The Council Chamber was silent when we returned—too silent.
Not the quiet of reverence. Not the hush of diplomacy. But the stillness of a predator waiting to strike. The air was thick with ozone and tension, the cold blue flames of the chandeliers flickering as if sensing the storm beneath the surface. Envoys from every faction lined the semicircular dais—vampires in tailored coats, fae lords draped in shimmering silks, witches cloaked in shadow. All of them watching. All of them waiting.
And at the center of it all—Kael.
He stood with his back straight, his expression unreadable, but I could feel it—the shift in his energy, the low thrum of exhaustion beneath his control. The battle had taken its toll. Not just on his body, but on his pride. He hadn’t expected the Iron Fangs to breach the wards. And he hadn’t expected me to fight beside him.
Neither had I.
The memory of his mouth on mine burned behind my ribs. The feel of his hand beneath my shirt. The way my body had arched into him, desperate, wanting. I’d slapped him. Walked away. But I hadn’t forgotten. Couldn’t forget. The bond had flared between us like a live wire, feeding on our rage, our fear, our *need*. And now, every time I looked at him, I felt it—pulling, twisting, demanding.
He didn’t look at me. Not once. Just kept his gaze fixed on the High Priestess as she rose from her seat, her silver eyes scanning the room.
“The Blood Moon Bond has been tested,” she intoned, “and proven. Kael Arcturus and Opal of the Lunar Coven stand as living proof of its power. Their unity repelled the Iron Fangs. Their bond held strong.”
A murmur rippled through the chamber. Some nodded. Others exchanged glances. Lyra Nocturne sat near the front, her lips curled in a smirk, her fingers tracing the bite mark on her collarbone. She didn’t look at me. But I felt her gaze—cold, calculating, venomous.
“Yet,” the High Priestess continued, “doubt remains. The bond was forged in chaos. Its origins… questionable. And the witch Opal—”
She paused. Let the silence stretch.
“—was found with a dagger at the ritual. A weapon meant for assassination.”
My breath stilled.
Every eye turned to me.
Kael shifted, just slightly. A warning. A shield. But he didn’t speak. Didn’t defend me. Let the Council see the lie. Let them believe I was a threat.
“I acted in defense of the truce,” I said, my voice steady. “The ritual was unstable. I was prepared to act if it turned violent.”
“And yet,” a vampire lord sneered, “you were the only one armed.”
“And the only one who bled for it,” I shot back. “Just like Kael. Just like the law demands.”
“Laws can be twisted,” a fae noble said, his voice smooth as poison. “Just like bloodlines. Just like bonds.”
“Enough,” Kael said, his voice a low growl. “The bond is law. The mark is real. She is mine. If you doubt it, challenge me. Now.”
No one moved.
No one dared.
The High Priestess raised her hands. “The matter is settled. The bond stands. But the Council must vote on the next phase of the truce. The Northern Pack border has been breached. The Iron Fangs grow bolder. We must decide—do we respond with force? Or do we seek negotiation?”
“Negotiation?” Kael snapped. “They attacked under the Blood Moon. They sought to break the wards. There is no negotiation with traitors.”
“And yet,” a vampire elder said, “we must consider the consequences of war. The human world grows aware. The Veil weakens. If we spill blood now, they will see it.”
“Then let them see,” I said, stepping forward. “Let them see what happens when you break a sacred pact. Let them see the cost of betrayal.”
Whispers rose. Kael turned to me, his gold eyes searching. Not anger. Not suspicion. *Surprise.*
I didn’t look away.
Because for the first time, I wasn’t just speaking for revenge. I was speaking for *truth*. For balance. For the woman my mother had been—the High Witch who’d believed in peace, not slaughter.
“Opal speaks wisely,” Silas said, stepping forward. His voice was calm, but his dark eyes were sharp. “The Iron Fangs are not just rebels. They are radicals. They reject the truce. They seek to destroy the Council. And if they succeed, every supernatural being—witch, wolf, vampire, fae—will be exposed. Hunted. Eradicated.”
“Then we act,” Kael said. “We strike first. We crush them before they grow stronger.”
“And start a war?” the fae lord challenged. “Is that what you want, Alpha? To be remembered as the one who broke the truce?”
“I want *peace*,” Kael said, his voice low, dangerous. “But peace built on fear. On strength. Not on weakness.”
The Council erupted—voices rising, arguments clashing. I stepped back, letting them fight. Letting them reveal their true natures. The vampires, calculating. The fae, manipulative. The witches, silent, watching.
And then—
Kael staggered.
Just slightly. A flicker. But I saw it. His hand flew to his chest. His breath hitched. His gold eyes widened—just for a second—before he locked them back into place.
My pulse spiked.
“Kael?” I whispered.
He didn’t answer. Just straightened, his jaw clenched, his expression unreadable. But I could feel it—the bond twisting, warping. His heartbeat stuttered. His magic—wild, feral—began to fray at the edges.
Something was wrong.
“The vote will be taken tomorrow,” the High Priestess declared. “Until then, we adjourn.”
The Council began to disperse, voices still murmuring, still arguing. Kael turned to leave, but I caught his arm.
“You’re hurt,” I said, low, urgent.
“I’m fine,” he growled, pulling away.
“No, you’re not.” I stepped in front of him, blocking his path. “Your magic is destabilizing. Your heartbeat—”
“I said I’m fine,” he snapped, but his voice wavered. A thin line of blood trickled from his nose.
My breath caught.
“You’ve been poisoned,” I whispered.
His eyes flashed. “Impossible. No one could’ve—”
“The Iron Fangs,” I said. “One of them got close. I saw it—a claw, laced with something dark. You didn’t notice. You were focused on the fight.”
