The bite on Cassian’s neck still burns.
Not from pain. Not from infection. But from power. From truth. The silver sigil pulses faintly beneath his skin, a mirror of the one on my own throat, a brand that says mine in a language older than words. I press my fingers to it now, standing in the war room of the Obsidian Court, the obsidian table humming beneath my palms, the maps of supernatural Europe glowing with shifting runes. The air is thick with tension, with the scent of cedar and frost and something darker—memory.
Because I saw it.
In the moment I sank my fangs into his skin, when the bond roared back to life, when the magic screamed—I didn’t just feel him.
I saw him.
Not the prince. Not the vampire. Not the man who knelt in the Reliquary and offered me his life.
But the boy.
Small. Pale. Alone.
Locked in a tower by his own father, forbidden to speak, to touch, to feel. I saw the blood oaths carved into his arms, the way his fangs dropped the first time he tasted human blood—not in hunger, but in horror. I saw the night he found his mother’s body, drained by the Council, her last words a warning: “They will use you. They will break you. But never let them take your heart.”
And I saw her.
Mira.
Not as she is now—bruised, bound, broken.
But as she was then.
Young. Laughing. Sneaking into the Court through the old tunnels, her dark hair catching the moonlight, her voice soft as she read to him from stolen books. I saw the night she kissed him—not in passion, but in pity. Not because she loved him.
But because no one else ever had.
And I felt it.
The loneliness. The shame. The quiet, desperate hope that one day, someone would look at him and not see a monster.
And now—
—I can’t unsee it.
“Harmony.”
Cassian’s voice cuts through the silence, low, rough, like gravel under moonlight. I turn. He’s standing in the doorway, his gold eyes burning, his coat unbuttoned, the collar pulled aside to reveal the bite. He doesn’t hide it. Doesn’t cover it. Lets the Court see what I’ve done.
What I’ve claimed.
“You’re staring,” he says, stepping closer.
“I’m remembering,” I say, my voice quiet.
He stops in front of me, his hand rising to cup my face. His skin is cool, but beneath it, I feel the heat—the pulse of his blood, the thrum of the bond, the way his breath hitches when I’m near. “You saw it,” he says. “In the bite.”
“I saw you,” I whisper. “The boy. The pain. The way Mira—” I stop.
“—kissed me,” he finishes. “Not because she loved me. But because she felt sorry for me.”
My chest tightens.
“It wasn’t love,” he says, his thumb brushing my cheek. “Not then. But it was the first time I felt… seen. The first time someone touched me and didn’t flinch.”
“And now?”
He leans in, his lips brushing my ear. “Now, I don’t need pity. I need you.”
And I know he’s not just talking about the bond.
Not just about the curse.
He’s talking about us.
About the way I look at him—not with fear, not with hatred, but with truth.
“She didn’t love you,” I say, stepping into his space. “But I do.”
He searches my eyes, gold blazing. “You don’t have to say it to keep me.”
“I’m not saying it to keep you,” I say, rising on my toes. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”
And then—
—Kael steps into the room.
“We have a problem,” he says, his amber eyes sharp, his wolf scent flaring. “Mira’s gone.”
My breath catches.
“What?”
“She was in the infirmary,” he says. “Under guard. But an hour ago, the wards broke. The guards were found unconscious. And she—” He hesitates. “—left a message.”
He hands me a scrap of paper, torn from a medical chart. The handwriting is shaky, smudged, but I recognize it.
Mira’s.
Harmony,
I have to do this alone.
The curse isn’t broken. It’s sleeping.
Vael knows the truth. He knows about the Second Codex.
If he gets it, he’ll control the bond. He’ll control you.
I can’t let that happen.
Don’t follow me.
—Mira
My hands tremble.
“Second Codex?” Cassian asks, reading over my shoulder.
“I don’t know,” I say, voice tight. “She never mentioned it before.”
“But Elspeth did,” Kael says, stepping forward. “In the scrying vision. She said the real Codex was hidden in the locket. But she also said there was a counter-pact—a way to reverse the curse if it was ever misused.”
My stomach drops.
“And if Vael gets it—”
“He won’t just break the bond,” Kael says. “He’ll rewrite it. He’ll make you his. And Cassian—” He doesn’t finish.
But I do.
—will die.
Because the bond isn’t just magic.
It’s life.
And if Vael severs it—
—Cassian won’t survive.
“We have to find her,” I say, turning to the door.
“No,” Cassian says, stepping in front of me, his body a shield. “This is a trap. Mira knows it. Vael knows it. And you’re walking right into it.”
“Then what do you suggest?” I snap. “Let her die? Let Vael take the Codex? Let him win?”
“I suggest we don’t rush in blind,” he says, voice low. “We find out where she’s going. We verify the message. We go in with a plan.”
“And if she’s already there?” I whisper. “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 scrap of paper 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 Mira’s message.
Not of the Second Codex.
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 forest—ancient, mist-covered, the trees towering like sentinels. She’s moving fast, her face pale, her breath coming in short gasps. And in her hand—
—a book.
Not just any book.
But a grimoire—black leather, silver clasps, the cover etched with runes that pulse like a heartbeat. The Second Codex.
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 Vael 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 counter-pact—the one Elspeth wrote in case the curse was ever misused.”
Cassian tenses beside me.
“The First Codex was the curse,” Mira says. “The Second is the key. It can reverse the bond. It can free you. But it can also control it. And if Vael gets it—” She stops, voice breaking. “He’ll make you his. And Cassian will die.”
The vision flickers.
“I’m going to the Hollow,” she says. “The old witch sanctuary beneath the Veil. It’s the only place strong enough to contain the Codex. 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 Vael has it—”
“He’ll have the power to control the bond,” 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 Vael 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 Hollow rises from the mist like a forgotten 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.