The kiss should have changed everything.
It should have shattered the fragile balance I’d built—the careful mask of compliance, the quiet defiance masked as loyalty. It should have sent me fleeing into the night, dagger in hand, heart in my throat. It should have made me hate him more.
Instead, it made me want him.
Not because of the bond. Not because of the magic thrumming beneath my skin like a second heartbeat. But because for one breathless moment, when his mouth crashed down on mine and his hands gripped my hips like he’d never let go, I didn’t feel like a pawn. I didn’t feel like prey. I felt seen.
And that terrifies me more than any threat, any punishment, any cold red gaze.
I lie in the narrow bed of my prison-room, the door still open, the bond humming between me and Kaelen’s chambers. It’s quieter now, a low pulse instead of the wildfire it was after the council meeting. But it’s still there—inescapable, intimate. I can feel him, even through the stone and shadow. His presence. His stillness. The slow, steady rhythm of his breath.
And beneath it all—
Want.
Not just his. Mine.
I press my fingers to my lips. They’re still swollen, tender from his kiss. I can still taste him—dark wine, cold stone, the faintest trace of blood. My body remembers the hard line of his cock pressing against me, the way my hips moved instinctively, seeking friction. My core aches, empty, needing.
I hate it.
I hate him.
But my body—
My body burns.
I roll onto my side, curling into myself, trying to smother the heat between my thighs. This is what he wants. This is the game. Seduce me. Break me. Make me beg.
But I won’t.
I am Lavender. Daughter of Elara. I came here to destroy him, not fall at his feet.
And if I can’t destroy him with truth, I’ll do it with poison.
The yew venom in my dagger is strong—enough to paralyze a vampire for hours, maybe even days. Not enough to kill him. Not directly. But if I can weaken him, if I can make him vulnerable, I might be able to steal the Blood Vow contract from his vaults. I might be able to free my mother.
And then—
Then I’ll decide what to do with him.
I sit up slowly, the thin sheets slipping from my bare shoulders. The room is cold, the obsidian floor leeching heat from my feet as I step down. I move to the small table beside the bed—empty, except for a single crystal goblet, filled to the brim with dark red liquid.
Blood.
Not human. Not fae. Vampire. Kaelen’s.
He left it here.
For me.
The bond requires blood. Proximity. Touch. Tonight is the second night of the trial. We’re supposed to share blood again—our wrists cut, pressed together, the runes flaring as our magic entwines. But this—this is different. This is personal. Intimate. A gift. A test.
I lift the goblet, the glass cool in my hand. The blood is thick, rich, almost black in the dim light. It smells metallic, sharp, but beneath it—something sweeter. Something dark and intoxicating.
My stomach turns. My mouth waters.
No. No. I won’t drink it. I won’t let his blood into my veins. I won’t let him in.
I set the goblet down. Turn away.
But the bond hums, a low, insistent thrum. It wants the blood. It wants the connection. It wants him.
I close my eyes. Breathe.
I won’t be used again. Not by a vampire. Not by him.
There’s a knock at the door.
I freeze.
“Enter,” I say, voice steady.
The door opens. Thorne steps in—Kaelen’s lieutenant, a werewolf-blooded vampire with sharp eyes and sharper instincts. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, his dark hair cut short, his face all hard lines and quiet observation. He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t speak. Just watches me, like he’s measuring my worth.
“The prince requests your presence,” he says. “Dinner is served.”
I lift a brow. “He’s feeding me now?”
“He’s following the trial’s requirements. Blood must be shared. In a meal, if not in ritual.”
My stomach twists.
A meal. Wine. Conversation. Pretending we’re not enemies. Pretending this bond isn’t tearing me apart.
“I’ll come,” I say.
He nods, stepping back. “He’s in the private dining hall. I’ll escort you.”
“I know the way.”
“He insists.”
Of course he does.
I follow Thorne through the shadowed corridors, the bond humming between me and Kaelen growing stronger with every step. The air is colder here, the torches burning with blue flame, their light flickering like ghosts. I keep my hands at my sides, my spine straight, my expression blank. But inside—
Inside, I’m planning.
The venom. The dagger. The moment of weakness.
We reach the dining hall—a long, narrow room with a table of black stone, lit by a chandelier of frozen fire. Kaelen sits at the head, dressed in black as always, his coat open at the collar, revealing the sharp line of his throat. He looks up as I enter, his red eyes locking onto mine.
