The silence after I leave the cursed chamber is different.
Not loud. Not charged. Not trembling with unspent fire. It’s… hollow. As if the world has been drained of sound, of color, of weight. My steps echo too sharply against the stone, each footfall a reminder that I’m still here, still breathing, still alive—though I’m not sure I want to be.
I don’t look back. I don’t check if Kael follows. I just walk, one foot in front of the other, my spine rigid, my face blank. My hands are steady. My breath is even. But inside, I’m shaking. Not from fear. Not from anger. From uncertainty.
Because for the first time in ten years, I don’t know what I believe.
For a decade, I carried my hate like armor. I sharpened it every morning, polished it every night. It was my purpose. My reason for surviving. My mother’s scream. My father’s fall. My sister’s burning. And Kael—Kael standing over me, fang at my wrist, voice cold as stone: “Your life for theirs. Break it, and they burn.”
I believed he meant it. That he broke the vow. That he ordered their deaths.
But in that cursed chamber, with the bond screaming between us, with his hands on my skin and his voice raw in my ear, I felt the truth.
He didn’t know.
His Beta—Varek—betrayed him. Lord Malrik orchestrated it. They used my family to break him, to weaken the Blackthorn Clan, to destabilize the Accord.
Kael didn’t kill them.
But he didn’t save them either.
And that—that’s almost worse.
I reach my chamber, lock the door, and press my forehead to the wood. My corset is still half-undone from last night, the fabric torn at the shoulder where his hand gripped me. I don’t fix it. I just stand there, breathing, trying to steady the storm inside me.
But the bond won’t let me.
It hums beneath my skin, a low, insistent thrum, a whisper in my blood. He is near. He is yours. You are his.
I squeeze my eyes shut. I can still feel his hands on my waist. Still smell the wildness of his skin. Still hear the broken sound of his voice when he said, “I would’ve died first.”
Liar.
Monster.
Alpha.
But also—
Man.
I don’t know what to do with that.
I push off the door and stride to the washbasin, splashing cold water on my face. My reflection stares back—storm-gray eyes, sharp cheekbones, dark hair pulled into a tight braid. Raine Vale. Diplomat’s daughter. Witch of minor lineage. Here to observe, not to burn.
The lie sits heavy on my tongue.
I strip off my clothes, wash quickly, then dress in fresh ones—black trousers, a fitted tunic, boots laced to the knee. I tuck the dagger into my corset, check the sigils sewn into the lining, then apply the scent-masking oil. It’s a witch’s brew—bitterroot, nightshade, iron filings—designed to cloak my true scent, to make me smell like damp stone and old parchment. I’ve used it for years. It’s never failed me.
Until now.
Until Kael looked at me and said, “I can feel it. Like lightning in a bottle.”
He knew. He knew who I was.
And he still let me go.
I shake my head. No. He didn’t let me go. He pushed me—toward the archway, away from the Council. He told me to run. “Not like this. Not with them watching.”
Why?
Because he feels guilty? Because he didn’t order my family’s death? Because he’s been “looking for me”?
I don’t believe it. I can’t. If I believe it, I lose my purpose. And if I lose my purpose, I lose myself.
I need the Vowkeep. The original vow scroll. Destroy it, and the bond breaks. No more fever. No more need. No more him.
And if I’m lucky, I’ll find a way to kill him before it does.
I leave my chamber and move through the corridors, silent and swift. The Shadow Court is quiet—too quiet. The werewolves are on high alert, their golden eyes sharp, their movements tense. The vampires glide through the shadows, whispering in low voices. The fae watch from alcoves, their expressions unreadable.
Something’s wrong.
I reach the Blood Archive just as the first scream echoes through the halls.
High. Piercing. Cut short.
Then—smoke.
Thick, acrid, stinging my eyes, clawing at my throat. I cover my mouth with my sleeve and rush forward. The Archive’s great doors are ajar, flames licking at the edges, the air inside shimmering with heat. Scrolls burn on the shelves. Tomes collapse into ash. The scent of ink, parchment, and old blood is overwhelmed by the stench of fire.
