The first thing I felt was absence.
Not pain. Not fear. Not even the cold.
Just… nothing.
Like a limb severed without warning, like a voice silenced mid-sentence, like a heartbeat that simply stopped. One moment, the bond had been singing beneath my skin—a steady, resonant hum, warm and alive, a bridge between me and Kaelen. The next, it was gone. Erased. As if it had never existed.
I gasped, my body arching off the bed, my hands flying to my chest as if I could claw the void open and drag it back. But there was no fire. No heat. No pulse. No whisper of his presence. No echo of his scent—dark amber, smoke, something feral and unnameable. Nothing.
Just silence.
And then—
The pain hit.
Not in my side, not from the wound that had been healed by magic and blood and the sigil I’d branded into his chest. No, this was deeper. Worse. A jagged, tearing agony that ripped through my veins, my bones, my very soul. It started in my chest and exploded outward—white-hot, blinding, relentless. I screamed, but no sound came out. My body convulsed, my back arching off the bed, my fingers clawing at the sheets, at my skin, at the air. My vision blurred, then fractured, then went black at the edges.
I couldn’t breathe.
Couldn’t think.
Couldn’t *be*.
The bond wasn’t just gone.
It was *dying*.
And it was taking me with it.
I rolled off the bed, crashing to the stone floor, my bare knees scraping against the cold. My breath came in ragged, broken gasps, each one a knife in my lungs. My skin burned, then went icy, then burned again, as if my body couldn’t decide whether to fight or surrender. My pulse was a frantic, erratic thing, fluttering like a dying bird. My hands trembled—no, *shook*—uncontrollably, the muscles in my arms and legs twitching, spasming.
And the hallucinations started.
At first, it was just shadows—shifting, writhing, forming shapes that looked like hands, like faces, like *him*. Then voices—whispers, laughter, screams. Kaelen’s voice, low and rough, saying my name. *“Nova.”* Then Veylan’s, cold and sharp, laughing. *“You’re nothing. You’re no one. You’re *cursed*.”* Then my mother’s, soft and broken, the last words she ever spoke: *“Burn them all, my love. Burn them all.”*
I pressed my hands to my ears, but the voices didn’t stop. They were inside me. Part of me. The bond had been a curse, yes—a chain, a fire, a weapon. But it had also been *connection*. A tether. A truth. And now that it was gone, I was unraveling. Not just physically. Not just magically.
Spiritually.
I crawled, dragging myself across the floor, my body weak, my limbs heavy. I didn’t know where I was going. Didn’t care. Just needed to move. Needed to *escape*. But the room spun, the walls closing in, the ceiling pressing down. The fire in the hearth had burned low, casting flickering shadows that looked like grasping hands. The cold blue torches in the corridor outside flickered, their light dimming, then flaring, like a dying heartbeat.
I reached the door, my fingers fumbling with the handle. It was locked. Of course it was. Veylan wouldn’t leave me unguarded. Not after what I’d done. Not after what I’d *become*.
I slammed my fist against the wood, once, twice, a third time, my breath coming in ragged sobs. “Kaelen,” I whispered, my voice broken. “*Kaelen.*”
But he didn’t come.
Because he couldn’t.
He was gone. Captured. Imprisoned. Maybe dead.
And I was alone.
The pain flared again—a deep, rolling wave that made me double over, my arms wrapping around my stomach as if I could hold myself together. My vision swam. The floor tilted. I collapsed, my cheek pressing into the cold stone, my breath coming in shallow, broken gasps. My skin was slick with sweat, then icy, then burning again. My core ached—not with desire, not with need, but with *emptiness*. A hollow, gaping void where the bond had been.
I closed my eyes, but the darkness wasn’t empty. It was filled with images—Kaelen’s gold eyes, molten with desire. His hands on my hips, his mouth on my neck, his voice a growl in the dark: *“You’re mine.”* The way he’d let me brand him. The way he’d held me through the storm. The way he’d *waited* for me to choose him.
And I had.
Not because the bond demanded it.
Not because the magic pulled me.
Because I *wanted* to.
Because I *loved* him.
And now—
Now I was losing him.
Not to Veylan.
Not to the Court.
But to *this*.
To the bond-sickness.
They’d warned me. Maeve, in the exile, her voice low and grave: *“If the bond is severed, if the connection is broken, you’ll feel it. Not just in your body. In your soul. And if you don’t have him near, if you don’t have the bond to sustain you, you’ll die. Slowly. Painfully. Alone.”*
I hadn’t believed her.
Hadn’t *wanted* to believe her.
Because I’d thought the bond was a curse.
But it wasn’t.
Not anymore.
It was *life*.
And without it—
I was dying.
I dragged myself to the wardrobe, my fingers trembling as I pulled it open. My boots were still there. My dagger. My cloak. I grabbed them, fumbling with the laces, my hands shaking so badly I could barely tie them. The dagger was cold in my hand, the hilt smooth, the blade sharp. I pressed the edge to my palm, drawing blood—dark, spiced, *witchblood*. But the magic didn’t respond. My truth-sight was dim, flickering. My fire wouldn’t come. The bond had been the conduit, the amplifier. Without it, I was weak. Powerless.
“No,” I whispered, my voice raw. “I won’t die like this.”
I stood, swaying, my legs unsteady. The door was still locked. The torches flickered. The voices whispered.
Then—
A knock.
Soft. Deliberate. Not a guard. Not Veylan.
Someone who didn’t want to be heard.
I didn’t answer. Just pressed my back to the wall, my dagger in hand, my breath coming fast.
The knock came again.
Then the door opened.
Riven.
