The silence after the claiming was worse than the battle.
Not the quiet of peace. Not the hush of victory. But the stillness of a storm that hadn’t broken—just gathered, coiled, waiting to strike. The Citadel stood in eerie reverence, its torches burning low, its corridors empty of whispers. The bond had been sealed. The mark had been made. Opal had stood before the entire Council and declared the bond a covenant, not a curse. And Kael—Kael had bitten into the nape of her neck with slow, deliberate reverence, not in dominance, but in surrender. She’d moaned. Not in pain. Not in protest. In *surrender*. And when the moonfire pulsed through her, when the bond flared gold instead of crimson, the courtyard had erupted—not in fear, but in belief.
But belief didn’t stop Vexis.
Belief didn’t kill a Fae lord who had spent centuries weaving lies into the fabric of the truce.
I stood in the Blood Pact Archives, the key still cold in my hand, the scent of old parchment and dried blood rising from the stone. The air was thick with magic, heavier than before, as if the very walls were holding their breath. I’d come here to secure the records, to ensure no one could alter them again. But the deeper I walked into the restricted wing, the more I felt it—something was *wrong*.
Not a presence.
Not a sound.
But a *void*.
Like something had been taken. Not stolen. Not destroyed.
Erased.
I reached the central chamber—the heart of the Archives—where the original Blood Moon Ritual scroll had once rested. The pedestal was empty. Not shattered. Not burned.
Just… gone.
And in its place—
A sigil.
Etched into the stone, pulsing with a dark, oily light. Not Unseelie. Not Seelie. Something older. Something *forbidden*. A mark of the Void—the ritual void where Opal had pulled her mother from the edge of oblivion. And beneath it, a single word, written in blood that wasn’t mine:
“Soon.”
My breath caught.
He wasn’t just coming.
He was already here.
I turned, my boots silent on the stone, my vampire stillness cutting through the silence. The corridors were empty. The guards were gone. The wards—meant to alert me of intruders—were intact. No breach. No alarm.
But the magic—
The magic was *twisted*.
Like something had slipped through the cracks. Not a body. Not a spell.
A shadow.
And then—
I heard it.
Not a footstep.
Not a whisper.
But a breath.
From behind me.
I spun, dagger in hand, my fangs bared—
And froze.
It wasn’t Vexis.
It was her.
Lyra.
She stood in the archway, her dark hair cascading over one shoulder, her crimson dress torn at the thigh, her lips parted in a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. She looked… different. Not weaker. Not broken.
Changed.
Her scent was wrong—no longer the sweet decay of a noble vampire, but something darker. Metallic. Like blood that had turned to ash.
“Silas,” she said, her voice a purr. “You always were the clever one. The quiet one. The one who watched.”
“You’re supposed to be dead,” I said, my voice low, my dagger steady. “The Iron Fangs’ prison collapsed. No one survived.”
She laughed—soft, cold. “And yet, here I am.”
“Vexis,” I said, stepping closer. “He took you. Used you. Just like he used the Southern Clans. Just like he used Maeve.”
She didn’t flinch. Just tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with something feral. “He didn’t *use* me, Silas. He freed me. From duty. From loyalty. From the chains of House Nocturne.”
“And what did he give you in return?” I asked. “A leash? A curse? A mark that turns you into his puppet?”
She stepped forward, her boots silent on the stone. “He gave me truth. The truth about the bond. About Opal. About Kael. And about you.”
My breath stilled.
“You’ve always watched her,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Not with duty. Not with loyalty. With desire. You want her. Not as a consort. Not as a queen. But as a woman. And you hate yourself for it.”
My jaw tightened.
She wasn’t wrong.
But she wasn’t right either.
“I serve the truce,” I said, my voice cold. “Not my own wants.”
“And yet,” she said, stepping closer, “you stood beside her when Kael declared his love. You watched as she chose him. And you said nothing. Did nothing. Just… watched.”
“Because it wasn’t my place,” I said.
“And if it had been?” she asked, her lips brushing my ear. “If Kael had fallen? If Opal had turned to you? Would you have taken her? Held her? Loved her?”
My hand trembled.
Not from fear.
From rage.
“You don’t know me,” I said, stepping back. “You don’t know what I’ve sacrificed. What I’ve buried. What I’ve lost.”
She smiled. “But Vexis does. And he’s offering you a choice. Step aside. Let him break the bond. Let him rule. And in return—”
“I’ll die first,” I said, my voice low. “I’ll burn the Archives to ash before I let him rewrite the truce.”
She didn’t flinch. Just stepped back, her smile fading. “Then you’ll die. And she’ll never know how you felt. How you burned for her in silence.”
And then—
She vanished.
Not in smoke. Not in shadow.
In nothing.
Like she’d never been there at all.
I stood there, my dagger still in hand, my breath coming fast. The sigil on the pedestal pulsed, darker now, heavier. And then—
The Archives screamed.
Not a sound.
Not a voice.
But a tear.
The air split open—a jagged wound in reality—and from it, something emerged.
A wraith.
Not of flesh. Not of bone.
Of void.
It was formless, shifting, its body made of shadow and hunger, its eyes two pits of nothing. It didn’t walk. It slid, its presence draining the warmth, the light, the magic from the air. The torches flickered. The wards cracked. The very stone beneath my feet began to crumble.
A void-wraith.
A creature born from the ritual void. A predator of souls.
And it had come for the bond.
I didn’t hesitate.
I lunged.
