The library was silent when we arrived—too silent. No rustle of pages, no whisper of runes, no distant hum of the Spire’s ancient magic. Just stillness. The kind that comes before a storm.
Kaelen’s hand hadn’t left mine since Silas delivered the news. Not when we left the gala, not when we passed the guards, not even when I tried to pull away. His grip was firm, unyielding, his fingers laced through mine like a vow. The bond pulsed between us—hot, electric, *alive*—but it wasn’t just magic anymore. It was something deeper. Something that lived in the space between our breaths, in the way his thumb traced the inside of my wrist, in the way my body leaned into his without thought.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said, voice low, as we stepped into the library’s shadowed archway. “The Shadow Pact wants you isolated. They want you afraid. Don’t give it to them.”
“They have the Oath-Book,” I said, stopping just inside. My voice didn’t shake. Didn’t waver. But my hands did. “And they’re using it to blackmail me.”
“Then let me go in first.”
“They said *alone*.”
“And since when do I obey their rules?” He stepped in front of me, his coat swirling behind him like a storm, his silver eyes burning. “You think I’ll let you walk into a trap by yourself? After everything? After the fire, the trial, the poison—after you *saved* me?”
My breath hitched.
Because he was right.
And worse—
I didn’t want him to be.
“You’re not just my Alpha,” I said, stepping around him, my voice low. “You’re not just my mate. You’re the reason they’re doing this. They don’t want me. They want *you*—to break you. To make you weak. To prove that even the Black Thorn Alpha can be controlled.”
He didn’t flinch. Just watched me—long, hard, searching. “And if they’re right?”
“They’re not.” I turned to face him, my dark eyes locking onto his. “You’re not weak. You’re *awake*. And so am I.”
And then—
I kissed him.
Not hard. Not desperate.
Slow. Deep. *Claiming*.
My hands fisted in his coat, pulling him close, my mouth crashing against his in a kiss that was fire and frost and everything in between. He didn’t hesitate. Just answered—his hands sliding to my waist, pulling me against him, his tongue sweeping into my mouth, tasting me like he’d been starving.
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—
I broke the kiss.
Just enough to breathe. Just enough to look at him.
“Stay here,” I said, voice rough. “If I’m not back in ten minutes—storm the place. Burn it down. I don’t care. Just don’t let them keep the Oath-Book.”
He didn’t argue. Just cupped my face, his thumb 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.
“You come back,” he said, voice low. “Or I’ll drag you out myself.”
“Always,” I whispered.
And then—
I walked in.
The library was darker than I remembered—candles unlit, frost-runes dim, the air thick with the scent of old parchment and something older—something that tasted like power. The shelves loomed like sentinels, their shadows stretching across the stone. And at the center—on a dais of black stone—sat the Oath-Book.
Bound in iron. Sealed with wax. Glowing faintly with the weight of broken oaths.
And beside it—
A figure.
Hooded. Cloaked in shadows. But I knew.
It was a Dusk Fae—pale, sharp-featured, her eyes glowing faintly with inherited power. But it wasn’t her face that made my blood run cold.
It was the mark on her neck.
A sigil—thorns and frost, intertwined.
Just like mine.
“You’ve come,” she said, lowering her hood. “I knew you would.”
“You took the Oath-Book,” I said, hand on my dagger. “Why?”
“Not to destroy it,” she said. “To *free* it.” She stepped forward, her movements fluid, deliberate. “The Shadow Pact doesn’t want chaos. We want balance. We want the truth. And you—” Her gaze slid to my collarbone. “—you’re the key.”
“And if I don’t play your game?”
“Then the bond breaks.” She smiled, slow, dangerous. “And you lose him.”
My chest tightened.
Because she was right.
And I hated that.
“And if I do?”
“Then you’ll see what’s been hidden. What’s been buried. What’s been *denied*.” She stepped closer. “Enter the trial. Face your fear. And if you survive—” She met my eyes. “—you’ll have your answers.”
Before I could react, the runes on the floor flared—bright, cold, *alive*. The air thickened, charged with magic. Light tore through the chamber, blinding, searing. I stumbled back, my hands flying to my face, my dagger slipping from my grip.
And then—
The vision hit.
I was in the tribunal. The chains. The fire already rising. My mother—bound, defiant, her eyes blazing with fury. And me—ten years old, hidden in the shadows, my hands pressed to my mouth, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
“You let her die,” a voice said—my own, but twisted, broken. “You were there. You saw. And you did nothing.”
“I was a child,” I whispered.
“And now?” the voice hissed. “Now you have power. Now you have magic. Now you have *him*. And still—you hesitate.”
“I’m not hesitating,” I said, voice breaking. “I’m *fighting*.”
“No.” The vision shifted. Now I was in the Bonding Chamber, straddling Kaelen, my hands fisted in his shirt, my hips rocking against his, my mouth open in a silent moan. “You’re *wanting*. You’re *needing*. You’re forgetting why you came here.”
“I haven’t forgotten.”
“Then why are you trembling?” The vision shifted again. Now I was in his arms, my head on his chest, his hands in my hair, his voice in my ear, whispering, *“You’re mine.”* “Why do you let him touch you? Why do you let him *in*?”
“Because—” My voice cracked. “Because I *want* to.”
And then—
The vision shattered.
I was back in the library, on my knees, my breath coming in ragged gasps, my skin slick with sweat. The runes dimmed. The air stilled. And then—
Laughter.
Low. Mocking. *Familiar*.
I looked up.
And froze.
It wasn’t the Dusk Fae.
It was *Kaelen*.
He stood at the edge of the chamber, his coat dusted with frost, his silver eyes burning, his jaw tight. But he wasn’t alone.
