THYME
The torchlight flickers behind Mira, casting her shadow long and jagged across the stone floor like a crack in the world. Her smile is slow, venomous, her crimson lips parting just enough to reveal the sharp points of her fangs. She doesn’t move. Doesn’t draw her dagger. She just *watches* me—like a spider who’s finally caught the fly in her web.
“Cousin,” she purrs, the word dripping with mockery. “How *deliciously* tragic. The Alpha’s own bloodline returns to destroy him. And not just any bloodline—his *niece*. His *daughter*, for all intents and purposes. Bound by magic, bound by blood, bound by *fate*.”
My breath comes fast, too fast. The mark on my collarbone *burns*, not with the usual heat of the bond, but with something colder, sharper—*panic*. This changes everything. The mission. The bond. The way Kaelen looked at me in the Hall of Whispers, the way his hands trembled when he touched my back, the way his voice broke when he said my mother’s name.
He didn’t just love her.
He was *family*.
And I—
I’m not just his mate.
I’m his blood.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, voice steady despite the tremor in my hands.
“Don’t I?” She tilts her head. “I’ve seen the records. The hidden lineage scrolls. The ones even *he* doesn’t know about. Callum Dain. Son of Lysara and the late Alpha. Raised in secret. Killed in the Bloodmoon Purge when the Council deemed half-bloods too dangerous to live.”
My stomach drops.
“And me?” I whisper.
“A mistake,” she says, smiling. “A last act of defiance. Your mother hid your birth. Faked your death. Sent you away before they could come for you, too. But the bond—oh, the bond *knew*. It waited. It *slept*. And now—”
She steps forward.
“Now it’s awake. And the world will burn for it.”
“She’s lying,” Kaelen says, stepping up beside me, his voice a low growl. “The Council destroyed all records of Callum. No one outside this palace knew—”
“But *I* did,” Mira interrupts. “Because Veylan has them. Because *I* have them. And if you think I won’t release them—won’t show the world that the great Kaelen Dain is bound to his own niece, that his precious mate is *illegitimate*, that the bond is *unnatural*—then you’re even more foolish than I thought.”
“Do it,” I snap. “Publish them. Let the world see. Let them know the Alpha tried to save my mother. That he kept her journal. That he’s been carrying guilt for ten years.”
Her smile falters.
“You think that makes you *heroes*?” she sneers. “No. It makes you *weak*. It makes the bond a *joke*. And when the Council sees it, they’ll declare it void. They’ll sever it. And you—”
She points at me.
“You’ll be executed for treason. For deception. For *inbreeding*.”
The word hits like a blade.
But I don’t flinch.
Because I’ve been called worse.
“Then do it,” I say again. “But know this—if you break the bond, you break *him*. And if he dies, I die. And if I die—”
I step forward, my voice dropping to a whisper.
“I’ll make sure you die with me.”
For a heartbeat, she hesitates.
Then she laughs—sharp, brittle. “You’re bluffing.”
“Am I?” I reach into my sleeve, pulling out the sigil-knife, its silver edge catching the torchlight. “I’ve already killed one vampire who got in my way. You really want to be the second?”
Her eyes narrow.
And then—
She’s gone.
Not running. Not retreating.
Vanishing—into the shadows, like smoke.
But her words linger.
Like poison.
Kaelen turns to me, his silver eyes searching mine. “You’re not his daughter,” he says quietly. “You’re *mine*. The bond doesn’t lie. Blood doesn’t matter.”
“But it does,” I whisper. “It changes everything.”
“No.” He cups my face, his thumb brushing my cheek. “It only proves what I already knew—that you were meant to be here. That you were meant to be *mine*.”
I want to believe him.
I *need* to.
But the truth is a knife in my chest.
Because if we’re related—
Then the bond isn’t just fated.
It’s *cursed*.
—
We don’t go back to the chambers.
We can’t.
Not after what Mira said. Not after the way the bond flared when Kaelen touched me, not with desire, but with something deeper—*recognition*, like two pieces of the same soul snapping into place.
