The fire hadn’t left me.
It pulsed beneath my skin, a low, insistent hum, like the aftermath of a storm still crackling in the air. My body ached—my arm where the Alpha’s claw had torn through flesh, my magic still flaring in pulses beneath the runes on my arms, my core tight with the memory of Kaelen’s mouth on my wound, his tongue tracing the edge like a vow. I could still feel him—his weight, his heat, the way his fangs had grazed my skin, not to claim, but to *heal.*
And I hated how much I wanted it.
Not the healing.
Not the protection.
But *him.*
The way he’d carried me through the square like I was something sacred. The way he’d looked at me—storm-gray eyes burning, fangs bared, body tense with possession. The way his voice had dropped when he said, You’re mine.
I wasn’t supposed to want that.
I wasn’t supposed to want *him.*
I was Onyx Vale. Daughter of Elira. Heir to the Blood Crown. A weapon forged in fire and blood.
And yet—
When he laid me on the bed, when his hands were gentle as he peeled back the bloodied sleeve, when his lips brushed the wound like it was something holy—I hadn’t pulled away.
I’d *arched* into him.
And that terrified me more than any enemy ever could.
—
He didn’t stay.
After the wound was sealed with a whisper of magic, after his tongue had traced the scar like a promise, he’d stepped back, his coat open, his chest rising and falling too fast. The bond hummed between us—hot, sudden, *alive*—but he didn’t touch me again.
“Rest,” he said, his voice rough. “I’ll be in the war room if you need me.”
“I don’t need you,” I said, sitting up. “I’m not fragile.”
“No,” he said, stepping closer, his hand brushing my cheek. “You’re not. But you’re *mine.* And I’m not leaving you unguarded.”
And then he was gone.
The door clicked shut behind him, leaving me alone with the silence, with the scent of jasmine and iron still clinging to the sheets, with the echo of his voice in my skull.
You’re mine.
I clenched my fists.
I wasn’t his.
I wasn’t anyone’s.
And yet—
The bond flared, a quiet, insistent pulse, like a second heartbeat.
And I knew.
I was lying.
—
The dreams came fast.
Not of fire. Not of blood.
Of *him.*
Kaelen, his storm-gray eyes burning, his fangs bared, his body moving inside me like he was claiming every part of me. His hands on my hips, his mouth on my neck, his voice in my ear—You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.—and I was screaming, not in pain, but in *pleasure,* my magic exploding in a wave of crimson fire that shattered every window in the suite.
I woke gasping.
My skin was hot. My core was tight. My fingers trembled as I touched the mark on my neck—still tender, still warm, pulsing faintly beneath my skin like a second pulse. The runes on my arms glowed, reacting to the shift in my blood, in my soul.
And then—
I felt it.
A whisper in the dark, not from the bond, but from *me.*
You want him. I can taste it.
I didn’t fight it.
Not this time.
Because I did.
I wanted him.
Not just his touch.
Not just his body.
But *him.*
The man who’d watched my mother die.
The king who’d taken the Crown to save millions.
The vampire who’d kissed me in front of the entire Court and called me his.
I wanted him.
And I was tired of pretending I didn’t.
—
I found him in the war room.
He stood at the long obsidian table, surrounded by maps and blood-scribed scrolls, his coat open, his sleeves rolled to the elbows. His back was to me, but I felt him the second I stepped inside—the bond flaring, heat crawling up my spine. He didn’t turn. Didn’t acknowledge me. Just kept his focus on the map, his fingers tracing a route through the Hollow Thorne.
“You left,” I said, my voice low.
He didn’t look up. “I had work to do.”
“And you couldn’t wake me?”
“You needed rest.”
“Or you needed space.”
That made him turn.
His storm-gray eyes locked onto mine, dark with something I couldn’t name. Not anger. Not guilt. Not regret.
Hunger.
“You think I don’t want you?” he said, stepping toward me. “You think I don’t *ache* for you? Every second. Every breath. Every damn heartbeat?”
I didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just held his gaze, my pulse steady, my breathing even.
Lies.
Inside, I was anything but calm.
“Then why leave?” I asked. “Why not wake me? Why not—”
“Because I’m afraid,” he said, his voice rough. “Afraid that if I looked at you, if I touched you, if I *smelled* you, I wouldn’t be able to stop. And if I couldn’t stop, I’d ruin you all over again.”
My breath caught.
“You already did,” I whispered.