“Fire!” shouts a werewolf guard, rushing past with a bucket of enchanted water. “Secure the east wing!”
But it’s spreading too fast. Too deliberately. This isn’t an accident.
This is sabotage.
I step inside, my boots crunching on charred parchment. The heat is intense, the smoke thick. I press the sleeve of my tunic to my face and move deeper, scanning the flames. The Vowkeep is ahead—Section Seven, behind the silver gate. If the fire reaches it, the original vow scroll burns. My only chance to break the bond—gone.
I push forward, shielding my face from the heat. The wards on the Vowkeep gate are still active—faint blue light pulsing through the smoke—but the fire is closing in. Shelves collapse. Scrolls ignite. The air trembles with magic.
Then I hear it.
A low groan.
From the far side of the chamber.
I turn.
Kael is on the ground, half-buried under a collapsed beam, his face streaked with soot, his chest heaving. One arm is pinned. Blood seeps from a gash on his temple. His golden eyes are open, dazed, searching.
“Rowan,” he rasps.
My breath catches.
He’s hurt. Badly. The beam is crushing his ribs. If I don’t move it, he’ll bleed out. Or the fire will reach him.
But he’s the monster. The liar. The man who bound my life to his.
And yet—
He’s also the man who searched for me. Who kept my scent on a scrap of cloth. Who said, “I would’ve died first.”
I don’t have time to think.
I rush to him, dropping to my knees. “Hold on,” I say, my voice rough. “I’ve got you.”
He tries to speak, but coughs, blood flecking his lips. “Scroll,” he manages. “Vowkeep. Save it.”
“Not without you.”
I grip the beam—wood scorched, splintered, heavy with magic—and pull. My muscles scream. My back burns. The Stormbrand stirs beneath my skin, lightning crackling at my fingertips. I grit my teeth and heave.
The beam shifts.
Just enough.
Kael gasps, rolling free, clutching his side. I grab his arm, slinging it over my shoulder. “Move,” I say. “Now.”
He staggers to his feet, leaning on me. The fire is closing in—flames licking at the shelves, smoke thickening. The Vowkeep gate is ahead, but the path is blocked by burning debris.
“We can’t go around,” I say. “We have to go through.”
He nods, his breath ragged. “Break the wards.”
I reach into my corset, pulling out a sigil etched in silver. A witch’s key—designed to unravel magic. I press it to the gate. The runes flare, resist—then crack. The gate swings open.
We stumble inside.
The Vowkeep is a narrow chamber, shelves rising to the ceiling, filled with scrolls bound in red silk. Each labeled with a name, a date, a bloodline. And there—near the center—is a scroll with my name.
Rowan Vale. Unbinding Vow. Blackthorn Clan. Ten years past.
My breath catches.
It’s here. The original vow scroll.
I reach for it—
And the ceiling collapses.
Wood, stone, fire—crashing down between us and the scroll. Kael shoves me back, taking the brunt of the debris on his shoulders. He cries out, falling to one knee, blood streaming from a fresh wound on his back.
“Kael!”
“Go,” he growls. “Get the scroll.”
But I don’t move. I drop to my knees beside him, pressing my hands to the wound. Blood soaks through my fingers. His breathing is shallow, his skin pale.
“You’re losing too much,” I say. “I can’t leave you.”
“You have to.” His hand finds mine, gripping it weakly. “Break the vow. Take your magic. Live.”
My throat tightens.
He’s telling me to go. To save myself. To destroy the bond.
But if I do, he dies. The bond is tied to his life now. If it breaks violently, he’ll bleed out. I can feel it—through the bond. A thread of fire connecting us. If I sever it, he burns with it.
“I can’t,” I whisper.
“You can.” His golden eyes lock onto mine. “You’re stronger than me. Always were.”
“No.”
“Rowan—”
“Shut up.” I press my palm harder to the wound, channeling what little healing magic I have. It’s not much—my Stormbrand is sealed, my power weak—but it’s enough to slow the bleeding. “I’m not leaving you.”
