The war room was silent when I entered, but the air still crackled with the aftermath of my fury. Shattered obsidian littered the floor like broken bones, the remnants of the table I’d obliterated when the bond between Onyx and me had gone dark. My enforcers stood at attention—vampires in black, their fangs retracted but their eyes sharp, their bodies coiled for violence. Silas waited by the war map, his storm-gray eyes tracking my every move. He didn’t speak. Didn’t ask if I was ready. He knew.
I wasn’t.
But I had no choice.
Onyx was gone. Taken. Dragged through the Veil by Dain, her uncle, the traitor who had stolen her birthright and framed her for treason. She was in the Hollow Thorne, the ancient fae stronghold hidden deep in the Scottish Highlands, where the walls were carved from living stone and the air hummed with illusion. And she was alone.
No.
Not alone.
She was *mine.*
And I would burn the world to get her back.
—
“We move in ten,” I said, striding to the center of the room. My voice was low, but it carried—like thunder before a storm. “Silas, take the northern breach. Veylan, the southern. I go through the heart.”
“The heart is warded,” Veylan said, a young lieutenant with a scar across his throat. “Fae sigils. Veil-traps. One wrong step and we’re dust.”
“Then you won’t step wrong,” I said, turning to him. My fangs lengthened, shadows coiling at my feet. “You follow Silas. You do not speak. You do not hesitate. You do not *breathe* unless I say so.”
He swallowed. Nodded.
“And if Dain kills her before we get there?” Silas asked, stepping forward. His voice was quiet, but the question was a blade. “If he breaks the bond? If he—”
“He won’t,” I said, my voice a growl. “Because I’ll tear his spine out before he lays a finger on her.”
“And the Council?” another enforcer asked. “They’ll call it war. They’ll say you’re destabilizing the peace.”
I turned to him slowly. “Let them.”
“Kaelen,” Silas said, stepping into my space. “This isn’t just about her. It’s about *you.* If you go in blind, if you break the Veil laws, if you start a war—”
“Then I’ll start a war,” I said, my voice low, dangerous. “And I’ll burn every last one of them to ash before I let him keep her.”
He didn’t flinch. Just held my gaze. “You’re not just the king. You’re the anchor. If you fall, the Obsidian Court falls. The balance shatters.”
“And if I don’t go,” I said, stepping closer, “then I’m already dead.”
He didn’t answer.
Just nodded.
Because he knew.
Onyx wasn’t just my mate.
She wasn’t just the heir to the Blood Crown.
She was the fire that had reignited my soul.
And I would die before I let her burn alone.
—
We moved through the night like shadows.
Not by airship. Not by blood-teleport. Not by any means the Council could track. We went through the Veil—through the hidden passageway between realms, used only by the highest fae nobles. It was forbidden. Dangerous. One wrong step and we’d be torn apart by the currents of raw magic.
But I didn’t care.
Let the Veil try to kill me.
I was already dying without her.
The passage was thick with the scent of old magic and decay, the walls pulsing with golden sigils that burned against my skin. My enforcers moved behind me, silent, their breaths shallow, their weapons drawn. Silas was at my side, his presence a wall, a vow. He didn’t speak. Didn’t question. Just followed.
And then—
We were through.
The Hollow Thorne rose before us, a fortress of living stone, its towers spiraling into the storm-heavy sky like the ribs of some ancient beast. Torches flickered with golden flame, casting long, shifting shadows that made it impossible to tell where the walls ended and the void began. The air was thick with the scent of moss and magic, the weight of centuries pressing down like stone.
And I felt her.
Faint. Muffled. *Alive.*
The bond was still there—like a thread tied to my ribs, pulling me forward. She was in pain. She was afraid. But she was fighting.
And gods help me, I loved her for it.
—
“Northern breach,” I said, my voice low. “Silas, you and Veylan. Clear the east wing. Find her. If you see her, *do not engage.* Wait for me.”
“And if she’s not there?” Silas asked.
“Then we burn the place down until she is.”
He didn’t argue.
Just nodded. “We’ll hold the line.”
And then they were gone—vanishing into the shadows like smoke.
I didn’t follow.
Didn’t go to the east wing.
I went to the heart.
Because I knew where Dain would keep her.
Not in a cell. Not in a dungeon.
In the Chamber of Echoes—the ancient fae prison where truth was ripped from the soul, where screams were absorbed into the walls and never released. It was a place of silence. Of pain. Of *memory.*
And Dain would want her to remember.