“No,” he said, stepping closer, his hand cupping my jaw. “I claimed you. I *claimed* you. But I didn’t ruin you. You’re still standing. Still fighting. Still *mine*.”
“I’m not yours,” I said, but my voice wavered.
“You are,” he said, his thumb brushing my lower lip. “And you always have been.”
The bond flared—hot, sudden—and I wanted to believe him. Gods, I *wanted* to.
But the doubt was still there, coiled tight in my chest like a serpent.
“You didn’t mark me,” I said. “You didn’t bite me. You didn’t claim me fully.”
“I didn’t have to,” he said. “The bond is sealed. The magic is stable. You’re mine whether I leave a mark or not.”
“Then why not?” I asked. “If you wanted to claim me, why stop?”
He stepped back, his expression unreadable. “Because I wanted you to *choose* it. Not because the bond demanded it. Not because the fever forced you. But because you *wanted* me to.”
My chest tightened.
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I’ll wait,” he said. “Every damn day. Until you do.”
—
The storm broke at midnight.
Not with thunder. Not with rain.
With *silence.*
A single, breathless hush that fell over the Obsidian Court like a shroud. The torches flickered low. The blood-crystals embedded in the walls dimmed. Even the wind seemed to pause, caught between breaths. I felt it before I saw it—the bond humming beneath my skin, not with desire, not with fury, but with something older. Deeper. A resonance that had no name.
Kaelen felt it too.
He turned to me, his storm-gray eyes narrowing. “Something’s coming.”
“Dain?” I asked.
“No,” he said, stepping closer. “This isn’t his magic.”
“Then whose is it?”
He didn’t answer.
But the bond did.
It pulled at me, a quiet, insistent tug, like a thread tied to my ribs, leading me toward the heart of the court. Toward the Chamber of Oaths.
“We need to go,” I said.
“Why?”
“Because it’s calling us,” I said. “The bond. The magic. *Her* bloodline.”
He stilled. “You know something.”
“I know the Blood Oath ritual is scheduled for noon,” I said. “And I know the last time a hybrid’s magic surged like this during a Blood Oath, the throne room cracked in half.”
His breath caught. “You think I’ll lose control?”
“I think you’ll *remember*,” I said. “And when you do, the world will have to remember too.”
—
The Chamber of Oaths lay beneath the throne room, a cavern of black stone and ancient sigils, lit by veins of crimson crystal that pulsed like a heartbeat. The air was thick with the scent of old blood and iron, the weight of centuries pressing down on every breath. Council delegates lined the perimeter, seated on stone benches, their faces hidden behind masks of silver and obsidian. Observers. Judges. Vultures.
And at the center of it all—the dais.
A raised platform of onyx, carved with the sigils of the Supernatural Council. A shallow basin sat at its heart, filled with dark, coagulated blood—the remnants of past oaths, past betrayals, past lies. The ritual was simple: each representative would step forward, cut their palm, let three drops fall into the basin, and speak their truth. The blood would react—glowing, bubbling, or blackening—based on the purity of their word.
But this wasn’t just any oath.
This was a Blood Oath of Alliance—a binding contract between courts, sealed in blood and magic. And Kaelen and I were the first to step forward.
I didn’t hesitate.
My fingers went to the dagger on the dais, my grip steady, my expression blank. No fear. No doubt. Just fire and blood and unbroken will. I drew the blade across my palm in one clean motion, wincing only slightly as blood welled, dark and rich, almost *crimson.*
Then I stepped forward.
Three drops fell into the basin.
And the world *exploded.*
Not with sound. Not with fire.
With *light.*
Crimson energy erupted from the basin, shooting toward the ceiling like a geyser, illuminating the cavern in pulses of red. The runes on my arms flared—brighter than ever—spreading across my skin like wildfire, climbing up my neck, my chest, my face. The sigils weren’t just witch-born. They weren’t just fae.
They were *royal.*
Old. Ancient. The script of the first Bloodline—the House of Vale, the original keepers of the Crown.
The Council gasped.
Even the Witch Elder leaned forward, her veil of smoke parting just enough to reveal eyes wide with shock.
“Impossible,” the Fae Envoy whispered. “That bloodline was eradicated.”
“Not eradicated,” I said, stepping forward, my voice cutting through the silence. “*Hidden.*”
Kaelen didn’t look at me. Just stared at my hand, at the blood still dripping from my palm, at the sigils now glowing like embers beneath my skin.
