The rain comes like a punishment.
Heavy, silver sheets slashing through the violet dusk, turning the obsidian courtyards of the Spire into rivers of shadow and light. Thunder rolls low in the distance, not from clouds, but from the Veil Gates—somewhere beyond the city, the Fae are waging their eternal games, twisting truth and time. The air smells of wet stone and ozone, of magic unraveling. It’s the kind of night that makes even vampires hesitate at thresholds, that makes werewolves howl at nothing.
And it’s the kind of night that makes me reckless.
I stride through the downpour without a cloak, my boots splashing through puddles that reflect the fractured glow of the moon. My hair clings to my face, soaked through, my tunic plastered to my skin. I don’t care. The cold bites, but it’s nothing compared to the fire still burning in my veins from the ritual chamber. Twelve hours of forced touch. Twelve hours of his hand in mine, his thumb tracing my pulse, his voice a velvet threat in the silence. Twelve hours of pretending I wasn’t aching, wasn’t trembling, wasn’t wanting.
And now?
Now I need to burn it off. Need to move, to fight, to destroy something before I lose myself completely.
But the Spire has other plans.
I turn the corner toward the eastern wing—toward the armory, toward solitude—when I see it.
A door ajar.
Kaelen’s private chambers.
And from within—laughter. Soft. Female. Familiar.
My breath stops.
Then—movement.
A figure steps into the corridor, silhouetted by the warm glow of the hearth behind her. Long, dark hair slick with rain. Pale skin. A smirk that cuts like a blade.
Lira.
Vampire mistress. Council favorite. And now—apparently—something more.
She’s wearing his shirt.
Not just any shirt. The one he wore yesterday—black, fine-woven, marked with the Northern sigil over the heart. The one he stripped off in the suite when he healed me. The one that still carried his scent when I stole it from the laundry chute two nights ago and pressed it to my face in the dark.
And now it’s on her.
Buttoned halfway. Sleeveless. Slipping off one shoulder, revealing smooth, unmarked skin. No bite. No claim. Just arrogance.
Her eyes lock onto mine. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away. Just smiles, slow and deliberate, as she adjusts the collar, as if savoring the fabric against her throat.
“Sage,” she purrs. “Out for a walk in the storm?”
I don’t answer. Can’t. My chest is tight. My hands curl into fists. The bond flares—hot, angry, possessive. A snarl builds in my throat, and for a heartbeat, I forget I’m a witch, forget I’m a woman, forget I’m supposed to be human at all.
I’m a predator.
And she’s standing in my territory.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I say, voice low, dangerous.
She laughs—light, mocking. “I was just leaving. Kaelen and I had… a discussion.”
“About what?”
“Oh, you know.” She steps closer, the scent of her—jasmine and blood—clashing with the rain. “Politics. Power. The future of the packs.” Her eyes drop to my soaked clothes, my bare arms, my trembling hands. “And how some people don’t understand their place.”
My magic surges. The truth-seeker’s sigil behind my ear pulses—lie. Not a big one. Not yet. But there. A flicker.
“You’re lying,” I say. “You weren’t discussing politics. You were in his bed.”
She doesn’t deny it. Just tilts her head, a predator matching my stare. “Does it matter? He let me in. He didn’t throw me out. And he didn’t stop me from taking this.” She runs a hand down the shirt, slow, deliberate. “He even said I could keep it.”
Liar.
The sigil flares again. Hot. Certain.
But the damage is done.
Because whether it’s true or not—whether she’s lying or not—doesn’t matter.
What matters is that she’s standing here. In his clothes. In his space. In the part of the Spire no one enters without permission.
And I’m standing in the rain, shaking, humiliated.
“You don’t belong here,” I whisper.
“Neither do you,” she says. “A hybrid witch? A traitor’s daughter? You’re a stain on the purity of this court. And Kaelen?” She smiles. “He’s using you. To keep the peace. To buy time. But when the full moon comes, when the claiming ritual is done—he’ll toss you aside like all the others.”
“He’s not like you,” I snap.
“Aren’t I?” She steps even closer, so close I can smell the wine on her breath, the lingering trace of him on her skin. “We both feed on power. We both know how to play the game. And we both know—” her voice drops, “—that men like Kaelen don’t love. They conquer. They claim. They move on.”
Something inside me snaps.
I lunge.
Not with magic. Not with words.
With my hands.
I grab her by the shoulders, shove her back against the wall. Her head cracks against the stone, but she doesn’t cry out. Just laughs, breathless, thrilled.
“Is that all you’ve got?” she taunts. “No wonder he doesn’t want you.”
I raise my hand—ready to strike, ready to claw, ready to hurt—
And then—
“Sage.”
His voice.
Like thunder. Like ice.
I freeze.
Turn.