He didn’t deny it. Just turned and strode toward the door, his steps unsteady. I followed, my pulse racing. The bond flared, a surge of pain that made me gasp. His suffering was mine. And if he died—
So did I.
I grabbed his wrist. “You need help. Now.”
“I don’t need *you*,” he snarled, yanking his arm free.
“Then you’ll die,” I said. “And I’ll die with you. Is that what you want?”
He stopped.
Turned.
His gold eyes burned into mine. “And what do *you* suggest, witch? That you save me? That you play the hero after trying to kill me?”
“I’m not trying to be a hero,” I said, stepping closer. “I’m trying to survive. And if you die, I do too. So unless you want us both dead, you’ll let me help you.”
He stared at me, his chest heaving. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Fine. But if you try anything—”
“I won’t,” I said. “I need you alive. At least until I break the bond.”
A ghost of a smirk touched his lips. “Still planning to kill me?”
“Always,” I said. “But not today.”
He didn’t argue. Just turned and led me through the corridors, his steps growing slower, more unsteady with every turn. I stayed close, my hand hovering near his back, ready to catch him if he fell. The bond pulsed between us, a low, insistent thrum, feeding on his pain, my fear, our proximity.
We reached his chambers. He slammed the door shut behind us, then collapsed onto the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. His breathing was ragged. His skin was pale, slick with sweat. The scent of poison—bitter, metallic—cut through the air.
“What kind?” I asked, kneeling in front of him.
“Wolfsbane extract,” he ground out. “Mixed with shadow venom. Slows the heart. Weakens the magic. In ten hours, it’ll stop completely.”
My breath stilled. “There’s no cure.”
“Not for most,” he said, lifting his head. His eyes were glassy, but still sharp. “But you’re a witch. A Lunar Coven witch. You know the old rituals.”
I froze. “You want me to perform a blood-sharing ritual.”
He didn’t flinch. Just nodded. “Your magic is tied to the moon. To life. To blood. If you share yours with me, it can neutralize the poison. But it has to be mouth-to-mouth. Direct transfer.”
My pulse spiked.
“You’re asking me to—”
“To save my life,” he said, voice rough. “Yes. And in doing so, you save your own.”
I stared at him, my mind racing. The ritual was ancient. Rare. Used only in dire circumstances. It required trust. Intimacy. *Sacrifice.* And it always triggered the bond—amplified it, twisted it, made it impossible to deny.
“If I do this,” I said, voice low, “the bond will flare. It’ll be unbearable.”
“Then bear it,” he said. “Or let us both die.”
I didn’t answer.
Just reached for the ceremonial dagger at my thigh. Not to kill him. Not to threaten him.
To cut myself.
I pressed the blade to my palm and sliced. Blood welled—crimson, bright, alive. I held my hand over his mouth.
“Drink,” I said.
He didn’t hesitate. Just leaned forward and took my hand, his lips closing around the wound. His tongue swept over the cut, warm, wet, sending a jolt of heat through me. My breath caught. My magic stirred, rising like a tide.
But it wasn’t enough.
He pulled back, his eyes dark. “Not like that. The ritual requires mouth-to-mouth transfer. Your blood into mine. Direct.”
My stomach twisted.
“You’re asking me to kiss you,” I whispered.
“I’m asking you to *save me*,” he said, voice rough. “And yourself.”
I stared at him, my pulse racing. This wasn’t just about survival. It was about *power*. About control. About the bond forcing us closer, deeper, until I couldn’t tell where I ended and he began.
But if I didn’t do it, we’d both die.
And I wasn’t ready to die.
Not yet.
Not without the truth.
I took a breath.
And then I leaned in.
My lips met his—soft at first. Hesitant. But then he groaned, a deep, animal sound, and his hands were in my hair, pulling me closer. I opened my mouth, letting my blood spill between us, warm and metallic. He drank, not like a man starved, but like a predator claiming its prey.
The bond exploded.
Heat. Fire. Magic surged between us, a current of power that made the ground tremble. My body arched into his. His hands tightened in my hair. Our breaths mingled, our hearts synced, our souls twisted together until I couldn’t tell where I ended and he began.
And then—
I didn’t pull away.
I *kissed* him.
Not out of duty. Not out of survival.
But because I *wanted* to.
My hands fisted in his coat. My tongue swept into his mouth, claiming, consuming. His magic—wild, feral—rose to meet mine, and for the first time, it wasn’t a war. It was a *merging*. A joining. A *surrender*.
The poison burned through him, but my blood fought it, cleansing, healing. I could feel it—the darkness retreating, his heartbeat steadying, his magic stabilizing. And still, I didn’t stop.
Because in that moment, I wasn’t Opal of the Lunar Coven.
I wasn’t the avenger.
I wasn’t the spy.
I was just a woman, kissing a man who’d been her enemy, and realizing—
She didn’t want to let go.
And then—
I came to my senses.
I tore my mouth from his, gasping, blood on my tongue, my body trembling. His hands still held me, his breath hot against my lips. His gold eyes were wide, unfocused, dazed.
“You didn’t pull away,” he whispered.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” I said, voice shaking. “I came here to kill you. Not save you.”
“But you did,” he said, his voice rough. “You saved me.”
“And I hate myself for it,” I whispered.
He didn’t answer.
Just pulled me into his chest, his arms locking around me, holding me like I was something fragile. Something *his*.
I didn’t fight.
Just buried my face in his coat, my breath trembling, my heart breaking.
Because I’d just done the one thing I’d sworn I’d never do.
I’d chosen him.
Over revenge.
Over hate.
Over everything.
And I didn’t know how to come back from that.
The bond hummed between us, warm, alive, *real*.
And for the first time, I wondered—
Was I fighting to break it?
Or was I fighting to keep it?
I didn’t know.
But I knew one thing.
The game had changed.
And I was no longer sure who was winning.
Or if I even wanted to.