The moment the voice speaks her name from the crypt, I know we’re out of time.
It’s not just the way Harmony freezes—her breath catching, her fingers tightening around the cursed dagger like it’s the only thing keeping her from falling. It’s not just the way Cassian steps in front of her, fangs bared, his body a shield between her and the darkness. It’s the *air*. The shift. The way the magic in the ruins coils, thick and ancient, like something buried is waking up.
And I’ve seen that look before.
In the eyes of men who walked into traps they didn’t know were set.
“Fall back,” I growl, shifting into my wolf form, fur bristling, claws digging into the stone. “Now.”
But it’s too late.
The witch—the one from the Coven Triad—raises her hand, and the ground *explodes*. Not with fire. Not with force. But with *roots*. Black, thorned vines erupt from the cracks in the stone, wrapping around Harmony’s ankles, her wrists, yanking her off her feet before Cassian can react.
“*Harmony!*”
He lunges, but the vines lash out, wrapping around his arms, his chest, holding him back. He roars, fangs bared, muscles straining, but the magic is too strong—ancient, blood-bound, tied to the very earth of this place.
And then—
—she’s gone.
Pulled into the crypt, swallowed by the darkness, the vines retracting like serpents into the earth. The door slams shut behind her, sealed with a sigil that glows faintly—silver and violet, the same colors as the bond.
“*No!*” Cassian is on the door in an instant, slamming his fists against the stone, fangs bared, voice raw. “*Open it!*”
But it doesn’t budge.
I shift back, human again, my chest heaving. “It’s warded. Blood magic. Only her blood or the caster’s can open it.”
He turns on me, gold eyes blazing. “Then break it.”
“I can’t,” I say, stepping forward. “Not without triggering a collapse. The crypt’s unstable. One wrong move, and the whole ruin comes down. She’ll be buried alive.”
He stares at me—really stares—and for the first time, I see it.
Panic.
Not the cold fury of a prince. Not the controlled rage of a warrior.
But raw, unfiltered *fear*.
Because she’s not just his mate.
She’s his *life*.
And he just lost her.
“We find another way in,” I say, voice steady. “There’s always another way.”
He doesn’t answer. Just turns back to the door, pressing his palm against the stone, as if he can feel her through it. The bond hums between them—faint, strained, like a thread about to snap.
And then—
—the witch laughs.
Not the one who took Harmony.
The one who’s still here.
She stands at the edge of the ruins, cloaked in shadow, her face hidden, but her voice is sharp, mocking. “You’re too late, Prince D’Vaire. She’s already with *him*.”
“Who?” Cassian snarls. “Who has her?”
“The one who’s waited centuries for this,” she says. “The one who *made* the curse. The one who will *end* it.”
My stomach tightens.
“Thorne,” I say.
She smiles. “Clever wolf.”
Cassian moves—fast, a blur of motion—but she’s ready. She raises a hand, and the ground splits, a fissure opening between us, flames erupting from the earth. He stops, snarling, but doesn’t cross.
“Tell me where she is,” he growls. “Or I’ll rip the truth from your bones.”
She laughs again. “You think I don’t know what you are? A prince who kneels for a witch? A vampire who *loves*? You’re weak. And weakness gets you killed.”
And then—
—she vanishes.
Not a teleport. Not a glamour.
She just… *dissolves*, like smoke in the wind, leaving behind only the scent of burnt herbs and something darker—*fear*.
“She’s gone,” I say, stepping to the fissure’s edge. “But she left a trail.”
Cassian turns to me, jaw tight. “Then follow it.”
“We need to regroup,” I say. “We don’t know what’s down there. We don’t know what kind of magic sealed that door. Rushing in blind gets her killed.”
“I’m not waiting,” he snaps. “Not while she’s—” His voice breaks. “Not while she’s *down there*.”
I’ve never seen him like this.
Not when the Northern Border fell.
Not when the Council tried to strip his title.
Not even when Nyx claimed to carry his child.
But now—
Now he’s not a prince.
Not a vampire.
Now he’s just a man who’s about to lose the only thing that matters.
“Then we move smart,” I say, stepping closer. “We find Mira. She’s the only one who knows the truth. And if Thorne has her—”
“He does,” Cassian says, voice low. “I can feel it. The bond—Harmony’s fear, her pain—it’s not just from the crypt. It’s from *her*. From her sister.”
