The victory in the Champion’s Arena should have tasted like triumph.
Instead, it tasted like ash.
I stood at the edge of the training yard, the morning after the fight, the air sharp with frost, the sky a pale gray. My body ached—bruised ribs, torn muscle, the lingering burn of frostfire across my palms—but it wasn’t the pain that kept me awake. It was the silence. The way the nobles now stepped aside not just out of fear, but out of *recognition*. The way even Mordrek had retreated into the shadows, his staff trembling, his pale eyes narrowed. They weren’t just afraid of Kaelen anymore.
They were afraid of *me*.
And that was dangerous.
Because fear doesn’t respect. It waits. It watches. It *poisons*.
I flexed my fingers, watching the faint glow of embers dance beneath my skin. My fire magic had flared stronger than ever when I’d blocked the frostfire blast—bright, fierce, *unstoppable*. But it hadn’t just been rage. It hadn’t just been survival.
It had been *him*.
The bond—this cursed, relentless thing—had surged through me like a second heartbeat, feeding the flames, sharpening my reflexes, guiding my hands. I hadn’t just fought Veylan.
I’d fought *for* Kaelen.
And worse—
I’d *wanted* to.
“You’re brooding,” a voice said from behind me.
I didn’t turn. “I’m thinking.”
Kaelen stepped beside me, his coat unbuttoned, his sleeves rolled to the elbows, revealing the scars that marked him. Frost clung to his shoulders, his silver eyes scanning the yard. He didn’t look at me. Just stood there, his presence a storm in the stillness.
“You’re tense,” he said.
“I’m alive.”
“And you won.”
“I survived.” I finally turned, my dark eyes locking onto his. “There’s a difference.”
He didn’t flinch. Just studied me—long, hard, searching. “You think it’s not over.”
“I know it’s not.” I stepped closer, my voice dropping. “Someone tried to kill me in front of the entire Court. Not with steel. Not with magic. With *frostfire*—your power, your mark. They didn’t just want me dead.” I pressed my palm to the sigil on my collarbone. “They wanted to make it look like *you* did it.”
His jaw tightened. “And if they had?”
“Then the bond would be broken. The Court would turn on you. And I’d be stripped of everything.” I stepped closer, my breath cold against his ear. “But they failed.”
“Because you’re stronger than they thought.”
“Because *we* are.”
He didn’t answer.
Just reached for me—slow, deliberate—his fingers brushing the sigil on my collarbone. A jolt of sensation tore through me—fire and ice, pleasure and pain. My mouth fell open. My body arched toward him. The bond flared—hot, electric, *unstoppable*. My skin flushed. My breath hitched. My core ached.
And then—
He pulled back.
Just enough to breathe. Just enough to look at me.
“You don’t have to fight alone,” he said, voice rough.
“I know.” I stepped forward, pressing my body against his, my hands fisting in his coat. “But I will. If I have to.”
He didn’t argue.
Just kissed me.
Slow. Deep. *Claiming*.
His mouth moved against mine, hot and sure, his hands sliding to my waist, pulling me close. The bond exploded—white-hot, electric, unstoppable. My skin flushed. My nipples hardened. My core ached. I moaned—low, broken, *unfiltered*—and the sound was swallowed by his kiss.
And then—
He broke the kiss.
“Come,” he said, taking my hand. “There’s a gala tonight. The Court will be there. Mordrek will be watching. And I want them to see us.”
“As what?” I asked, stepping beside him.
“As queen and king.”
The Grand Hall had been transformed—crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their light refracting through frost-runes etched into the stone. Long tables groaned under the weight of bloodwine and roasted game, of fruits dusted with edible silver, of pastries that shimmered like stars. Fae nobles in silver masks mingled with werewolf alphas in fur-trimmed coats, their collars glowing with runes. Vampires in velvet and shadow sipped from crystal goblets, their fangs just visible beneath their lips.
And at the center—Kaelen and me.
We stood at the dais, side by side, our presence a storm in the stillness. He wore black—tight trousers, a fitted tunic, his coat unbuttoned, revealing the scars that marked him. I wore red—tight trousers, a fitted tunic, boots laced to the knee. No gown. No submission. No mask. Just me. Just fire. Just war. My hair was braided back, secured with a silver dagger. The sigil on my collarbone pulsed faintly beneath the fabric.
And then—
She appeared.
Lady Nyx.
She stepped into the hall like a ghost—pale, sharp-featured, her hair braided with frost-lilies, her lips curved in a venomous smile. She wore silver silk, her gown shimmering in the candlelight, her eyes burning with something I couldn’t name. Not hate. Not rage.
Something darker.
Something *hungrier*.
She didn’t look at me.
Just walked to the dais, her heels clicking on stone, her scent—jasmine and frost—wrapping around the air like a shroud.
“Alpha,” she said, bowing slightly. “Queen.”
Kaelen didn’t move. Just watched her—cold, assessing, *dangerous*.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” I said, stepping forward.
“I was invited,” she said, lifting her chin. “By the Council. To observe. To ensure the peace.”
“And to poison it,” I said, my voice low.
She smiled. Slow. Dangerous. *Victorious*.