—
The corridors were narrow, the walls lined with golden sigils that pulsed with fae magic. I moved fast—too fast—my boots silent on the stone, my coat open, my fangs bared. My shadows coiled at my feet, ready to strike. My magic flared in pulses of dark fire, lighting the path ahead. The runes on my arms glowed faintly, reacting to the shift in my blood, in my soul.
And then—
A sound.
A whisper.
I stopped.
Not a voice.
A *memory.*
Onyx’s voice—You’re mine—her scent—jasmine and iron—her magic—crimson fire lighting the dark.
And I *knew.*
She was close.
But so was the trap.
I stepped forward, my hand going to the hilt of my dagger. The sigils on the wall flared—golden, then black, then golden again. The air shifted, thick with illusion. I could feel it—the weight of Dain’s magic, the pull of his glamour, the quiet promise of betrayal.
And then—
She appeared.
Not Onyx.
An illusion.
Perfect. Flawless. Her silver hair loose over her shoulders, her violet eyes burning. Her dress was torn at the shoulder, her lip split, her magic flaring in pulses beneath her skin. The mark on her neck—*my* mark—glowed faintly, pulsing like a second heartbeat.
“Kaelen,” the illusion said, stepping forward. “You let them say those things about me. You let them believe I was just a pawn.”
My jaw tightened. “You’re not her.”
“Aren’t I?” the illusion asked, stepping closer. “I feel her pain. I remember her mother. I know what you said.”
“You know *nothing,*” I snarled. “You’re not her. You’re not *mine.*”
“But I could be,” the illusion said, her voice soft. “If you just admit it. If you just say it. Say that she was never anything more than a tool.”
My fangs lengthened, shadows coiling at my feet. “She’s not a tool. She’s not a pawn. She’s *everything.*”
The illusion smiled—a slow, dangerous thing. “Then you’ll never see her again.”
And then—
It vanished.
Not with a flicker. Not with a fade.
With a *scream.*
Like the room itself was tearing apart.
And I knew.
Dain wasn’t just holding her.
He was using her.
And if I didn’t move fast—
I’d lose her forever.
—
The Chamber of Echoes was deeper in the fortress, hidden beneath layers of illusion and warding. The air was thick with the scent of old blood and iron, the walls pulsing with golden sigils that burned against my skin. I could feel her—closer now. Fainter. *Hurting.*
And then—
I saw it.
The door.
Not stone. Not iron.
>Wood.Black, ancient, carved with sigils I recognized instantly—my mother’s script. The House of Vale. The original keepers of the Blood Crown. Her blood.
My hands trembled as I reached for it.
“Wait,” a voice said behind me.
I turned.
Silas stood there, his coat torn, his face streaked with blood. Veylan was behind him, limping, his arm hanging at an odd angle.
“We cleared the east wing,” Silas said. “No sign of her.”
“She’s here,” I said, turning back to the door. “In the Chamber of Echoes.”
“It’s warded,” Veylan said. “Fae magic. One wrong move and—”
“Then I’ll die,” I said, stepping forward. “But I’m going in.”
“Kaelen,” Silas said, stepping into me. “If you break the wards, the entire fortress could collapse. You could kill her.”
“And if I don’t,” I said, my voice breaking, “I already have.”
He didn’t argue.
Just stepped back.
And I opened the door.
Not with a key.
Not with magic.
With my blood.
I drew my dagger across my palm, wincing as the blade bit deep. Then I pressed my hand to the wood, letting my blood seep into the sigils. The runes flared crimson, then black, then crimson again. The door groaned open like a living thing.
And then—
I saw her.
Onyx.
Chained to a stone slab, her wrists bound with silver cords laced with truth-serum. Her magic was suppressed, the runes on her arms dim, sluggish, like they were being drained from the air. Her silver hair was matted with blood, her violet eyes barely open, her breath shallow.
But she was alive.
And she was *mine.*
—
“Onyx,” I whispered, stepping forward.
She didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
Just blinked slowly, like she was trying to focus.
“I’m here,” I said, my voice breaking. “I’ve got you.”
She tried to speak, but her voice was gone. Her lips moved, but no sound came out.
And then—
Dain appeared.
Not from the shadows. Not from the door.
From *her.*
Like he’d been waiting inside her mind.
“You’re too late,” he said, stepping from the darkness. His silver hair was longer, his violet eyes colder, his smile sharper. “She’s already broken.”
“She’ll never break,” I said, stepping between them, shielding her with my body. “Not for you. Not for anyone.”
“Oh, but she did,” Dain said, circling us. “She screamed your name. She begged for you. And you didn’t come.”
“I’m here now,” I said, my fangs lengthening, shadows coiling at my feet. “And I’m taking her back.”