My breath catches.
Because he’s right.
The bond doesn’t just connect them.
It *amplifies* them.
And if Harmony is feeling Mira’s fear—
—then Mira is still alive.
And in danger.
“Then we find her,” I say. “Before Thorne does.”
—
The safehouse is beneath an old apothecary in the human city of Veridian—three levels down, warded with blood and breath, hidden behind a false wall of bricks that only shift when spoken to in Old Coven Tongue. It’s not much—stone walls, a cot, a table with a single candle—but it’s clean. Hidden. *Safe*.
Or it was.
Now, the door is broken.
Not forced.
Not shattered.
But *unlocked*. The wards are intact. The blood sigils on the threshold haven’t been breached. But the door hangs open, swaying slightly in the draft, like someone walked out—or someone walked *in*.
And then I smell it.
Blood.
Not a lot.
Not enough to mean death.
But enough to mean *struggle*.
“She was here,” I say, stepping inside, my wolf senses scanning the room. “Recently.”
Cassian is behind me, silent, his presence a cold weight in the air. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Just stands in the doorway, gold eyes scanning the room like he’s searching for a ghost.
And then—
—he sees it.
On the table.
A note.
Blood-stained.
Written in Mira’s hand.
He picks it up, fingers trembling—something I’ve never seen before—and reads it aloud, voice rough.
“*They found me. Thorne’s men. They know about the Codex. They know about Harmony. I tried to run, but they were waiting. If you’re reading this, I’m already gone. But the truth is in the locket. The one you think is his. It’s not. It’s Elspeth’s. She left it for you. Find it. Break the curse. And Cassian—*”
He stops.
“What?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer. Just stares at the last line, his jaw tight, his fangs bared.
“Cassian.”
He hands me the note.
The final words are smudged, blurred by blood, but I can still read them.
“—tell him I’m sorry. For everything.”
My stomach twists.
“She knew him,” I say. “Before all this. Before the curse. Before the locket.”
Cassian doesn’t answer. Just turns and walks out.
—
We’re in the car before he speaks.
Black sedan, tinted windows, the engine silent. I’m driving. He’s in the back, staring out the window, the note crumpled in his fist. The city blurs past—neon signs, rain-slick streets, humans rushing home, oblivious to the war raging beneath their feet.
And then—
—he says it.
“I knew her.”
I glance in the rearview mirror. “Mira?”
He nods. “Before the curse. Before the exile. We were children. She was… kind. Gentle. The only one who didn’t fear me.”
My breath catches.
Because I’ve never heard him talk about his past.
Not about his father’s cruelty.
Not about the blood oaths he was forced to swear.
Not about the centuries of silence.
But now—
Now he’s *remembering*.
“She used to sneak into the Court,” he says, voice low. “Through the old tunnels. She’d bring me books. Stories. She’d sit with me while I read, her voice soft, her laughter like wind chimes. And one night—” He stops, jaw tight. “One night, she kissed me. Not like a child. Not like a friend. But like she *knew* me. Like she *saw* me.”
My hands tighten on the wheel.
Because I know where this is going.
“And then your ancestor cursed her bloodline,” I say.
He nods. “Elspeth. She was in love with one of us. A D’Vaire. But the Coven forbade it. So she made a pact. She cursed her own line—swore that if a D’Vaire ever claimed one of her descendants, the curse would awaken and destroy them.”
“To protect him,” I say.
“To protect *us*,” he corrects. “She didn’t want to hurt us. She wanted to *save* us. But the Triad twisted it. Made it a weapon. And when Harmony came—” He looks at me, gold eyes burning. “She was never meant to kill me. She was meant to *break* the curse. To end the cycle.”
And then—
—it hits me.
“But Thorne doesn’t want it broken,” I say. “He wants it *harvested*. He wants her blood. Your blood. The power of the bond.”
“And he’ll use Mira to get it,” Cassian says, voice ice. “He’ll make Harmony choose. Her sister. Or me.”
My gut tightens.
Because he’s right.
Because I’ve seen that look before—in the eyes of men who had to choose between love and loyalty.
And it always ends in blood.
“Then we don’t let him,” I say. “We find her first.”
“Where?”