Behind him—dozens of them. Dusk Fae in shadow-cloaks, their eyes glowing with inherited power. Werewolves in fur-trimmed coats, their collars glowing with runes. Fae nobles in silver masks, their hands crackling with magic.
And at the center—on a dais of black stone—sat the Oath-Book.
Bound in iron. Sealed with wax. Glowing faintly with the weight of broken oaths.
“Welcome, *Queen*,” he purred. “We’ve been waiting for you.”
My breath stilled.
“You’re working with them?” I asked, rising slowly, my hand reaching for my dagger.
“Not *with* them,” he said. “*Above* them.” He stepped forward, his heels clicking on stone. “You think Mordrek is the mastermind? You think the Pureblood Faction is the threat? No. The real power has always been *here*—in the blood, in the shadows, in the ones who’ve been waiting for a woman like you to rise.”
“And why me?”
“Because you’re the key,” he said. “The only one who can break the Oath-Book. The only one whose fire can burn it all down.” He smiled. “And when you do—” He stepped closer. “—we’ll be waiting to pick up the pieces.”
My jaw clenched.
“You’re not allies. You’re predators.”
“And you’re prey,” he said. “But not for long.” He raised his hand. “Take her.”
The chamber erupted.
Dusk Fae lunged. Werewolves growled. Fae nobles cast spells. I moved fast—dagger in hand, fire in my veins, my body a weapon. I slashed through a Dusk Fae’s throat, burned a noble’s spell mid-cast, kicked a werewolf in the chest with enough force to crack bone. But there were too many. They came from all sides, relentless, *hungry*.
And then—
He was there.
Not Kaelen.
But *me*.
Another version of me—taller, colder, her eyes blazing with fire and fury. She wore black, her hair loose, her dagger in hand. And she fought—like she’d been born for war, like every breath was a blade, every step a promise of death.
“You’re not real,” I said, backing up.
“Aren’t I?” she asked, her voice my own, but sharper, darker. “I’m the part of you that wants to burn it all down. The part that doesn’t care who gets hurt. The part that *hates* him.”
“I don’t hate him.”
“You did.” She stepped closer. “And you will again. Because he *lied* to you. He let you believe he let your mother die. He let you fall for him first.”
My chest tightened.
“He was afraid,” I said, voice breaking. “He was *afraid*.”
“And you forgave him?” She laughed, low, mocking. “You *loved* him?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’re weak.” She lunged—fast, deadly. I blocked, but she was stronger, faster, *relentless*. Her dagger sliced across my arm, drawing blood. Pain flared. Heat followed. The bond pulsed—hot, electric, *unstoppable*. My skin flushed. My breath hitched.
And then—
I saw it.
Not the fight.
Not the magic.
But the truth.
She wasn’t real.
She was a *reflection*.
A part of me I’d buried—my rage, my grief, my need for vengeance. And she was right.
I *had* hated him.
I *had* wanted to burn him.
And I *had* forgiven him.
Not because he deserved it.
But because I *loved* him.
“You’re not me,” I said, stepping back. “You’re what I *was*.”
She didn’t answer. Just lunged again.
And this time—
I let her.
I dropped my dagger. Raised my hands. Closed my eyes.
And let her strike.
The dagger pierced my chest—just above the heart—not deep, not fatal, but enough.
And then—
She shattered.
Like glass. Like smoke. Like a dream upon waking.
And I—
I collapsed.
Not to the floor.
But into *him*.
Kaelen.
He caught me before I fell, his arms wrapping around me, his breath warm against my neck. The bond flared—hot, electric, *unstoppable*. My skin flushed. My breath hitched. My core ached.
“You’re bleeding,” he said, voice rough.
“It’s not deep,” I whispered, my head on his chest. “It’s not real.”
“It’s real enough.” He lifted me, carrying me to a bench, laying me down with a gentleness that belied the fire in his eyes. “What happened?”
“I saw her,” I said, my voice breaking. “The part of me that still wants to burn it all down. The part that hates you.”
He didn’t flinch. Just pressed his palm to the wound, his frostfire cooling the heat, sealing the skin. “And?”
“And I let her go.” I looked up at him, my dark eyes sharp, assessing. “I don’t hate you. I don’t want to burn you. I want to *fight* with you. To stand beside you. To burn the world *with* you.”
His breath caught.
And then—
He 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—
I pulled back.
Just enough to breathe. Just enough to look at him.
“The Oath-Book,” I said, voice low. “It’s still here.”
He didn’t answer. Just nodded, his silver eyes burning. “And now?”
“Now we burn it.” I sat up slowly, my hand rising to the sigil on my collarbone. “Together.”
He didn’t hesitate. Just took my hand, his fingers lacing through mine. “Always.”
We stood, side by side, our presence a storm in the stillness. The Oath-Book sat on the dais, bound in iron, sealed with wax, glowing faintly with the weight of broken oaths. The runes on the floor flared—bright, cold, *alive*. The air thickened, charged with magic.
“If we destroy it,” I said, voice low, “the bond—”
“Will break,” he said. “And I’ll still choose you.”
My breath stilled.
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.” He stepped closer, his silver eyes burning. “Because I’m not bound by magic. I’m bound by *you*.”
And then—
I raised my hand.
Not to strike.
Not to fight.
But to *burn*.
Fire roared from my palm, bright and fierce, consuming the Oath-Book in an instant. The air filled with the scent of molten iron and ash. The runes on the walls cracked. The floor trembled. And then—
It was gone.
Just dust.
And silence.
And then—
The bond flared.
Not hot.
Not electric.
But *different*.
Lighter. Freer. *Ours*.
I looked at him—long, hard, searching.
And he looked back.
And for the first time since the ritual—
I didn’t fight it.
I just let it burn.