I didn’t sleep.
How could I? Not after what had happened. Not with the taste of his blood still on my tongue, the echo of his voice in my ears, the memory of that kiss—*our* kiss—burning through every nerve in my body. I lay in the black silk sheets, staring at the vaulted ceiling, my fingers tracing the Mark on my chest, now glowing with a steady, rhythmic pulse, like a heartbeat beneath my skin.
It wasn’t just a brand anymore.
It was a claim.
And I had *let* him claim me.
Not in the ritual. Not under obligation. But in that moment—when Vexis had struck, when Cassian had shielded me, when our bodies had pressed together and magic had exploded between us—I hadn’t fought. I hadn’t resisted. I’d *responded*. I’d arched into him, kissed him back, *come* for him. And when his fangs had grazed my lip, I’d bitten down, drawn his blood, *drunk* from him like a lover.
Like a mate.
I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing the heels of my hands against my temples. *No. No, no, no.* This wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to *want* it. I wasn’t supposed to want *him*. I’d come to Midnight Court to destroy the contract, to free my mother, to make Cassian pay for what he’d done. Not to fall into his arms, not to let the bond twist my hatred into something else—something warm, something dangerous, something that felt too much like *need*.
And yet.
And yet.
I could still feel him. His breath on my neck. His hands on my hips. The hard press of his cock against my thigh. The way his voice had dropped when he said *you wanted it*, like he already knew the truth I was trying to deny.
I rolled onto my side, curling into myself, trying to shut it out. But the bond only grew stronger, feeding on my emotions—my fear, my anger, my *desire*. The Mark flared, spreading heat across my chest, my stomach, my *pussy*. I squeezed my thighs together, trying to suppress the ache, but it was no use. My body remembered. My magic remembered. And worse—my heart.
I wasn’t just bound by magic.
I was bound by memory.
And I was losing.
The first light of dawn crept through the high, narrow windows, painting the stone in pale gold. I hadn’t changed. Hadn’t washed. My skin still hummed with residual magic, my hair tangled, my body still trembling from the aftershocks of the ritual. I needed air. Needed space. Needed to *think*.
I slipped out of bed, pulled on the clean tunic and trousers left for me, and moved silently through the chambers. The connecting door to Cassian’s wing was closed, but I could feel him—his presence, steady, deep, *inescapable*. He was awake. Watching. Waiting.
I didn’t care.
I stepped into the corridor, the cold stone biting my bare feet. The fortress was quiet—too quiet. The storm had passed, the Archives secured, the intruder gone. But the tension remained, thick in the air, like the calm before a second storm.
I walked.
Not with purpose. Not with direction. Just… away. Away from the Chamber of Veils. Away from the Council. Away from *him*. I moved through the lower halls, the servant’s corridors, the forgotten passages of the fortress, my boots silent on the stone. The air was cooler here, the torchlight dimmer. I passed a few vampires—servants, guards—but none stopped me. To them, I was Helena Vale, the prince’s ward. Untouchable.
I found a balcony overlooking the Carpathians, high in the west tower. The wind was sharp, biting, but I welcomed it. The sky was clear, the moon now a pale sliver, its crimson glow faded. One day. That’s all it had been. One night of blood and fire and magic, and everything had changed.
I leaned against the stone railing, closing my eyes, letting the cold air wash over me.
“You’re avoiding him.”
I didn’t turn. I already knew who it was.
Kaelen Dain stepped beside me, arms crossed, storm-gray eyes watching me. The werewolf Beta. Cassian’s lieutenant. The only one who hadn’t bowed when Cassian declared me his ward.
“I’m not avoiding anyone,” I said.
He snorted. “You’ve been avoiding him since the ritual. Since you saved his life.”
“I didn’t save him. I reacted.”
“Same thing.” He leaned against the railing, his presence heavy, grounded. “You threw yourself in front of a Fae assassin’s blade. That’s not reaction. That’s *choice*.”
“It was the bond,” I said. “If he died, I would’ve died too.”
“Then why didn’t you run?” He turned to me. “You could’ve. You’re fast. You’re strong. You could’ve stayed out of it. Let the bond break. Let him die.”
I didn’t answer.
Because I knew why.
Because I couldn’t.
“You care about him,” Kaelen said, voice low. “And not just because of the magic.”
“I hate him.”
“Do you?” He studied me. “Or do you hate what he represents? The contract. The court. The life you were stolen from?”
“He took everything from me.”
“Did he?” Kaelen tilted his head. “Or did he protect you? Protect your mother? Keep her alive when the others would’ve killed her?”
“He kept her prisoner.”
“And if he hadn’t, she’d be dead.” He paused. “You think he’s the villain in this story. But maybe he’s not. Maybe you’re both just… trapped.”
I looked away. “I don’t want to be trapped.”
“Then stop fighting it.”
“Stop fighting *what*?”
“The truth.” He pushed off the railing. “The bond knows what you deny. And so does he. And so do you.”
He turned to leave, then paused. “He’s not in his chambers. He’s in the Shadow Vault.”
My breath caught. “Why?”
“To see your mother.”
And then he was gone.
I stood there, the wind biting my skin, Kaelen’s words echoing in my mind.
The bond knows what you deny.
And I was denying *everything*.
—
I didn’t hesitate.
I turned and ran.
Through the corridors, down the winding stairs, past the sealed doors and the blood-warded corridors, where the air grew thick with the scent of iron and decay. The Shadow Vault was deep beneath the fortress, a prison, a tomb, a place of endless night. And at its heart—*her*.
Mira Orren.
I found them in the central cell.
Cassian stood with his back to me, his shoulders tense, his hands clenched at his sides. My mother was chained to the wall, her silver manacles etched with runes, her hair long and tangled, her face thin and pale. But her eyes—*her eyes were sharp*. Alive.