“The locket,” I say. “Mira said the truth is in the locket. The one you think is his.”
He stares at me. “It’s not mine.”
“Then where is it?”
“With Harmony,” he says. “She took it from the altar. The night she tried to kill me.”
My breath catches.
Because if she has it—
Then Thorne will come for her.
And if he finds her before we do—
—she’s dead.
“We need to move,” I say, pressing the accelerator. “Now.”
—
The Obsidian Court is silent when we return.
No guards. No sentinels. No flickering violet torches.
Just shadows.
And blood.
It’s on the floor of the throne room—dark, silver-tinged, smeared like someone was dragged. The dais is cracked, the black stone split down the middle, runes flickering faintly, like they’ve been broken.
And then—
—I hear it.
A whisper.
From the corridor.
“Kael.”
Not Harmony.
Not Cassian.
But *her*.
Nyx.
She’s leaning against the wall, her crimson silk torn, her face pale, her lip split. She’s not bleeding. Not seriously. But she’s not unharmed.
And she’s not alone.
In her hand—
—is Harmony’s locket.
“I tried to stop them,” she says, voice weak. “I didn’t want her to die. Not like this.”
Cassian is on her in an instant, fangs bared, hand around her throat. “Where is she?”
She doesn’t flinch. Just looks at him—really looks—and for the first time, I see it.
No jealousy.
No envy.
Just *regret*.
“Thorne took her,” she says. “To the old cathedral. The one beneath the city. Where the first blood pact was sealed.”
My stomach drops.
The cathedral.
Not a place of worship.
But a *slaughterhouse*.
Where vampires once fed on witches in the Blood Wars.
And now—
Now it’s where Thorne will break the curse.
Or end it.
“Why help us?” I ask.
She looks at me, eyes sharp. “Because I know what he’ll do. I’ve seen it. He’ll make her choose. Her sister. Or Cassian. And when she chooses—” She stops, voice breaking. “He’ll kill them both.”
Cassian releases her, stepping back. “Then we go now.”
“You can’t,” she says. “The cathedral is warded. Only blood of the pact can enter. Only a D’Vaire and a witch of Elspeth’s line.”
“Then we break the wards,” I say.
“You’ll trigger the trap,” she says. “The moment you step inside, the cathedral will seal. And the sacrifice will begin.”
My breath catches.
“Sacrifice?”
She looks at Cassian. “One life to awaken the other. That’s how the curse ends. And Thorne will make sure it’s *you* who dies.”
Cassian doesn’t flinch. Just turns to me, gold eyes blazing. “Then we give him what he wants.”
“What?”
“A sacrifice.”
And then—
—he does the one thing I never expected.
He kneels.
Not in surrender.
Not in defeat.
But in *vow*.
“I swore on my blood, on my soul, on every breath I’ve ever taken,” he says, voice low, rough, “that I would spend eternity proving I’m worthy of her.”
He looks up at me.
“Now I keep that promise.”
My chest tightens.
Because I’ve seen kings fall.
Warriors break.
But never like this.
Never for love.
“We’re not letting you die,” I say.
“Then we move fast,” he says, rising. “Before he makes her choose.”
Nyx hands him the locket. “The truth is inside. The real Codex. The one that proves the D’Vaires were framed.”
He takes it, pressing it to his chest. “Then we end this.”
—
The cathedral is beneath the city—three hundred feet down, accessed through a collapsed subway tunnel, the air thick with the scent of rust and decay. The walls are lined with bones—witches, vampires, humans—stacked like firewood, their skulls grinning in the dim light of enchanted torches.
And at the center—
—an altar.
Black stone. Silver veins. Etched with runes that pulse like a heartbeat.
And on it—
—Mira.
Bound. Gagged. Her face pale, her eyes wide with fear.
And beside her—
—Harmony.
Kneeling. Unharmed. But broken.
Because in Thorne’s hand—
—is a dagger.
Not just any dagger.
But the *Dagger of Severance*.
And he’s pressing it to Mira’s throat.
“Choose,” he says, voice smooth. “Her life. Or his.”
Harmony doesn’t speak.
Just looks at Cassian.
And in that moment—
—I know.
She’s not afraid.
She’s *ready*.
Because she’s not just a witch.
Not just a mate.
She’s Harmony.
And she’s about to burn the world to save the man she loves.