He stares at me. Then, slowly, he nods.
We’re pressed together in a narrow alcove, the fire raging around us, the air thick with smoke and heat. His body is warm against mine, his breath ragged on my neck. My hands are slick with his blood. My heart hammers in my chest.
And the bond—
It’s not screaming anymore. Not like in the cursed chamber. Not like in his bedroom. It’s… quiet. Steady. A hum beneath the chaos. A thread of fire and thorn, unbroken.
“Why?” I whisper. “Why save me? After everything?”
He turns his head, his lips brushing my ear. “Because I’ve been dead since you disappeared.”
My breath hitches.
“And now,” he says, “if I die here, at least I’ll die with you.”
Tears burn my eyes. I don’t let them fall.
“Don’t you dare,” I say, voice breaking. “Don’t you dare talk like you’re giving up.”
He doesn’t answer.
But his hand finds mine, squeezing it weakly.
I press my forehead to his shoulder, breathing him in—smoke, blood, crushed pine, iron. His scent. His.
And then—
I hear it.
A soft crackle. A whisper of flame.
From the other side of the debris.
The scroll.
It’s burning.
“No,” I breathe.
I push off the wall, crawling over the fallen beam, shielding my face from the heat. The scroll is on fire—edges curling, ink blackening. I reach for it, ignoring the flames searing my fingers, and yank it free.
It’s ruined. Charred at the edges. But the center—the binding sigil, the blood oath, the words of the vow—is intact.
I clutch it to my chest, crawling back to Kael. “I have it,” I say. “It’s not destroyed.”
He looks at me, his golden eyes dim. “Then break it.”
“Not yet.”
“Rowan—”
“I said not yet.” I press the scroll into my corset, next to the dagger. “I’m not losing you. Not like this.”
He tries to speak, but coughs, blood on his lips. His body sags against me.
“Stay with me,” I say, gripping his hand. “You don’t get to die. Not after ten years of searching. Not after telling me you’d rather die than live without me.”
His eyes flutter. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
And then—
The fire reaches the ward-lights.
A chain reaction—magic overloading, exploding in bursts of violet and gold. The shelves collapse. The ceiling cracks. The heat becomes unbearable.
“We have to go,” I say, pulling him up. “Now.”
He stumbles, leaning on me. We move through the flames, shielding our faces, our boots crunching on ash. The exit is ahead—blurred by smoke, flickering with fire.
One step. Then another.
Then the floor gives way.
We fall—
And land hard on the lower level, in a pile of rubble and debris. I roll, shielding Kael with my body. Dust fills the air. Silence follows.
Then—
Voices. Boots. Shouts.
Guards. Help.
I look down at Kael. His eyes are closed. His breathing is shallow. Blood soaks his side.
“Hold on,” I whisper. “Just a little longer.”
They find us moments later—werewolves, vampires, fae. Taryn is there, her golden eyes wide with shock. “Alpha!”
“He’s alive,” I say, my voice raw. “But he needs healing. Now.”
They lift him onto a stretcher, carrying him away. I follow, my hands stained with his blood, the charred vow scroll pressed to my chest.
Later, in the infirmary, they tell me he’ll live. The wounds are severe, but his regeneration will heal him. It will take days. Maybe weeks.
I stand by his bedside, watching him sleep. His face is pale, his breathing slow. The bond hums between us—quiet, steady, unbroken.
And for the first time—
I don’t know what I want.
Do I burn the scroll? Break the vow? Take my magic and walk away?
Or do I keep it? Keep the bond? Keep him?
I reach into my corset, pulling out the scroll. The edges are blackened. The ink smudged. But the words are still there.
Your life for theirs. Break it, and they burn.
I trace the sigil with my thumb.
And then—
I tuck it back.
Not destroyed.
Not yet.
Because I don’t know if I came here to kill him.
Or to save him.
And worse—
What if he’s already saved me?