The steam still clung to my skin when I returned to the private chambers—damp, clinging, laced with the scent of sacred spring water and her.
Amber.
She’d walked away. Again. Not in anger, not in defiance, but in that quiet, trembling retreat that tore through me like silver through flesh. She’d dried my hair with her own hands, fingers brushing my scalp, breath hitching with every touch, her magic pulsing just beneath the surface like a storm held at bay. And then—she’d stepped back. Walked out. Left me standing there, half-naked and aching, the bond screaming in my veins.
And I’d let her.
Because she needed to run.
Because she wasn’t ready.
Because if I’d pulled her back—if I’d kissed her, claimed her, taken her right there on the wet stone floor—she would have broken. And I didn’t want her broken.
I wanted her whole.
I wanted her free.
But the truth was, I was losing control.
Not of the Court. Not of the Council. Not of the war brewing beneath the surface of this fragile peace.
Of myself.
Since the blood ritual. Since the bite. Since she’d pressed her lips to my chest and wept over me like I was something worth saving—I hadn’t been the same. The cold precision, the ruthless calculation, the iron grip on my emotions—it had all cracked. And beneath it, something raw, something alive, had surged to the surface.
Desire. Need. Love.
I didn’t say the word. Not even in my own mind. It was too dangerous. Too vulnerable. Too much like weakness.
But I felt it.
In the way my fangs lengthened when she was near. In the way my blood sang when she spoke. In the way my chest tightened when she looked at me like I was a monster.
And now—
Now I could still smell her on my skin. Still feel the ghost of her fingers in my hair. Still hear the echo of Lysandra’s voice, sharp and venomous: “He screams my name in bed. Will he scream yours?”
I clenched my fists.
Not because she’d said it.
Because part of me had wanted to scream yes.
Not to Lysandra.
To Amber.
I’d wanted to throw her against the wall, tear that velvet gown from her body, and make her scream my name until the entire Court heard it. Until she knew—knew—that no one else had ever touched me like she did. That no one else had ever seen me like she did. That no one else had ever made me feel like I was more than a prince, more than a weapon, more than a monster.
But I hadn’t.
I’d let her go.
And now—
Now I was pacing.
Like a caged beast.
The chamber was vast—black-veined stone, bioluminescent vines pulsing a soft, steady crimson, the air thick with the scent of aged wine and cold stone. My boots echoed against the floor, each step a hammer in my skull. The bond hummed beneath my skin, not with tension, not with resistance, but with hunger. A deep, primal ache that no amount of power, no amount of control, could silence.
And then—
A knock.
Sharp. Deliberate.
Not Amber.
Her scent wasn’t on the air. Her pulse wasn’t in my ears.
But I knew who it was.
“Enter,” I said, voice rough.
The door opened.
Silas stepped inside, his golden eyes sharp with concern. He didn’t bow. Didn’t speak. Just watched me, like he was seeing something new. Something dangerous.
“You’re not sleeping,” he said.
“I don’t need to.”
“You’re not eating.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’re not yourself.”
I stopped pacing. Turned to him. “And what am I, then?”
He didn’t flinch. Just studied me. “You’re obsessed.”
“I’m protecting my mate.”
“You’re chasing her,” he said. “And she’s running.”
My fangs lengthened. “She’s not running. She’s… processing.”
“Processing what?” he asked. “The fact that you marked her while she was unconscious? That you defied the Council for her? That you’d rather die by her hand than live without her?”
I froze.
“You were there,” I said.
“I was,” he admitted. “In the corridor. I heard everything.”
“And you didn’t stop me.”
“Would you have listened?”
I didn’t answer.
Because he was right.
I wouldn’t have.
“She needs time,” Silas said. “She came here to destroy you. To break a curse. To clear her mother’s name. And now—” He stepped closer. “—she’s starting to believe that you’re not the enemy. That the bond isn’t a trap. That you might be the key.”
“And that terrifies her.”