“You can’t,” Dain said, stepping closer. “The bond is weakening. The truth-serum is eroding it. Soon, it’ll be gone. And she’ll be mine.”
“She’ll *never* be yours,” I snarled. “She’s *mine.*”
“And what are you?” Dain sneered. “A monster who uses women and discards them when they’re no longer useful?”
My jaw tightened.
The recording.
He’d heard it.
And he was using it.
“I didn’t say those things,” I said, my voice low. “It was a lie. A trap.”
“And if she believes it?” Dain asked, stepping closer. “If she thinks you betrayed her?”
My breath caught.
Because I knew.
If Onyx thought I’d betrayed her—
I’d lose her forever.
And then—
She moved.
Just a twitch. A flicker of her fingers.
But it was enough.
I turned to her, my heart pounding. “Onyx?”
Her lips moved.
One word.
“…run…”
And I knew.
She didn’t believe the lie.
She never had.
—
Dain lunged.
Not at me.
At *her.*
His hand snapped out, his fingers closing around her throat. I moved without thought—my body slamming into his, knocking him to the ground. We grappled—fangs, claws, raw power—each strike sending sparks through the air.
And then—
He threw me.
I crashed into the wall, the stone cracking beneath the impact. Pain flared through my ribs, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. Not when she was still in his hands.
“You’ll never have her,” I growled, rising.
“She’s already mine,” Dain said, his fingers tightening around her throat. “And you’re already dead.”
And then—
I felt it.
The bond.
Not weak.
Not broken.
Stronger.
Because she was choosing me.
Not because of fate.
Not because of magic.
But because she *wanted* to.
I roared—raw, primal—and lunged.
My fangs sank into his neck. My shadows coiled around his body, *crushing.* He screamed, thrashing, but I held on, my grip unbreakable, my power absolute.
And then—
It was over.
Dain collapsed, his body shifting back to human form, his eyes wide with shock.
I didn’t care.
Just turned to her.
“Onyx,” I whispered, my voice breaking.
She didn’t speak. Just reached for me.
And I pulled her into my arms.
Not gently. Not softly.
A brutal, claiming thing—her body limp, her breath shallow, her magic flaring in pulses beneath her skin. I held her like she was the only thing keeping me alive. Because she was.
“I’ve got you,” I said, pressing my forehead to hers. “I’ve got you.”
She didn’t answer.
Just leaned into me, her breath hot against my skin.
And for the first time, she didn’t pull away.
—
Later, in the quiet of our suite, she knelt before me, her hands on my knees, her head bowed.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice rough. “I shouldn’t have let him get to me. I shouldn’t have let him use you.”
I cupped her face, lifting her chin. “You didn’t let him. He’s a liar. A manipulator. And you *stopped* him.”
“But you hesitated,” she said, her voice breaking. “For a second, you *wanted* her.”
“No,” I said, my thumb brushing her lower lip. “I was weak. I was tired. But I didn’t *want* her. I’ve never wanted anyone but you.”
She closed her eyes.
And then—
She kissed me.
Not in anger.
Not in war.
But in *surrender.*
Soft. Slow. Aching.
Her lips parted beneath mine, her tongue brushing mine, tentative, searching. My hands tangled in her hair, holding her close, deepening the kiss. Her magic flared, lighting the air between us with crimson fire. The runes on her arms glowed, reacting to the shift in her heart, in her soul.
She was choosing me.
Not because of the bond.
Not because of the fever.
But because she *wanted* to.
I broke the kiss, resting my forehead against hers. “You don’t have to say it,” I said. “I can feel it.”
“Feel what?” she whispered.
“That you love me,” I said. “Even if you won’t admit it.”
She didn’t deny it.
Just buried her face in my neck, her breath hot against my skin.
And for the first time, she didn’t pull away.
—
That night, I dreamed of fire.
Not the fire that had taken her family. Not the fire of magic or battle.
The fire of her mouth on mine.
I woke gasping, my skin hot, my cock hard, my fangs aching. The bond hummed beneath my skin, a quiet, insistent pulse. I could feel her—distant, guarded, *waiting*—like she knew I was awake. Like she knew what I was thinking.
I rolled onto my side, clutching the sheets, my body aching with the memory of her touch.
And then, in the silence, I whispered the words I’d never say to her face:
“I do.”
Not hate her.
Not anymore.
And as I closed my eyes, the scent of jasmine and iron wrapping around me like a vow, I realized something:
The fire wasn’t coming to burn me down.
It was here to *save* me.
And I was ready to let it.