Instead, we walk.
Through the silent halls, past the sleeping wolves, beneath the cold gaze of the moon. We don’t speak. Don’t touch. Just move, side by side, the weight of the truth pressing down on us like stone.
And then—
I stop.
Because I see it.
The Archive.
Again.
But not the main entrance.
The *side* door.
The one only the Beta and the Alpha know about.
The one Silas uses.
“We need to go back,” I say.
Kaelen frowns. “Thyme—”
“We need to find proof. Something that proves we’re not—” I can’t say it. *Related*. *Family*. “Something that breaks her lies.”
“Even if we do, the Council won’t care. They’ll use it to destroy us either way.”
“Then we destroy the Contract first.”
He stares at me. “You know I can’t—”
“You *can*,” I say, stepping closer. “You just won’t. But if Mira releases those records, we’re finished. The bond will be broken. You’ll lose your power. The Pack will fall. And Veylan will take everything.”
“And if I break the Contract—”
“Then you save us.”
“At the cost of thousands.”
“At the cost of *nothing*,” I snap. “The Contract is already killing witches. It’s already corrupting the Pack. It’s already turning you into a monster. And if you don’t stop it—”
“I *am* stopping it,” he growls. “By protecting you. By keeping you alive.”
“By *imprisoning* me.”
“By *loving* you.”
The words hang in the air.
Like a vow.
Like a weapon.
I stare at him, my breath catching. “You don’t love me.”
“Don’t I?” His voice is rough. “Then why does my chest burn when you’re near? Why does my wolf howl when you’re in danger? Why did I let you live when every instinct told me to kill you the moment you stepped into my court?”
I don’t answer.
Can’t.
Because he’s right.
And that terrifies me more than anything.
“Then prove it,” I say, stepping back. “Break the Contract. Not for me. Not for the bond. For *her*. For my mother. For every witch who’s suffered under it.”
He doesn’t move.
Just watches me, his silver eyes full of something dark and broken.
And then—
He turns.
And walks away.
—
I don’t follow.
I don’t call out.
I just stand there, watching him disappear into the shadows, the bond screaming in my veins, not with heat, but with *loss*.
And then—
I make my choice.
I pull the stolen token from my sleeve, press it to the side door.
The runes flare.
The door opens.
And I step inside.
—
The Archive is silent.
But not empty.
The air hums with magic, thick and heavy, like the breath before a storm. Moonlight spills through the skylight, painting silver bars across the floor. The Blood Vault looms in the center, the Ancient Contract suspended in its chains, the blood-red sigils pulsing like a slow, dying heartbeat.
I move fast.
To the Blood Vault. To the controls. To the chains that bind the Contract to the stone. I’ve studied the wards. I know how they work. I know how to break them.
But I don’t.
Not yet.
Because if I destroy it—
It might kill him.
And I don’t want that.
Not anymore.
So I do the only thing I can.
I reach into my hair, pull out the sigil-knife, and slice my palm in one clean motion.
Blood wells, dark and thick.
I press it to the glass.
The ward *shatters*.
Not with sound. Not with force.
With *light*.
A pulse of silver-blue magic rips through the chamber, cracking the glass, severing the chains. The Contract *screams*—a sound not of pain, but of *freedom*—and for a heartbeat, it floats, unbound, unchained, *alive*.
And then—
It begins to burn.
Not from fire.
From *magic*.
From *me*.
I whisper the incantation Elara taught me—*“Solara ven, luma ren”*—and the sigil on my thigh *flares*, feeding the spell, feeding the fire. The Contract blackens at the edges, the blood-red sigils fading, dissolving, *dying*.
It’s working.
It’s *breaking*.
And then—
A hand grabs my wrist.
Fire explodes.
Not from the bond.
From *rage*.
I spin—knife raised—
And freeze.
It’s him.
Kaelen.
His silver eyes blaze, his fangs bared, his grip like iron. He doesn’t look at the Contract. Doesn’t look at the fire.
He looks at *me*.
“What have you done?” he growls.