“You’re late,” he says.
“I was thinking,” I reply, taking the seat across from him.
“About?”
“How much I’d like to kill you.”
He smirks. Cold. Beautiful. “You’d have to get close enough to try.”
Thorne places a goblet in front of me—crystal, like the one in my room. Filled with blood.
“Drink,” Kaelen says.
“I’d rather drink poison.”
“That can be arranged.”
I lift the goblet, my fingers tightening around the glass. The bond hums, urging me to drink. To connect. To submit.
But I don’t.
Instead, I set it down. “I’ll share blood the way the trial requires. Wrist to wrist. Not like this. Not as your pet.”
He studies me for a long moment. Then nods to Thorne. “Leave us.”
Thorne hesitates. “My lord—”
“Leave.”
The lieutenant bows and exits, closing the door behind him.
Silence.
Kaelen leans back in his chair, his fingers steepled. “You think I don’t know what you’re planning?”
“I think you enjoy the game too much to stop it.”
“I do.” He leans forward, his voice dropping. “But I also know when to end it.”
My pulse hammers.
He stands, circling the table, his boots silent on the stone. He stops behind me, his hands resting on the back of my chair. I can feel his heat, his presence, the way his magic curls around mine, testing, probing.
“You’re trembling,” he murmurs.
“I’m not afraid of you.”
“You should be.”
His hands slide down, his fingers brushing my shoulders, then my arms, then my wrists. The bond flares where he touches, a pulse of heat that races up my arms, coiling low in my belly.
“You want to hurt me,” he says, his breath warm against my ear. “I can feel it. The rage. The hatred. But beneath it—”
His teeth graze my earlobe. I gasp.
“—desire.”
Wetness blooms between my thighs. I hate it. I hate him.
But my body—
My body arches toward him, betraying me.
He feels it. Of course he does. His hands tighten on my wrists, pulling them back, pressing them against the chair.
“You think you can poison me?” he whispers. “You think I wouldn’t taste it? That I wouldn’t feel it in the bond?”
My breath hitches.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He laughs—low, dark, dangerous. “Liar. I can feel your pulse. Your breath. The way your body tenses when you lie. And right now—”
His lips brush the shell of my ear. “—you’re lying through your teeth.”
I yank my wrists free, spinning in the chair to face him. “Then why don’t you stop me?”
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move. Just watches me, his red eyes burning. “Because I want to see what you’ll do. I want to see how far you’ll go. I want to see if you’re strong enough to kill me.”
“And if I am?”
“Then you’ll have earned it.”
My heart stutters.
He turns, walking back to his seat. “Sit. Eat. The trial continues tonight.”
I don’t move.
“Or don’t,” he says, pouring himself a goblet of blood. “But if you refuse, the bond will punish you. And I won’t stop it.”
I sit.
He lifts his goblet. “To the trial.”
I don’t raise mine.
He drinks, his throat moving as he swallows. My eyes lock onto the pulse in his neck. My fingers twitch toward the dagger at my thigh.
Now.
Now is the moment.
I reach for my goblet, pretending to drink. But instead of bringing it to my lips, I tilt it slightly, letting a single drop fall onto the edge of the table. Then, under the cover of the table, I pull the dagger from its sheath, pressing the blade to the drop of blood.
The venom reacts instantly.
A faint sizzle. A wisp of smoke. The blood darkens, thickens, turns black.
It’s ready.
I wipe the blade clean, slide it back into place. Then, with a steady hand, I lift the goblet and take a small sip—just enough to satisfy the bond, not enough to taste the venom.
Kaelen watches me, his expression unreadable.
“Good girl,” he says.
I don’t respond.
We eat in silence—cold meat, dark bread, blood-wine. The bond hums, steady, watchful. I can feel him—his control, his restraint, the way he’s holding himself back. But I can also feel something else.
Interest.
Not just lust. Fascination. As if I’m the first thing in centuries that’s made him pause. The first thing that’s made him curious.
When the meal ends, he stands. “Come. The ritual begins.”
I follow, my pulse steady, my breath controlled. My mind races. Will it work? Will the venom take hold before the bond alerts him? Will I have time to run?
We reach the ritual chamber—a circular room of white stone, the floor etched with glowing runes. A stone tablet sits in the center, the same one from the treaty signing. The air is thick with magic, ancient and sharp.