“I don’t need to.” She stepped closer, her gaze sliding to Kaelen. “He does it well enough on his own.”
My breath stilled.
And then—
She offered a goblet.
Dark glass, filled with bloodwine, its surface shimmering with something older—something that tasted like power.
“A toast,” she said, her voice smooth. “To the queen. May her reign be… *brief*.”
My jaw clenched.
But Kaelen stepped forward.
Not to take the goblet.
But to *claim* it.
His hand shot out, gripping the stem, his silver eyes burning. “I’ll drink for her.”
Nyx didn’t flinch. Just smiled. “As you wish, Alpha.”
And then—
He drank.
Not much. Just a sip. But enough.
And then—
It happened.
Not with words.
Not with magic.
But with *pain*.
He staggered—just slightly, just once—but I felt it. The bond screamed—a pulse of agony that wasn’t mine. *His*.
“Kaelen?” I said, stepping forward.
He didn’t answer.
Just clutched his chest, his face twisting, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Frost spread across the floor, cracking the stone, spreading toward me like a living thing.
“Poison,” I said, my voice low, dangerous. “You poisoned him.”
Nyx smiled. Slow. Dangerous. *Victorious*.
“Not poison,” she said. “A gift. A taste of what he’s been denying himself. A reminder of what he *really* wants.”
My blood ran cold.
Because I knew.
It wasn’t just poison.
It was *bond-dampener*. But not the kind that silenced desire.
The kind that *twisted* it.
That made him crave the one he hated. That made him need the one he feared. That made him *want* her.
And worse—
It was working.
He turned to me—his silver eyes burning, his jaw tight, his breath coming in ragged gasps. But his gaze—his gaze was *wrong*. Not cold. Not possessive. Not hungry.
Desperate.
“Opal,” he said, voice rough. “I—”
And then—
He collapsed.
Not gently. Not carefully.
But like a storm that had finally burned itself out.
“Kaelen!” I shouted, dropping to my knees, catching him before he hit the floor. His body was heavy, his breath shallow, his skin burning with fever. The bond flared—hot, electric, *unstoppable*—a pulse of panic that wasn’t mine. *His*.
“Silas!” I screamed.
He was there in an instant—kneeling beside me, his expression unreadable, his hands already checking Kaelen’s pulse.
“Poison,” he said, voice low. “But not lethal. Not yet.”
“Then we stop it,” I said, lifting Kaelen’s head, cradling him in my arms. “Now.”
“How?”
“With blood.” I didn’t hesitate. Just drew my dagger, sliced my palm—clean and deep—and pressed it to Kaelen’s mouth. “Drink,” I said, voice rough. “Drink and live.”
He didn’t move. Just lay there, his breath shallow, his body burning.
And then—
He did.
Not much. Just a sip. But enough.
Fire surged through me—white-hot, blinding—not pain, not rage, but *power*. My blood magic, rare in witches, awakened not by hate, but by *need*. By truth. By the knowledge that I was no longer just fighting for vengeance.
I was fighting for *him*.
The bond flared—hot, electric, *unstoppable*. My skin flushed. My nipples hardened. My core ached. I could feel him—his heat, his breath, the way his heart pounded beneath my palm.
And then—
It happened.
Not with words.
Not with magic.
But with *connection*.
A pulse.
A spark.
A *link*.
The blood-sharing had done more than heal him.
It had opened a door.
And I—
I stepped through.
I saw him.
Not the cold, controlled Alpha. Not the executioner.
But *Kaelen*.
He stood in a field of ash and fire, his coat torn, his silver eyes burning, his hands clenched into fists. The sky above was blood-red, the moon full, the air thick with the scent of burnt parchment and old magic. And in his eyes—
Not hate.
Not rage.
But *grief*.
“You were there,” he said, his voice breaking. “You tried to save her.”
And then—
I remembered.
Not the dream.
But the *memory*.
The tribunal. The chains. The fire that had already begun to rise around her. And him—kneeling before the Council, his voice raw from pleading, his hands clenched into fists, his wolf howling in his chest.
“She’s innocent!” he’d shouted. “She didn’t corrupt Fae blood—she *honored* it! Her magic isn’t a crime—it’s a gift! Let her go! Let me take her place!”
But they hadn’t listened.
Mordrek had silenced him with a single word. The Council had sealed the verdict. And he—
He had watched her burn.
And now, in the vision, he stood before me, his eyes wet with tears, his voice trembling. “You tried,” he whispered. “But you couldn’t reach her.”
“No,” I said, my voice rough. “I was too late.”
“And my father?”
I didn’t answer.
Because I didn’t know.
But the bond—this cursed, relentless thing—knew. It pulsed between us, hot and alive, a truth neither of us could deny.
“He was executed too,” I said. “For loving her. For defying the Council. For daring to believe that a Fae noble could love a witch.”
She didn’t speak.
Just stood there, her chest rising and falling, her fingers tightening around the hilt of her dagger.
And then—
She stepped forward.
Not to attack.
Not to strike.
But to *touch*.