“Yes,” he said. “Because if she lets go of her hate, if she stops fighting, if she starts trusting you—then what is she? Not an avenger. Not a destroyer. Not a daughter of a traitor.”
“Then what?”
“A woman,” he said. “In love with a vampire prince.”
The words hit me like a blade.
And the bond—our bond—surged, a wave of heat so intense it stole my breath. My cock strained against the fabric of my trousers. My fingers twitched with the urge to touch her, to pull her close, to claim.
“I don’t love her,” I said, voice flat.
“Liar,” Silas said. “You smile when you look at her. You soften when she speaks. You’d burn the world to keep her alive.”
“That’s not love. That’s survival.”
“No,” he said. “That’s love. And you know it.”
I didn’t answer.
Just turned away, my hands gripping the edge of the stone table, knuckles white.
“She’s in the east wing,” Silas said. “In the garden. Alone.”
My head snapped up.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you’ll go anyway,” he said. “And I’d rather you go with purpose than rage.”
And then he was gone, the door closing softly behind him.
And I was alone.
But not for long.
I moved fast.
Through the corridors, past vampires who bowed their heads, past Fae who lowered their masks, past werewolves who stepped aside. I didn’t speak. Didn’t slow. Just walked—toward her.
And the bond—our bond—surged with every step, a wave of heat crashing through me. My fangs lengthened. My blood sang. My body ached for her.
The east wing garden was small—carved into the mountain stone, fed by a trickle of spring water, vines of bioluminescent moss clinging to the walls. Amber stood at the edge, her back to me, her hair unbound, her gown the same black velvet she’d worn earlier. She didn’t turn. Didn’t speak. Just stared at the water, her shoulders tense, her breath shallow.
And the scent of her—jasmine and iron, the salt of suppressed tears, the heat of her skin—flooded my senses.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I said, voice low.
She didn’t flinch. Just kept staring at the water. “Neither should you.”
“I had to see you.”
“Why?” She turned then, her eyes sharp as shattered glass. “To remind me that I’m yours? To prove that you own me? To make sure I haven’t forgotten the mark on my shoulder?”
“I don’t own you,” I said, stepping closer. “I want you.”
“And that’s different how?”
“Because ownership is power,” I said. “Want is truth.”
“And what truth is that?” she snapped. “That you’d rather die by my hand? That you’d burn the world for me? That you’d let me destroy you?”
“Yes.”
She laughed—sharp, bitter. “You don’t know me. You don’t know what I’m capable of. You don’t know what I’ve done.”
“I know you saved me,” I said. “I know you wept over me. I know you chose to heal me.”
“And what if I hadn’t?” she whispered. “What if I’d let you die? What if I’d walked away?”
“You wouldn’t have.”
“And how do you know that?”
“Because the bond wouldn’t have let you,” I said. “Because your magic answered to mine. Because your body knew me before your mind did.”
She flinched.
And the scent of her arousal—sweet, intoxicating—filled the air.
“You think I don’t know what you’re doing?” she said, voice trembling. “You think I don’t see the game? You use the bond to control me. To make me dependent. To keep me from finding the truth.”
“And what if the truth is that I’m trying to save you?”
“You don’t save people,” she said. “You consume them.”
“Then why haven’t I consumed you?”
She looked at me. Really looked.
And for the first time, I saw it—the crack. The flicker of vulnerability. The way her fingers trembled at her sides.
“Because you need me,” she said, voice low.
“Yes,” I said. “I do. But not for power. Not for control.” I stepped closer, my voice dropping to a whisper. “I need you because the curse will kill you in twenty-seven days. And if you die, I die with you.”
Her breath caught.
“That’s not possible.”
“It is,” I said. “Because the bond isn’t just magic. It’s life. And if you go, I go.”
She stared at me. Searching my face. Looking for the lie. The manipulation. The trap.
And I let her look.
Because for once, I wasn’t hiding.
For once, I wasn’t playing the game.
For once, I was telling the truth.
And she saw it.