Kaelen steps onto the dais, rolling up his sleeves. “Hands,” he says.
I step forward, my heart pounding. This is it. The moment of truth.
We press our palms to the tablet. The runes flare, and a thin line splits open across both our hands. Our blood wells, dark and rich, and begins to mingle on the stone.
And then—
The bond shatters.
Not metaphorically.
Physically.
A scream tears from my throat as agony rips through me—like fire in my veins, like knives in my bones. My knees buckle, but Kaelen catches me, his arms locking around me, his body pressing against mine.
“What did you do?” he snarls, his voice guttural, inhuman.
I can’t answer. I can’t breathe. The pain is everywhere—my chest, my limbs, my skull. The bond is breaking, but it’s not letting go. It’s tearing me apart from the inside.
And then—
I feel it.
His pain.
Not just through the bond. Inside it. His body is convulsing, his muscles seizing, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His fangs are bared, his eyes blazing red, but there’s something else—
Fear.
Not for himself.
For me.
“Lavender,” he growls, clutching me tighter. “What did you do?”
“Poison,” I gasp. “Yew venom. In your blood.”
His eyes widen. Then narrow. “You idiot. The bond shares everything. If you poison me, you poison yourself.”
I know.
I knew.
But I didn’t think—
Didn’t think it would hurt this much.
He lifts me, cradling me against his chest, and carries me from the chamber, his steps swift, sure. The world blurs around me—stone, shadow, fire. I can’t see. Can’t think. Can’t breathe.
And then—
We’re in his chambers.
He lays me on the bed, his hands moving over me, checking for injuries, his touch frantic, desperate. “Stay with me,” he growls. “Don’t you dare die on me.”
I try to speak, but my throat is raw. My vision darkens.
And then—
Pain.
But not from the venom.
From his fangs.
He bites my neck—hard, deep, a claiming, a transfer. His blood floods into me, thick, dark, powerful. It burns, but it heals. The agony recedes, replaced by a slow, spreading warmth, a pulse of magic that stitches me back together.
He pulls back, his lips glistening with my blood. His eyes are red fire, his chest heaving. “You could have died,” he snarls.
“So could you.”
“I don’t care.”
“Then why save me?”
He doesn’t answer.
Instead, he pins me to the bed, his body pressing me down, his hands caging me in. His fangs are bared, his breath hot against my lips. “You want to hurt me?” he growls. “You want to kill me?”
“Yes.”
“Then do it.”
He grabs my wrist, pressing my hand to his throat. “Cut me. Drain me. End me.”
My fingers tremble. The dagger is at my thigh. I could draw it. I could strike.
But I don’t.
Because in his eyes—
In his red, burning, hurting eyes—
I see it.
Want.
Not just for me.
Of me.
And worse—
I see myself.
Reflected in his gaze.
And I don’t look like a killer.
I look like a woman who’s already lost.
He leans down, his lips brushing mine. “You can’t do it,” he whispers. “Because you want me. Even now. Even after this.”
My breath hitches.
“You’re wrong.”
“Am I?”
His hand slides down, his fingers pressing between my thighs. I gasp. He feels it—the wetness, the heat, the way my body arches toward him.
“You’re soaked,” he murmurs. “For me.”
“It’s the bond.”
“Then why doesn’t it happen with anyone else?”
I don’t answer.
He grinds against me, the friction maddening. “Say it,” he growls. “Say you want me.”
“Never.”
He chuckles, low and dark. “Then I’ll make you beg.”
His hand moves, his fingers sliding beneath my dress, tracing the edge of my thigh, then higher—
And then—
A knock at the door.
Thorne’s voice. “My lord. Lord Malrik is here. He demands to see the witch.”
Kaelen stills. Then pulls back, his eyes flashing red. “Not now.”
“He says it’s urgent. About the Blood Vow.”
My breath catches.
The Blood Vow.
My mother.
Kaelen looks at me, his expression unreadable. Then he stands, adjusting his coat. “Stay here,” he says. “If you try to run, the bond will find you. And when it does—”
His eyes burn into mine.
“—I won’t be gentle.”
He leaves, closing the door behind him.
Silence.
I lie there, my body still trembling, my core still aching. The venom is gone. The pain is gone. But the truth remains.
I couldn’t kill him.
Not because I was weak.
But because, for one terrible moment—
I didn’t want to.
And that—
That is the most dangerous poison of all.