Kaelen stands in the doorway, silhouetted by the firelight, his silver eyes blazing. Rain drips from his hair, his jaw tight, his chest rising and falling like he’s just run a warpath. He doesn’t look at Lira. Doesn’t acknowledge her. Just stares at me.
“Let her go,” he says.
My fingers twitch. I want to hold on. Want to prove I’m not weak. Want to show him I’m not some fragile thing to be protected.
But I let go.
Lira straightens, smoothing the shirt, smirking. “I’ll leave you to it,” she says, voice dripping with false sweetness. “Try not to break anything… important.”
She brushes past him, her fingers trailing over his arm as she passes.
He doesn’t flinch.
But I do.
And then she’s gone, vanishing into the storm, leaving only the echo of her laughter and the scent of her lies.
“You let her wear your shirt,” I say, voice hollow.
He steps forward. “She stole it.”
Truth.
The sigil flares—warm, certain. He’s not lying.
But it doesn’t help.
“Then why didn’t you stop her?” I demand. “Why didn’t you throw her out? Why did you let her—” my voice cracks, “—why did you let her touch you?”
“I didn’t.”
“Don’t lie to me!”
“I’m not.” He takes another step, closing the distance. “She came to deliver a message from Malrik. I let her in because I thought it was urgent. She stayed too long. Tried to press her advantage. I told her to leave. She didn’t. So I waited for her to go on her own.”
“And the shirt?”
“She took it from the wash pile. I didn’t know until now.”
Truth.
Again.
But the truth doesn’t calm me. Doesn’t soothe the fire in my chest, the ache in my throat, the humiliation burning behind my eyes.
Because it doesn’t matter if he didn’t touch her.
It doesn’t matter if he didn’t want her.
What matters is that she was there. In his space. In his clothes. In the part of him no one sees.
And I was in the rain, listening to the bond scream in my blood that he was mine.
“You could’ve stopped her,” I whisper. “You could’ve protected what’s yours.”
His eyes flare. “And what am I supposed to do? Lock every door? Ban every woman from speaking to me? I’m not your jailer, Sage. I’m not your keeper.”
“Then what are you?” I snap. “My captor? My warden? My mate?”
“I’m the man trying to keep you alive,” he growls. “While you run around like a wounded animal, attacking anyone who looks at you wrong.”
“I’m not wounded.”
“You’re bleeding,” he says, voice low. “I can smell it. Jealousy. Rage. Fear. You’re terrified that I might want someone else. That I might not be yours.”
“I’m not afraid of anything.”
“Liar.” He steps closer, caging me against the wall, one hand braced beside my head, the other gripping my hip. His body is a furnace, radiating heat, his scent—pine, smoke, wildness—flooding my senses. My breath hitches. My pulse stutters. The bond thrums, alive, insatiable.
“You think I don’t feel it?” he murmurs. “The way your body arches when I touch you? The way your breath catches when I’m near? You’re not afraid of me, Sage. You’re afraid of this.” He leans in, his mouth hovering over mine, his breath warm on my lips. “Of how much you want me.”
“I don’t—”
“Don’t lie to me,” he growls. “Not now. Not after everything.”
And then—
The rain pours harder.
Lightning splits the sky, illuminating his face—sharp, fierce, beautiful. His eyes blaze silver. His jaw clenches. And for a heartbeat, I think he’s going to kiss me. Think he’s going to finally claim what the bond has been screaming for since the moment we met.
But he doesn’t.
Just stares at me, his chest rising and falling, his grip on my hip tightening.
“You’re not just a pawn,” he says, voice rough. “You’re not just a weapon. You’re—” he hesitates, “—you’re mine. And if anyone else tries to take what’s mine, I’ll rip their throat out. But you?” He leans in, his lips brushing my ear. “You’re the only one I’m afraid of losing.”
My breath catches.
My heart stutters.
And then—
I slap him.
Not hard. Not soft.
Just enough.
Enough to break the spell. Enough to remind him—and myself—who I am.
His head snaps to the side. A red mark blooms on his cheek. He doesn’t react. Doesn’t flinch. Just turns back, his eyes dark, unreadable.
“Then prove it,” I say, voice trembling. “Prove you’re not like her. Prove you’re not like Malrik. Prove that I’m not just another piece in your game.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just stares at me, rain streaming down his face, his chest heaving.
And then—
He turns.
Walks back into his chambers.
Slams the door.
I stand there, soaked, shaking, the rain washing over me like a judgment.
And for the first time since I walked into the Spire, I don’t feel like a warrior.
I don’t feel like a avenger.
I feel like a woman who’s just realized—
She’s in love with her enemy.
And that terrifies her more than death.
I don’t go back to our suite.
Can’t.
Instead, I walk. Through the courtyards, through the gardens, past the silent sentries and the shadowed arches. The rain doesn’t stop. The storm doesn’t break. And neither do I.