She looked up as I entered, her lips curling into a faint smile.
“Helena,” she said, voice weak but steady. “You’re alive.”
I rushed to her, dropping to my knees, taking her hands in mine. They were cold, fragile, but her grip was strong. “Mom…”
She touched my face, her fingers trembling. “You’re so beautiful. Just like I imagined.”
“I came to free you,” I whispered. “I’ll break the contract. I’ll destroy it. I’ll—”
“No,” she said, her voice firm. “You won’t.”
I stilled. “What?”
“The contract can’t be broken,” she said. “Not without killing Cassian. And if he dies, the court collapses. War will come. And you’ll be caught in the middle.”
“I don’t care.”
“You should.” She glanced at Cassian. “He’s not your enemy, Helena. Not anymore.”
“He’s the one who took you.”
“I gave myself,” she said. “To protect you. And he kept me alive. Kept me sane. Kept me *here*, where I could feel you in the magic, where I could know you were safe.”
My breath stalled. “You knew I was coming?”
“I’ve felt you for years. In the bond. In the contract. In my blood.” She reached up, her fingers brushing the Mark on my chest. “It’s changed. It’s not just his heir. It’s *yours*. Your throne. Your power.”
“I don’t want it.”
“Then why did you let him claim you?”
I froze. “What?”
“The ritual,” she said. “The kiss. The blood. You didn’t just complete the bond. You *consummated* it. You chose him, Helena. In that moment, you chose *love* over vengeance.”
“It was the magic—”
“It was *you*.” She cupped my face. “And it’s okay to want it. To want *him*. You don’t have to hate to be strong. You don’t have to fight to be free.”
I looked at Cassian.
He still hadn’t turned. But I could feel it—his tension, his control, the way his breath hitched when my mother spoke.
“You knew,” I said, voice low. “You knew the ritual would change everything.”
He turned slowly, his crimson eyes locking onto mine. “I knew the bond would be sealed. I didn’t know… *this*.”
“This?”
“That you’d save me,” he said. “That you’d fight for me. That you’d *want* me.”
“I don’t.”
“Liar.” He stepped closer. “You bit me. You drank my blood. You came in my arms. And you don’t regret it.”
My breath caught. “I do.”
“No,” he said, voice soft. “You don’t. Because if you did, the bond would be breaking. But it’s not. It’s *stronger*. And so are you.”
I looked at my mother. “What do I do?”
She smiled. “You do what I couldn’t. You claim what’s yours. Not just the power. Not just the throne. *Him*.”
“I can’t—”
“You already have.” She touched the Mark. “The magic knows. Your body knows. And soon, your heart will too.”
I stood, my legs weak, my chest heaving. “I need to go.”
“Helena—”
“I need to think.” I turned and walked away, my boots echoing through the Vault.
I didn’t stop until I reached the surface, until I was back on the balcony, the wind biting my skin, the sky now fully light. My body ached. My mind raced. My heart—*my heart*—was a storm.
I wasn’t just fighting Cassian.
I wasn’t just fighting the bond.
I was fighting the part of me that *wanted* him.
And I was losing.
—
I returned to Cassian’s chambers that night, my mind still reeling. The sun had set, the Blood Moon’s glow faded, but the bond still pulsed beneath my skin, alive, *hungry*. I hadn’t seen him since the Vault. Hadn’t spoken to him. But I could feel him—his presence, steady, deep, *waiting*.
The door opened before I could reach it.
He stood there, dressed in black silk, his shoulder bandaged, his expression unreadable. No anger. No accusation. Just… stillness.
“You were with her,” he said.
“You knew I’d go.”
“I hoped you would.” He stepped aside. “Come in.”
I hesitated, then entered.
The room was warm, the black flames dancing in the hearth, casting long shadows on the walls. He didn’t speak. Just moved to the side table, poured two glasses of dark red wine—blood, not grape—and handed me one.
“Drink,” he said.
“I don’t want it.”
“It’s not mine.”
I took it, sipped. Human blood, laced with vervain to dull the addictive edge. But still—warm. Rich. *Alive*.
We stood in silence, the fire crackling between us.
And then—
“You tasted me,” he said, voice low. “During the ritual. You bit my lip. Drank my blood.”
My breath hitched. “I didn’t mean to—”
“You did.” He stepped closer. “And I let you. Because I wanted you to.”
“It was the magic—”
“It was *us*.” He reached out, his fingers brushing the Mark. Fire flared beneath my skin. “And you don’t have to lie to me. Not anymore.”
I pulled back. “I’m not lying.”
“Then why,” he murmured, “does your body still tremble when I touch you? Why does your pulse spike when I look at you? Why does the Mark *glow* when I’m near?”
I didn’t answer.
Because I didn’t have one.
He leaned in, his lips brushing my ear. “You saved me tonight. You threw yourself in front of that blade. You fought for me. And when our magic fused, you *came* for me. Screamed my name. Bit my lip. Drank my blood.”
My breath hitched.
“So don’t tell me it was just the ritual,” he whispered. “Don’t tell me it was just the bond. Because I felt it. I felt *you*. And you felt me.”
He pulled back, his eyes searching mine. “And you *wanted* it.”
I wanted to deny it. To scream. To strike him.
But I couldn’t.
Because he was right.
And that terrified me more than anything.
He turned, walking toward the door. “Sleep, Helena. You’ll need your strength.”
“For what?”
“For tomorrow,” he said, pausing at the threshold. “When the Council demands proof that the bond is unbreakable.”
And then he was gone.
I stood there, trembling, the Mark burning, his blood still on my lip.
I wasn’t just his ward.
I wasn’t just his Heir.
I was his *mate*.
And the worst part?
I didn’t hate it.
I *wanted* it.
And that—
That was the real betrayal.