Her hand rose, fingers brushing the scar on his cheek—the one from the first time he’d shifted in front of the Council, the one from when they’d called him abomination, the one from when he’d fought to protect her mother and lost.
“You carry it,” she said, voice soft. “The guilt. The grief. The way you loved her—and couldn’t save her.”
“Yes,” I admitted. “And now I love *you*.”
She didn’t flinch.
Didn’t pull away.
Just looked at me—long, hard, searching. “And if I asked you to burn the system for me—would you?”
“I already have,” I said. “The moment I called you queen.”
And then—
She kissed me.
Not hard. Not desperate.
Slow. Deep. *Claiming*.
Her mouth moved against mine, hot and sure, her hands fisting in my coat, pulling me close. The bond exploded—white-hot, electric, unstoppable. My hands slid to her waist, pulling her against me, my body arching into hers. I moaned—low, broken, *unfiltered*—and the sound was swallowed by her kiss.
And then—
I woke up.
Gasping.
Trembling.
My skin on fire, my heart pounding like a war drum.
Kaelen lay in my arms, his breath slow, controlled, his body no longer burning. The poison had passed. The bond was stable. But something else had changed.
Something deeper.
“You saw it,” he said, his voice rough.
“I saw *us*,” I whispered.
“And?”
“And I saw the truth.” I looked down at him, my dark eyes sharp, assessing. “You loved her. You tried to save her. And you failed.”
“Yes.”
“And my father?”
“Executed,” he said. “For loving her. For defying the Council.”
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. Just nodded, slow, like she’d already known. “And now?”
“Now I love *you*.”
She didn’t speak.
Just stared at me—long, hard, searching. And then—
“You think I don’t feel it?” she asked, voice low. “The way your guilt weighs on you. The way your grief lives in your bones. The way you carry it like a second skin.”
“I do.”
“And you think I don’t carry mine?” She stood, stepping closer, her eyes blazing. “I carry the fire she left behind. The rage. The need to burn them all. And the part of me that still believes I should’ve saved her. That I should’ve been there.”
“You were a child.”
“And you were the Alpha,” she snapped. “And you let her die.”
“I *tried*,” I growled, stepping forward, my hands clenching at my sides. “I argued. I begged. I swore on my life. But they wouldn’t listen. And now—” I cupped her face, my thumb tracing her lower lip. “Now I have *you*. And I won’t make the same mistake twice.”
Her breath hitched.
“And if I asked you to burn the Oath-Book?” she whispered. “Would you?”
“Yes.”
“Even if it broke the bond?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Even then.”
She didn’t answer.
Just stepped forward, pressing her body against mine, her hands fisting in my coat. The bond flared—hot, electric, *unstoppable*. My hands slid to her waist, pulling her close, my mouth crashing against hers in a kiss that was fire and frost and *everything*.
And then—
A sound.
From the hallway.
Footsteps.
Fast. Deliberate.
We broke apart, breathing hard, our foreheads pressed together. The bond pulsed between us—hot, alive, *unbroken*.
“Silas,” I said, voice rough.
The door opened.
He stood there, his expression unreadable. “We have a problem,” he said. “The Shadow Pact has taken the Oath-Book.”
My stomach dropped.
Opal stepped back, her eyes wide. “What?”
“They intercepted a courier,” Silas said. “They have it. And they’re demanding your presence, Opal. Alone.”
I didn’t hesitate. “No.”
“They said if you don’t come,” Silas continued, “they’ll destroy it.”
Opal looked at me—long, hard, searching. “And if they do?”
“Then every bond, every oath, every contract in the Concord unravels,” I said. “The Council falls. The Packs fracture. The vampire Houses descend into chaos.”
“And us?”
I didn’t look away. “The bond would break.”
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t look down. Just nodded, slow, like she’d already known. “Then I go.”
“No,” I said, stepping forward. “I go with you.”
“They said *alone*.”
“Then they’ll have to deal with me.” I cupped her face, my thumb tracing her lower lip. “You’re not just fighting for vengeance anymore, Opal. You’re fighting for *us*. And I’m not letting you face this alone.”
She didn’t argue.
Just stepped forward, pressing her body against mine, her hands fisting in my coat. “Then we go together.”
“Always,” I said.
And as we left the library, the bond pulsed between us—hot, alive, *unbroken*.
And for the first time since the ritual—
I didn’t fight it.
I just let it burn.
That night, I dreamed of her again.
Not in fire.
Not in ash.
But in light.
And this time—
She dreamed with me.
I opened my eyes, my breath slow, controlled. The vision had passed. The memory had been shared. The bond—this cursed, relentless, *beautiful* bond—had let her in.
And now—
Now it was unbreakable.
“Why?” I asked, my voice low. “Why did you save me?”
She didn’t answer.
Just looked at me—long, hard, searching. And then—
“Because I love you,” she said, voice breaking. “And I’m not letting you die.”
My breath stilled.
And then—
I pulled her close.
Not to claim.
Not to possess.
But to *hold*.
My arms wrapped around her, my face buried in her hair, my breath warm against her neck. The bond pulsed between us—hot, alive, *unbroken*.
And for the first time since the ritual—
I didn’t fight it.
I just let it burn.