My mind races—through every touch, every word, every lie and truth between us. The ritual chamber. The way his thumb stroked my pulse. The way my body betrayed me. The way he looked at me tonight—not with possession, but with something softer. Something that felt like care.
And Lira.
Her smirk. Her lies. Her hands on his arm.
I should’ve known. Should’ve seen it coming. The council wouldn’t let a prize like Kaelen remain unchallenged. They’d send someone—someone beautiful, someone cunning, someone who knew how to play the game.
And I walked right into it.
Like a fool.
Like a woman who’s forgotten her mission.
“You’re quiet tonight.”
Riven’s voice cuts through the rain.
I stop, turning. He stands beneath a black iron arch, sheltered by a flickering lantern, his Fae glamour shimmering around him like mist. He’s dressed in velvet and shadow, his silver eyes gleaming with amusement.
“What do you want?” I ask.
“To see if you’re still breathing.” He steps forward, tilting his head. “You look like you’ve been gutted.”
“I’m fine.”
“Liar.” He smiles. “You’re drenched. Your magic is fraying. And you smell like jealousy and want.” He sniffs the air. “Again.”
“Stop it.”
“Stop what? Telling the truth?” He moves closer, his voice dropping. “You saw her, didn’t you? In his shirt. In his space.”
I don’t answer.
“And you confronted him.”
“And?”
“And now you’re out here, letting the rain wash your anger away.” He studies me. “You’re not angry at her, Sage. You’re angry at yourself.”
“For what?”
“For caring.” He reaches out, brushes a wet strand of hair from my face. “You came here to burn them all. To expose the lies. To reclaim your mother’s honor. But somewhere between the bond and his hands on your hips, you forgot why you came.”
“I haven’t.”
“Haven’t you?” He steps back. “Then go. Do it. Expose Malrik. Start your war. But know this—” his voice turns sharp, “—if you destroy Kaelen in the process, you’ll destroy yourself. The bond doesn’t let go. Not even for vengeance.”
I stare at him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know more than you think.” He smiles, but it’s not kind. “And I know that if you don’t choose—soon—you’ll lose everything. Including him.”
He turns, vanishing into the storm.
And I’m left alone.
With the rain.
With the truth.
Because he’s right.
I’m not just fighting Malrik.
I’m not just fighting the council.
I’m fighting him.
Fighting the way his voice makes my skin burn.
Fighting the way his hands make my body arch.
Fighting the way his eyes make my heart stop.
And the worst part?
I don’t want to win.
I walk back to the suite slowly, my body numb, my mind racing. The guards don’t stop me. Don’t speak. Just watch as I pass, my clothes dripping, my hair a tangled mess.
The door opens.
Kaelen is there.
Standing in the center of the room, shirtless, his chest carved from stone, water glistening on his skin. He’s just come from the baths. His hair is damp. His jaw is tight. And on his cheek—the red mark from my slap.
He doesn’t look at me.
Just says, “You’re soaked.”
“So are you,” I mutter, stepping inside.
He moves to the stone chest, pulls out a towel. Tosses it at me.
I catch it. Don’t use it.
“You should dry off,” he says. “You’ll get sick.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do.”
I freeze.
Look at him.
He’s still not looking at me. Just folding another towel, precise, controlled.
“You don’t get to say that,” I whisper. “You don’t get to touch me, to heal me, to claim me—and then let another woman walk out of your chambers in your clothes.”
He stops. Turns.
“I didn’t let her.”
“It doesn’t matter! It shouldn’t have happened!”
“And what do you want me to do, Sage? Lock you in a tower? Kill every woman who looks at me? I’m not your jailer. I’m not your keeper. But I am yours. Whether you like it or not.”
“Then act like it.”
He steps forward, slow, deliberate. “You want proof?”
“I want the truth.”
“The truth is—” he closes the distance, his hands framing my face, his thumbs brushing my cheeks, “—I haven’t looked at another woman in seven years. Haven’t wanted to. And now?” His voice drops. “Now I can’t stop thinking about you. About your mouth. Your hands. The way you taste. The way you feel. The way you fight me.”
My breath hitches.
“I don’t care about Lira,” he growls. “I don’t care about Malrik. I don’t care about the council. I care about you. About keeping you alive. About not losing you to this war before it even begins.”
My heart stutters.
“Then prove it,” I whisper. “Not with words. Not with magic. With action. With truth.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just leans in—
And kisses me.
Not gentle.
Not soft.
Hard. Desperate. A claiming. His mouth crashes over mine, his hands tightening on my face, his body pressing me back against the wall. I gasp, but he doesn’t let me speak. Doesn’t let me fight. Just takes, consumes, owns.
And I let him.
Because for the first time since I walked into this cursed Spire—
I stop fighting.
And I start believing.