My dagger struck true—plunging into the wraith’s chest—but it didn’t scream. Didn’t bleed. The blade passed through like smoke, and the wraith laughed—a sound like glass breaking in the dark.
Then it struck.
Not with claws. Not with fangs.
With hunger.
It reached for me, its shadowy hand passing through my chest, and I felt it—
My soul.
Being pulled.
Not torn. Not ripped.
Unraveled.
Memories flashed—my mother’s face, the day I was turned, the first time I saw Opal in the Council chamber, the way her magic flared when Kael touched her, the ache in my chest when she chose him—
And then—
I was on my knees, gasping, my dagger clattering to the floor. The wraith loomed over me, its void-eyes burning, its hunger insatiable.
But I wasn’t alone.
“Silas!”
Opal’s voice.
She burst into the chamber, her silver-gray robe flaring, her moonfire already pulsing at her fingertips. Kael was behind her, his coat pulled tight, his claws bared, his gold eyes burning with fury.
“Get back!” I shouted, but it was too late.
The wraith turned—its hunger shifting, its void-eyes locking onto Opal.
Because she was the bond.
The source.
The heart.
It lunged.
Not at me.
Not at Kael.
At her.
“No!” Kael roared, throwing himself in front of her.
The wraith’s hand passed through his chest—and he screamed.
Not in pain.
Not in rage.
In agony.
His body convulsed. His eyes rolled back. His claws dug into the stone. The bond flared—a surge of heat that made the ground tremble beneath our feet—but the wraith was feeding on it. On *him*. On the connection between them.
“Kael!” Opal screamed, dropping to her knees beside him.
“The bond,” he gasped. “It’s… it’s using it. To reach you.”
She didn’t hesitate.
She raised her hand—and burned.
Moonfire erupted from her fingertips—not in a wave, not in a blast—
But in a *pulse*.
It didn’t hurt the wraith.
It *revealed*.
For a single, blinding second, the entire chamber was flooded with silver light—and in that light, I saw it.
The truth.
The wraith—normally a shifting mass of shadow—was laced with something darker. A thread of crimson, twisting through its form like poison. And beneath it, a sigil. Faint. Hidden. But *there*.
A mark of the Unseelie Court.
It wasn’t just a creature of the void.
It was *controlled*.
And it wasn’t acting alone.
“It’s a conduit,” Opal said, her voice steady. “Vexis is using it. Feeding it with his magic. And the bond—”
“Is the bridge,” Kael gasped, struggling to stand. “It’s using the bond to reach you.”
“Then we cut it,” I said, grabbing my dagger. “We sever the connection.”
“No,” Opal said, stepping between us. “If we break the bond, even for a second, the wraith will consume him. It’ll destroy the truce. It’ll free Vexis.”
“Then what do we do?” Kael asked, his voice raw.
She didn’t answer.
Just reached for him—her hand pressing against his chest, over his heart. The bond flared—a surge of heat that made the ground tremble beneath our feet. Her moonfire rose, not to burn, not to fight, but to *soothe*. To *heal*. To *protect*.
And then—
She did the one thing I never expected.
She turned to me.
“Silas,” she said, her voice low. “I need you.”
My breath caught.
“The bond is tied to both of us,” she said. “But it’s also tied to the truce. To the magic of the Archives. And you—”
She stepped closer.
“You’re the guardian. The keeper of the records. The one who knows where every secret is buried.”
“And if I help you?” I asked, my voice rough. “If I risk everything—my life, my loyalty, my soul—what then?”
She didn’t flinch. Just held my gaze. “Then you won’t be just a watcher anymore. You’ll be a warrior. A protector. A friend.”
My chest tightened.
She wasn’t just asking for my help.
She was offering me something I’d buried long ago.
Belonging.
“Do it,” Kael said, his voice weak. “Help her. Help *us*.”
I didn’t hesitate.
“Then tell me what you need,” I said.
She turned back to the wraith, her moonfire pulsing. “The wraith is feeding on the bond. But it’s also anchored to the Archives. To the Blood Pact. If we can disrupt the magic here—if we can sever its connection to Vexis—we can weaken it. Trap it. Destroy it.”
“And how?” I asked.
“The central sigil,” she said. “The one on the pedestal. It’s a conduit. A doorway. If we overload it with opposing magic—moonfire and vampire blood—we can collapse it. Seal the rift.”
“And if it doesn’t work?” I asked.
“Then we die,” she said, not looking at me. “But we die knowing we fought for the truth.”
My breath stilled.
She wasn’t just saying it to defy Vexis.
She *meant* it.
And that—
That was the most dangerous thing of all.
“Then let’s burn it,” I said, stepping forward. “Together.”
She nodded.
Kael struggled to stand, his hand gripping my shoulder. “I’ll hold it off. Long enough for you to act.”
“No,” Opal said, pressing her hand to his chest. “You’re too weak. The wraith’s already feeding on you.”
“Then I’ll be bait,” I said, stepping forward. “I’ll draw it in. You two hit the sigil at the same time.”
She looked at me—really looked at me—and for the first time, I saw it.
Not pity.
Not duty.
Trust.
“Don’t die,” she said, her voice low. “Not today.”
“I won’t,” I said. “Not until I’ve earned the right to stand beside you.”
And then—
I stepped forward.
The wraith turned—its void-eyes locking onto me.
And I smiled.
“Come on, then,” I said, spreading my arms. “Let’s see what you’re made of.”
It lunged.
And I didn’t flinch.
Because for the first time in my life—
I wasn’t just watching.
I was *fighting*.
And I wasn’t alone.