Half-vampire. Kaelen’s lieutenant. A man of silence and shadows. He stepped inside, his silver eyes sharp, his presence like smoke. He didn’t speak. Just looked at me—really looked—and I saw it in his gaze.
Pity.
And something else.
Respect.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” I said, my voice low, broken.
“Neither are you,” he said, stepping forward. “But here we are.”
He knelt beside me, his movements fluid, silent. His hand went to my wrist, checking my pulse. His jaw tightened.
“It’s bad,” he said.
“It’s worse,” I whispered. “The bond… it’s gone.”
He didn’t flinch. Just nodded. “Veylan used a nullifier. A black stone from the Underveil. It severs the connection. Temporarily.”
“Temporarily?”
“If the bond isn’t reconnected within twelve hours,” he said, “it becomes permanent. And you… you won’t survive it.”
I closed my eyes. “Kaelen?”
“Imprisoned. In the Underchambers. No one goes in. No one comes out.”
“Then I’ll go in.”
He looked at me, his silver eyes sharp. “You’ll die before you reach the door.”
“Then I’ll die trying.”
He didn’t argue. Just reached into his coat and pulled out a small vial—crystal, filled with a swirling, silver liquid. “Moonbless,” he said. “It’ll slow the sickness. Give you a few more hours.”
I took it, my fingers trembling. “Why are you helping me?”
He didn’t answer. Just looked at me. “You branded him.”
“So?”
“He’s never let anyone brand him,” Riven said. “Not even Lira. Not even his own blood.”
My chest tightened.
“He hesitated,” Riven said. “With you. He smiled. He *feared*.”
“And?”
“And I’ve never seen him like that,” he said. “Not in a hundred years.”
I looked down at the vial, the silver liquid swirling like captured starlight. “You’re risking your life for this.”
“I’m not risking it,” he said. “I’m *giving* it.”
I didn’t answer.
Just uncorked the vial and drank.
The effect was immediate.
Not a cure. Not a reversal. But a *reprieve*. The pain lessened—just slightly. The hallucinations faded. The cold receded. My breath came easier. My pulse steadied. The void in my chest didn’t close, but it stopped *tearing*.
I could breathe.
I could think.
I could *fight*.
“Thank you,” I said, my voice low.
He didn’t answer. Just stood, his presence a wall. “The Underchambers are beneath the Spire. Guarded by Fae enforcers, shadow-walk traps, and a nullifier field. You won’t make it alone.”
“Then I’ll make it with you.”
He looked at me, his silver eyes sharp. “I can’t go with you. But I can show you the way. And I can give you this.”
He handed me a dagger—black steel, etched with vampire runes. A gift. A weapon. A key.
“It’s keyed to your blood,” he said. “It’ll bypass the nullifier. But only once. Use it wisely.”
I took it, my fingers closing around the hilt. Cold. Solid. *Mine.*
“Why?” I asked. “Why are you doing this?”
He didn’t answer. Just looked at me. “He watches you sleep. Listens to you breathe. Feels the bond like it’s part of his soul.”
My breath caught.
“And you?” I asked.
“I’ve seen what Veylan does to threats,” he said. “And you’re not just a threat. You’re a *revolution*.”
I didn’t answer.
Just turned, my boots clicking on the stone, my cloak swirling around me. The door was still open. The corridor was empty. The torches flickered.
And the bond—
It didn’t sing.
It didn’t scream.
It didn’t *exist.*
But I did.
And I wasn’t dying today.
Not like this.
Not without him.
I moved through the Spire like a ghost—silent, swift, unseen. The corridors were empty, the torches flickering, the silver veins in the obsidian pulsing like slow heartbeats. The air was thick with magic, with silence, with something darker—*expectation*. I didn’t take the main halls. Didn’t risk the Grand Atrium. I slipped through servant passages, through forgotten stairwells, through cracks in the stone that only an exile would know.
The Underchambers were beneath the Spire—deep, dark, a place of punishment and silence. No light. No sound. No mercy. And now, Kaelen was there.
Because of me.
Because I’d chosen him.
Because I’d loved him.
The pain flared again—a deep, rolling wave that made me stagger, my hand flying to the wall for support. The Moonbless was wearing off. My vision blurred. The voices returned—whispers, laughter, screams. *“You’re nothing. You’re no one. You’re cursed.”*
I pressed my hand to my chest, my fingers trembling. “Hold on,” I whispered. “Just hold on.”
I reached the entrance to the Underchambers—a massive iron door, sealed with runes, guarded by two Fae enforcers. Their silver eyes were sharp, their hands on their blades. I didn’t hesitate.
I stepped into the light.
They turned, their blades drawn.
“Nova Vale,” one said. “You are under arrest.”
“I know,” I said, my voice low, steady. “But I’m not going quietly.”
I lunged.
Fast. Hard. Desperate.
The dagger in my hand—black steel, etched with vampire runes—flashed in the dim light. I slashed at the first enforcer, cutting through his wrist, his blade clattering to the floor. He cried out, stumbling back. The second lunged, his blade aimed at my throat. I ducked, spinning, driving the dagger into his side. He gasped, collapsing.
But more were coming.
Shouts echoed down the corridor. Boots on stone. Blades drawn.
I didn’t wait.
I pressed the dagger to the runes on the door—my blood smeared over the metal. The runes flared, then faded. The door groaned, then opened.
Darkness.
Thick. Suffocating. *Alive.*
I stepped inside.
The door slammed shut behind me.
And the bond—
It didn’t scream.
It didn’t sing.
It didn’t *exist.*
But I did.
And I wasn’t dying today.
Not without him.