The morning after the first night, I woke not in silence, but in fire.
Not the wild, unbound blaze of magic or rage, but the slow, simmering burn of something deeper—something that lived beneath my skin, pulsed in my veins, curled around my bones. It wasn’t just the bond. It wasn’t just the aftermath of what we’d done—of the way his mouth had tasted me, the way his body had filled mine, the way he’d whispered my name like a prayer against my lips.
It was knowing.
Kaelen lay beside me, still asleep, his arm draped over my waist, his breath warm against my neck. Frost clung to the windows, the fire in the hearth reduced to embers, the room bathed in the pale light of dawn. His coat was on the floor, his tunic crumpled beside the bed, his scars visible in the dim light—old wounds, old battles, old pain. And yet, for the first time since I’d met him, he looked… soft.
Not weak. Never weak.
But open.
I didn’t move. Just watched him—his jaw relaxed, his silver eyes hidden behind closed lids, his fingers twitching slightly, like he was dreaming. Of what? Of me? Of fire? Of the war we were still fighting?
Maybe all of it.
The bond pulsed—hot, electric, alive—but it wasn’t the desperate, clawing need of before. It was quieter now. Deeper. Like a river that had finally found its course. I pressed my palm to the sigil on my collarbone, feeling the warmth beneath my skin, the way it hummed in time with my heartbeat. Last night hadn’t been about magic. It hadn’t been about the ritual, the heat, the bond’s demands.
It had been about choice.
And I’d chosen him.
Not because I had to.
Not because the Council had forced me.
But because I wanted to.
Because I loved him.
The thought didn’t shock me. Didn’t scare me. It just… was. Like the fire in my blood, like the scars on my soul, like the truth I’d buried for years.
I loved him.
And I wasn’t going to hide it anymore.
I shifted slightly, trying to slip out from under his arm, but he stirred—just a breath, just a twitch—and then his grip tightened, pulling me back against him.
“Don’t,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep. “Not yet.”
I didn’t argue. Just settled back, my head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. His fingers traced the curve of my hip, slow, deliberate, like he was memorizing me.
“You’re thinking,” he said after a moment.
“I’m always thinking.”
“About what?”
“About last night.”
He turned his head, his lips brushing my temple. “Regrets?”
“None.” I lifted my chin, meeting his gaze as his silver eyes opened, sharp, assessing, hungry. “Not one.”
A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips. “Good.”
And then—
The door burst open.
Not with a knock. Not with a warning.
With force.
Silas stood in the doorway, his coat dusted with frost, his expression unreadable. But his eyes—his eyes were wide. Alarmed.
“They’ve taken the Oath-Book,” he said, voice low. “The Shadow Pact. They intercepted a courier. They have it. And they’re demanding your presence, Opal. Alone.”
I sat up fast, the furs slipping from my bare shoulders, my hand instinctively going to the dagger on the nightstand. Kaelen was beside me in an instant, his body a wall between me and the door, his presence a storm in the stillness.
“They said *alone*,” I said, voice sharp.
“Then they’ll have to deal with me,” Kaelen said, stepping toward the door. “You’re not going anywhere without me.”
“They’ll kill her if you go,” Silas said. “They’ve already sent a message. ‘One step past the Spire’s gate, and the Oath-Book burns.’”
My stomach dropped.
Because he was right.
And I hated that.
“And if they destroy it?” I asked, voice low.
“Then every bond, every oath, every contract in the Concord unravels,” Silas said. “The Council falls. The Packs fracture. The vampire Houses descend into chaos.”
“And us?”
Silas didn’t answer.
But Kaelen did.
“The bond would break,” he said, turning to me, his silver eyes burning. “And I’d still choose you.”
My breath stilled.
Because he meant it.
Not as a threat. Not as a vow.
As a promise.
“Then I go,” I said, standing, pulling on my tunic, my boots laced to the knee. “Alone.”
“No,” Kaelen said, stepping in front of me. “I’m not letting you walk into a trap by yourself.”
“And if I don’t?” I stepped closer, my voice dropping. “If I refuse? Then they burn the Oath-Book. The bond breaks. The Concord collapses. And Mordrek wins.”
He didn’t flinch. Just watched me—long, hard, searching. “Then we go together.”
“They said *alone*.”
“Then they’ll have to deal with me.” He 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’re not just fighting for vengeance anymore, Opal. You’re fighting for *us*. And I’m not letting you face this alone.”
I didn’t argue.
Just stepped forward, pressing my body against his, my hands fisting in his coat. “Then we go together.”
“Always,” he said.
The meeting place was the Veil Market—beneath Vienna, in the tunnels where magic, secrets, and blood were traded like currency. The air was thick with the scent of old stone, burning herbs, and something older—something that tasted like power. The stalls loomed like sentinels, their shadows stretching across the ground. 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 Veil Market, 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 *Mordrek*.
He stood at the edge of the chamber, his staff glowing with the weight of oaths, his pale 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 the Shadow Pact 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 staff. “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.”