“What is this?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Your inheritance,” he said. “Your *truth.*”
“I’m not—”
“You are,” he said, stepping closer. “Daughter of Elira Vale. Heir to the Blood Crown. The last living descendant of the blood that binds all courts to a single sovereign will.”
I shook my head. “No. That’s not— I didn’t—”
“You didn’t know,” he said. “But your magic did. It’s been waiting. Sleeping. And now it’s awake.”
The bond flared—hot, sudden—and I felt it. Not just his shock. His *fear.* What if she wasn’t strong enough? What if the Crown rejected her? What if she was just another pawn in a game she didn’t understand?
“You knew,” she said, turning to me. “You knew who I was.”
“I suspected,” I said. “After the Unity Trial. After the library. After you kissed me and called me yours.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“Because you weren’t ready,” I said. “And because if I’d told you, you’d have run. You’d have burned it all down before you let yourself *be* this.”
She clenched her fists. “So you let me believe I was here to destroy you. To expose you. To take back what’s mine—without knowing it was *my birthright*?”
“I didn’t *let* you believe anything,” I said, stepping closer. “You chose your mission. You chose your vengeance. But you didn’t choose your blood. And now that it’s awake, you can’t deny it.”
“And what if I don’t want it?” she whispered. “What if I don’t want to be *queen*?”
“Then you’ll still be queen,” I said. “Because the magic doesn’t care what you want. It only cares what you *are.*”
The runes flared again, spreading down her arms, across her collarbones, her throat. The air between us shimmered, charged with power. The basin bubbled, the blood turning molten, glowing like liquid fire.
“She’s the heir,” the Witch Elder said, her voice muffled by smoke. “The Blood Crown will answer to no one else.”
“Then she’s a threat,” the Werewolf Alpha growled. “A hybrid queen? Unstable. Unpredictable. She could tear the Council apart.”
“She could also unite it,” I said, stepping in front of her, shielding her with my body. “If you’re smart enough to see it.”
“Or she could destroy us all,” the Fae Envoy said. “Half-bloods don’t belong on thrones. They belong in the shadows.”
Onyx didn’t flinch.
Just stepped around me, her violet eyes blazing. “Then let me stay in the shadows,” she said, her voice low, dangerous. “And let me burn your thrones to ash.”
The Chamber stilled.
Even the blood in the basin seemed to pause.
And then—
She raised her hand.
Blood dripped from her palm, falling into the basin.
And the magic *answered.*
Crimson light burst from the basin, spiraling upward, forming a column of fire that reached the ceiling. The runes on her arms flared brighter, spreading across her skin like a living crown. The sigils weren’t just glowing.
They were *singing.*
A low, ancient hum, like the voice of the earth itself. The Council delegates stumbled back. The torches flickered out. The crystals dimmed.
And then—
It stopped.
The light faded. The hum silenced. The blood in the basin turned black, solidifying like stone.
Onyx stood at the center of it all, her chest rising and falling too fast, her hand still outstretched, blood dripping onto the stone.
And I knew.
Not just that she was the heir.
But that she was *more* than that.
She was the Crown’s *true* sovereign.
And I had stolen it from her.
—
We didn’t speak on the way back to the suite.
The bond hummed between us, a quiet, insistent pulse, but neither of us reached for the other. The weight of what had happened—the revelation, the power, the *truth*—pressed down like stone. I could feel her—distant, guarded, *reeling*—but I didn’t push. Didn’t prod. Just walked beside her, my presence a wall, a promise.
When we reached the suite, she didn’t go inside.
Just stood in the doorway, her hand pressed to the frame, her breath shallow, her magic still flaring beneath her skin.
“You should’ve told me,” she said, her voice quiet.
“And what would you have done?” I asked. “If I’d said, *‘Oh, by the way, you’re the rightful queen’*? Would you have believed me? Or would you have thought it was another lie?”
She didn’t answer.
Just turned to me, her violet eyes burning. “You let me believe I was here to destroy you. You let me hate you. You let me *fight* you—while knowing I was the one person who could take everything from you.”
“I didn’t *let* you do anything,” I said, stepping closer. “You chose every step. You chose your rage. Your vengeance. Your fire. And now you’ve chosen your truth.”
“And what if I hadn’t?” she whispered. “What if I’d walked away before the ritual? What if I’d never known?”
“Then I’d have waited,” I said. “Until you were ready. Until you *asked.*”
“And if I never had?”
“Then I’d have died with the secret,” I said. “Because some truths aren’t meant to be forced. They’re meant to be *found.*”
She closed her eyes.