“What you wouldn’t,” I say, voice steady. “I’m breaking it. I’m freeing them.”
“You’re killing us,” he snarls. “The bond—”
“Is stronger than the Contract,” I snap. “It’s *fated*. It’s *real*. It doesn’t need this *abomination* to survive.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I *do*.” I step closer, my free hand pressing to his chest. “I feel you. Every damn day. Every damn breath. And if the bond dies—”
“Then I die.”
“Then *let me*,” I whisper. “Let me destroy it. Let me break the cycle. Let me *save* you.”
He doesn’t move.
Just stares at me, his chest rising and falling, his grip still tight on my wrist.
And then—
He flips me.
Not with magic.
With *strength*.
One moment I’m standing. The next—
I’m on my back, the cold stone biting into my spine, his body pinning me down, his fangs at my throat. The knife is gone. His hand is on my neck—not crushing, not choking—just *holding*.
“Do it,” he says, voice rough. “If you want me dead—*do it*.”
My breath hitches.
“I don’t want you dead,” I whisper.
“Then why are you doing this?”
“Because I can’t live like this,” I say, tears burning my eyes. “I can’t be your prisoner. I can’t be your weapon. I can’t be the woman who came here to destroy you—only to fall in love with you instead.”
He stills.
“You love me,” he says, not a question.
“Yes.” The word breaks me. “And it *hurts*. Because I don’t know if you love me back. Or if you just want to control me. Or if this bond is just magic. Or if we’re even *allowed* to love each other.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just lowers his head—
And mouths at my neck.
Not biting.
Not claiming.
Just *touching*.
His lips are warm. His breath hot. His fangs graze my pulse, sending a shiver through me so intense I gasp.
“I felt you,” he whispers, “the moment you were born.”
My heart stops.
“What?”
“I didn’t know it was you,” he says, his voice rough. “But I felt the bond. A pull. A hunger. A *need*. And when you walked into my court—”
He presses his forehead to mine.
“I knew. Not just that you were my mate. But that you were *hers*. That you were *mine*.”
Tears spill down my cheeks.
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I was afraid,” he admits. “Afraid you’d hate me. Afraid you’d run. Afraid that if I let myself love you—*truly* love you—I’d lose control. That I’d mark you. Claim you. *Break* you.”
“You won’t break me,” I whisper. “I’m already broken. And you’re the only one who’s ever tried to fix me.”
He pulls back, his silver eyes searching mine. “Then let me claim you. Not because of the bond. Not because of duty. But because I *love* you. Because I can’t breathe without you. Because I’d rather die than live in a world where you’re not mine.”
And then—
I do it.
I reach up, grab his face, and pull him down—
And kiss him.
Not soft. Not gentle.
Hard. Desperate. *Furious*.
And he responds—immediately—his mouth crashing against mine, his hands tangling in my hair, his body pressing me into the stone. The bond *screams*, not with magic, but with *truth*, with *need*, with *love*.
We’re not enemies.
We’re not pawns.
We’re not even just mates.
We’re *soulmates*.
And then—
The alarm sounds.
A deep, resonant *boom* that shakes the walls, rips through the floor, *shatters* the moment.
We break apart.
And look.
The Blood Vault is on fire.
Not from my spell.
Not from the Contract.
From *outside*.
Flames lick the shelves, devouring grimoires, scrolls, ledgers. Smoke fills the air, thick and choking. The fire spreads fast—too fast.
“Someone set it,” I say, scrambling up.
Kaelen grabs my wrist. “We have to go. Now.”
“But the Contract—”
“Is already burning.” He pulls me toward the door. “And if we don’t move, we’ll burn with it.”
We run.
Through the flames. Through the smoke. Through the collapsing shelves.
And as we burst into the corridor—
I see her.
Mira.
Standing at the end of the hall, a torch in one hand, a smirk on her lips.
“Enjoy your happy ending,” she calls. “While it lasts.”
And then she’s gone.
But the fire remains.
And the truth—
The truth is out.
And there’s no going back.