Not all of it. Not the full scope of the curse, not the Judge’s plan, not the way our blood was woven together by ancient magic.
But she saw something.
And it terrified her.
“I don’t believe you,” she whispered.
“Then prove me wrong,” I said. “Keep searching. Keep stealing. Keep fighting me.” I stepped closer, my heat radiating through the thin space between us. “But know this—every time you run, the bond tightens. Every time you lie, it burns. And every time you try to destroy me—” My hand lifted, slow, deliberate, and brushed her jaw. “—you destroy yourself.”
She flinched. But didn’t pull away.
And the bond—our bond—surged, a wave of heat so intense it stole my breath. My fangs lengthened. My blood sang. My body ached for her.
But I didn’t move.
Just watched her.
“You think this changes anything?” she said, voice tight. “This marriage? This bond? This farce?”
“I think it changes everything,” I said. “You came here to destroy me. To break the curse. But you can’t do either without me.”
“I don’t need you.”
“Yes, you do.” I shifted slightly, my heat radiating through the thin space between us. “The curse is tied to my bloodline. Only my blood can stop it. And only the bond can keep you alive long enough to find the truth.”
Her breath catches.
Because she knows I’m right.
And she hates it.
“So this is your game?” she says, turning her head just enough to meet my eyes. “Keep me close. Use the bond to control me. Make me dependent on you?”
“No,” I say. “My game is survival. Yours. Mine. The court’s.”
“And when the thirty days are up?”
“Then we’ll see,” I say. “But until then—” I reach out, slow, deliberate, and trace the line of her jaw with my thumb. “—I won’t let you go.”
She doesn’t pull away.
Just stands there, trembling, her breath coming fast, her pulse fluttering in her throat.
And then—
I can’t take it anymore.
I grab her.
Not gently. Not carefully.
Hard.My hands clamp around her waist, lifting her off the ground, pressing her against the stone wall. Her back arches. Her breath hitches. Her legs wrap around my hips, not to escape, but to hold on.
And the bond—our bond—explodes.
Fire. Heat. Light.
My cock strains against the fabric of my trousers, hard and unyielding, pressing against the soft heat between her thighs. I grind against her, once, twice, a low growl tearing from my throat. She moans—soft, broken, needing—and I do it again, harder this time, feeling her wetness soak through the thin fabric of her gown.
“You want this,” I growl, my lips brushing her ear. “You want me. You want my fangs in your skin. You want my hands on your body. You want to belong to me.”
“No,” she whispers. “I don’t.”
“Liar,” I say. “I can smell you. I can feel you. I can taste you.”
And then—
I stop.
Just like that.
My hips still. My hands loosen. My breath steadies.
Because I won’t take it.
Not like this.
Not until she gives it freely.
“I could take you right now,” I say, voice rough. “I could tear this gown from your body, pin you to the floor, and make you scream my name until you forget your own. But I won’t.”
She stares at me, her chest rising and falling, her eyes wide with shock, with fear, with arousal.
“Because I want you to choose me,” I say. “Not because of the bond. Not because of magic. Not because I force you.” I lean in, my lips brushing hers. “But because you want me. Because you need me. Because you love me.”
She doesn’t answer.
Just trembles.
And the scent of her arousal—sweet, intoxicating—fills the air.
And then—
I release her.
Slowly. Gently.
Letting her slide down my body until her feet touch the ground. Her legs are weak. Her breath is ragged. Her hands tremble as they press against my chest.
And the bond—our bond—surges, not in heat, not in hunger—but in something deeper.
Something I can’t name.
“Prove I’m lying,” I say, stepping back. “Stay and watch. See if I touch another. See if I look at another. See if I want another.”
She doesn’t answer.
Just stands there, trembling, her eyes searching mine.
And then—
She turns.
And walks away.
But this time—
This time, I don’t let her go.
Because I know the truth.
She’s not running.
She’s choosing.
And when she’s ready—
She’ll come back to me.
And I’ll be waiting.