And then—
She stepped into me.
Not with anger. Not with fire.
With *need.*
Her hands fisted in my coat, pulling me down, her lips crashing into mine. The kiss wasn’t gentle. Wasn’t soft. It was *war.* Her tongue swept inside, tasting, conquering, her magic flaring in pulses of crimson light. The runes on her arms glowed, reacting to the shift in her heart, in her soul.
I kissed her back like I’d been starving.
Like I’d been *waiting.*
My hands tangled in her hair, holding her in place as I deepened the kiss, my fangs grazing her lip, drawing a bead of blood. The bond screamed to life, a surge of heat that made my vision blur. My cock throbbed, heavy and aching, but I didn’t push. Didn’t rush. Just held her, let her take what she needed, let her *claim* me.
And then—
She pulled back.
Just enough to breathe.
“I don’t forgive you,” she said, her voice raw. “Not for what you did. Not for what you let happen.”
“I know,” I said, my thumb brushing her lower lip. “But you’re choosing me anyway.”
“I am,” she said. “And you’re choosing me too.”
I smiled—a slow, dangerous thing. “Always.”
And as she leaned into me, the scent of jasmine and iron wrapping around us like a vow, I realized something:
The fire wasn’t coming to burn me down.
It was here to *remake* me.
And I was ready.
—
The silence after the Blood Oath was worse than any scream.
Not the quiet of peace. Not the hush of reverence. But the stillness of a storm held at bay—tense, coiled, waiting to break. The Chamber of Oaths had emptied fast, the Council delegates slipping away like shadows, their whispers sharp with fear and fury. The Witch Elder had vanished into her veil of smoke without another word. The Werewolf Alpha had growled something under his breath—*“Hybrid queens don’t last long”*—before storming out. Only the Fae Envoy had lingered, her too-perfect smile gone, replaced by cold, calculating hate.
And then there was me.
Standing in the center of it all, blood still drying on my palm, the runes on my arms pulsing beneath my skin like a second heartbeat. I could feel them—the weight of their stares, the edge of their knives, the quiet promise of betrayal. They didn’t see a queen.
They saw a threat.
And I was done pretending otherwise.
—
Kaelen walked beside me in silence, his presence a wall, a storm, a vow. He didn’t touch me. Didn’t speak. Just kept pace, his storm-gray eyes scanning the corridors, his body tense, ready. The bond hummed between us—low, steady, *alive*—but he didn’t reach for me. Didn’t try to soothe. He knew better.
I wasn’t fragile.
I wasn’t broken.
I was *awake.*
And the truth was a blade in my ribs.
I’d come here to burn the Obsidian Court to the ground.
But I hadn’t come to destroy Kaelen.
I’d come to reclaim what was mine.
And now—now that the magic had spoken, now that the blood had sung—I realized something:
I wasn’t just the heir to the Blood Crown.
I was its *true* sovereign.
And Kaelen—cold, ruthless, *guilty* Kaelen—had known.
He’d known who I was.
He’d known what I was.
And he’d let me believe I was here to destroy him.
“You should’ve told me,” I said, my voice low, steady.
He didn’t look at me. Just kept walking. “And what would you have done if I had?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “But I deserve the truth. Not lies wrapped in fate.”
“It wasn’t a lie,” he said, stopping, turning to face me. “The bond is real. The fire between us is real. The way I feel—” He cut himself off, jaw tightening. “I didn’t hide who you were to manipulate you. I hid it because I knew you wouldn’t believe me. Not then. Not until the magic confirmed it.”
“And if it hadn’t?” I asked, stepping into him. “If the blood had rejected me? If the runes hadn’t flared? Would you have told me then?”
He didn’t flinch. Just held my gaze. “No. Because some truths aren’t meant to be forced. They’re meant to be *found.*”
My breath caught.
Because he was right.
And that terrified me more than any lie ever could.
I would’ve called him a liar. I would’ve walked away. I would’ve burned it all down before I let myself believe I was anything more than a weapon.
But now—now that the magic had spoken, now that the blood had sung—I couldn’t deny it.
I was Onyx Vale.
Daughter of Elira.
Heir to the Blood Crown.
And the man I’d sworn to destroy was the only one who’d ever tried to *save* me.
—
The suite was quiet when we returned.
Too quiet.
No whispers. No shadows. No lingering scent of honeysuckle to warn me of Lysara’s games. Just the soft crackle of the hearth, the faint hum of the blood-crystals in the walls, the slow, steady pulse of the bond beneath my skin.
