cloak, blood spraying across the stone.
The second raises a hand, and dark magic erupts—shadows lashing like whips, wrapping around Cassian’s arms, pulling him back.
But I’m already moving.
I draw the cursed dagger, not to kill, but to *channel*. I slash through the air, and violet fire erupts, slicing through the shadows, freeing Cassian. He roars, breaking free, and in a blur of motion, he’s on the second attacker, fangs sinking into their throat, draining them dry.
The third turns to me.
And I see it—
Their face.
Not a stranger.
Not a Vael.
But a witch.
One of the Coven Triad.
My blood runs cold.
“You don’t belong here, little scion,” she sneers. “This knowledge is not for the exiled.”
“It’s not yours to take,” I say, raising the dagger. “The curse was *ours* to bear. Not yours to exploit.”
She laughs. “And now it will be *ours* to wield.”
She raises her hand, and the ground trembles. The crypt door bursts open, and from the darkness below—
—something *awakens*.
Not a monster.
Not a revenant.
But a *voice*.
Deep. Ancient. Familiar.
And it speaks one word.
Harmony.
My name.
On the wind.
From the grave.
And I know—
The truth is waiting.
And it will cost me everything.