I didn’t sit. Didn’t speak.
Just paced, my boots silent on the stone, my fingers tracing the edge of the dagger at my hip. The runes on my arms still glowed faintly, reacting to the shift in my blood, in my soul. I could feel the Crown now—distant, dormant, but *alive.* It knew me. It remembered me. And it was waiting.
Kaelen stood by the balcony, his back to me, his coat open, his hands resting on the railing. The moon hung low over Vienna, casting silver light across his shoulders, his hair, the sharp line of his jaw. He looked like a king. A monster. A man who’d carried the weight of a stolen crown for too long.
And he was *mine.*
Not by bond.
Not by magic.
By choice.
“They’ll come for me,” I said, stopping. “The Council. Lysara. Dain. They won’t let a hybrid queen take the throne.”
“Then they’ll die,” he said, turning. “Every last one.”
I almost smiled. “You’d burn the world for me?”
“I already have,” he said, stepping closer. “And I’d do it again.”
The bond flared—hot, sudden—and I felt it. Not just his words. His *truth.* He wasn’t just protecting me. He wasn’t just claiming me.
He was *fighting* for me.
And gods help me, I wanted to believe him.
But the doubt was still there, coiled tight in my chest like a serpent.
What if he was wrong?
What if I wasn’t strong enough?
What if the Crown rejected me?
Before I could stop myself, I stepped into him, my hands fisting in his coat, my lips crashing into his. The kiss wasn’t gentle. Wasn’t soft. It was *war.* My tongue swept inside, tasting, conquering, my magic flaring in pulses of crimson light. The runes on my arms glowed, reacting to the shift in my heart, in my soul.
He kissed me back like he’d been starving.
Like he’d been *waiting.*
His hands tangled in my hair, holding me in place as he deepened the kiss, his fangs grazing my lip, drawing a bead of blood. The bond screamed to life, a surge of heat that made my vision blur. My core tightened, my body arching into his, my thighs pressing together in a futile attempt to ease the ache.
And then—
A sound.
A whisper.
We broke apart.
At the door stood Maeve.
My childhood friend. My sister in all but blood. Her eyes were wide, her face pale, a single scroll clutched to her chest. She’d seen everything. The kiss. The magic. The way my body had arched into his like I was starving.
“Onyx,” she whispered.
I pulled back, my breath coming fast, my lips still tingling from his touch. “Maeve. What is it?”
She didn’t answer. Just stepped inside, closing the door behind her, and held out the scroll.
Sealed with crimson wax.
Shaped like a serpent coiled around a rose.
Dain’s mark.
My blood ran cold.
“It appeared on my bed,” Maeve said, her voice low. “No note. No warning. Just… this.”
I took it, my fingers trembling. The wax was still warm, the scent of old blood and iron clinging to the paper. I didn’t need to open it to know what it said.
But I did anyway.
Inside, a single line, written in a hand I recognized instantly:
Stop digging. Or I’ll bury you with your parents.
No signature.
No threat.
Just a promise.
And I believed him.
Because Dain wasn’t just my uncle.
He was the man who’d betrayed our family.
Who’d framed me.
Who’d taken the Blood Crown and left me to burn.
And now that the magic had spoken, now that the blood had sung—he was afraid.
Because he knew.
He knew I was close.
—
Kaelen took the scroll from my hand, his storm-gray eyes narrowing as he read the message. His fangs lengthened, shadows coiling at his feet. “He’s watching,” he said, his voice low, dangerous. “He knows about the Blood Oath. He knows who you are.”
“And he’s afraid,” I said, my voice steady. “Which means we’re close.”
“Or it’s a trap,” Maeve said, stepping forward. “He’s always been good at manipulation. He could be trying to lure you out. To isolate you.”
“He’s not wrong,” Kaelen said. “Dain’s not reckless. If he’s sending a warning, it’s because he’s desperate.”
“Then we use it,” I said, stepping to the balcony. “We let him think he’s in control. We let him think he’s winning. And then—” I turned, my violet eyes locking onto his. “We take everything from him.”
Kaelen didn’t smile. Just stepped into me, his hand cupping my jaw, his thumb brushing my lower lip. “You’re not just a queen,” he said, his voice rough. “You’re a storm. And I’m not letting you face him alone.”
My breath caught.
Because he was right.
I wasn’t just Onyx Vale.
I wasn’t just the heir.
I was fire.
I was war.
And I was ready.