The blood market beneath Prague was quiet tonight—too quiet. No haggling over vials of fae essence. No whispered deals for enchanted bone dust. No desperate witches selling their life force for one more spell. Just the drip of water from cracked stone ceilings, the flicker of torchlight on damp walls, and the low hum of old magic, like a dying heartbeat.
I didn’t mind the silence.
It gave me time to think.
To watch.
To wait.
I stood in the shadows of my stall—velvet drapes, silver-threaded canopy, glass cases filled with rare elixirs, cursed amulets, and blood vials labeled in code. My coat was lined with silver thread, my fangs just visible when I smiled. I wasn’t here to sell. Not tonight.
I was here to hunt.
Because the war wasn’t over.
Not really.
Elira was gone. Cassien was broken. The Council had ratified the Hybrid Rights Act. Jade and Kael had claimed their seat, their bond unbreakable, their power undeniable. The old order had cracked.
But it hadn’t shattered.
And I knew better than anyone—when something cracks, it doesn’t die. It leaks.
And what was leaking now?
Rumors.
Whispers.
A new player in the game.
Someone gathering the remnants. Someone buying up old debts. Someone whispering in the ears of disgraced fae, exiled vampires, rogue wolves.
And tonight—
I was going to find out who.
***
She came at midnight.
Not through the main tunnels. Not with a retinue. Not with a name.
Through the back—silent, cloaked, her presence a whisper against the stone. I felt her before I saw her. Not with magic. Not with scent.
With instinct.
I didn’t move. Just kept polishing a vial of moon-drenched blood, my fingers slow, deliberate. The torchlight caught the silver thread in my coat, glinting like starlight. I didn’t look up. Just waited.
And then—
She stepped into the light.
Not fully. Just enough.
Her hood fell back—just an inch—and I saw her.
Fae.
Young. Too young to have survived the purges. Her skin pale as snow, her lips stained violet, her eyes—
Not silver.
Not gold.
Green.
Like poisoned glass. Like cursed emeralds. Like the heart of a dying forest.
And her scent—
Not roses.
Not iron.
Thorns.
But not the kind that grew in the Court of Thorns.
The kind that grew in blood.
“You’re Silas Vale,” she said, her voice low, smooth, like honey laced with venom.
I didn’t answer. Just set the vial down, my fingers brushing the silver clasp on my coat. “And you are?”
She didn’t flinch. Just stepped forward, her boots silent on the stone. “No name. Not yet.”
“Then why are you here?” I asked, lifting my gaze. “If you’re not buying, and you’re not selling, then you’re either lost—or lying.”
She smiled—slow, devastating. “Maybe I’m both.”
I didn’t return the smile. Just tilted my head, studying her. Fae didn’t come to the blood market unless they were desperate. Or dangerous. And she wasn’t desperate.
So she had to be dangerous.
“You’re not with the Court,” I said, my voice low. “They’d send someone older. Someone with a title. Someone who wouldn’t bother with games.”
“And you’re not with the Council,” she countered, stepping closer. “They’d send someone expendable. Someone who wouldn’t care if they died in the dark.”
I let out a low laugh. “Touché.”
And then—
She reached into her cloak.
Not for a weapon.
Not for a contract.
For a seed.
Small. Black. Pulsing with faint light.
Like the one the fae ambassador had given Jade at the Unity Council.
But this one—
This one was different.
“This is from the Heart Tree,” she said, holding it out. “But not the one in the Court of Thorns. This one grows in the Forgotten Grove. Where the first hybrids were born. Where the first bond was broken. Where the first lie was spoken.”
I didn’t take it. Just stared at the seed, my pulse steady, my fangs just visible. “And what do you want in return?”
“Information,” she said, her green eyes locking onto mine. “About Jade. About Kael. About the bond. About the truth behind the Shadow Fate.”
I didn’t answer.
Just stepped back, my hand drifting to the dagger hidden beneath my coat. “You’re either very brave. Or very stupid. Jade’s my cousin. Kael’s my ally. And if you think I’ll sell their secrets—” my voice dropped, “—then you don’t know what I am.”
She didn’t flinch. Just stepped closer, her presence a wall. A vow. A warning. “I don’t want to sell them. I want to protect them.”
I paused.
Then laughed—low, dangerous. “And why should I believe you?”
“Because I was there,” she said, her voice quiet. “The night the first hybrid was burned. The night the Fae Court sealed the grove. The night they swore to erase us all.”
My breath caught.
Not from shock.
From recognition.
Because I’d heard that story before.
From Jade.
From her sister.
And only a few had lived to tell it.
“You’re a survivor,” I said, my voice rough.
She nodded. “And I’ve been in the shadows ever since. Watching. Waiting. Because I know what’s coming.”
“And what’s that?” I asked, stepping closer.
“The real war,” she said. “Not between species. Not between bloodlines. Between truth and lies. And if Jade and Kael fall—” her voice dropped, “—then we all do.”
I didn’t answer.
Just studied her—her green eyes, her thorned scent, the way she held the seed like it was the only thing keeping her alive.
And then—
I reached out.
Not for the seed.
For her wrist.
My fingers brushed her skin—cold, too cold—and I felt it.
Not magic.
Not glamour.
Truth.
Her pulse was slow. Too slow for a fae. And beneath it—something else. Something deeper. Something older.
Hybrid.
Not just blood.
Not just magic.
Bonded.
Like Jade.
Like Kael.
But broken.
“You’re not just a survivor,” I said, my voice low. “You’re a mated one. Your bond was severed.”
She didn’t pull away. Just looked at me, her green eyes burning. “They killed him. For loving me. For daring to believe hybrids could be more than monsters.”
I let go.
Then nodded.
“Then you’re not here to betray them,” I said. “You’re here to avenge them.”
She didn’t answer.
Just placed the seed on my counter—gently, reverently. “Plant it where truth is spoken. Where bonds are real. Where love is not a weakness, but a weapon.”
And then—
She turned.
Not to leave.
But to face me.
“I’m not your enemy, Silas Vale,” she said, her voice low. “I’m your ally. And if you’re smart—” her lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile, “—you’ll let me prove it.”
***
I didn’t follow her.
Didn’t call out.
Just watched as she vanished into the shadows, her cloak blending with the darkness, her presence fading like smoke.
And then—
I picked up the seed.
Not with my fingers.
With my fangs.
I bit down—just enough to feel the pulse within—and a jolt of magic surged through me. Not crimson. Not gold.
Emerald.
Old. Feral. alive.
And then—
I saw it.
Not a vision.
A memory.
A grove—hidden, ancient, veiled in mist. Trees with bark like bone, leaves like shattered glass. And in the center—
A tree.
Not of wood.
Of light.
And beneath it—
Two figures.
A fae male, his wings broken, his eyes silver.
A hybrid female, her mark pulsing—vines of emerald and silver, entwined like a noose.
And then—
The soldiers came.
Fae. Wolves. Vampires.
They didn’t speak.
They just burned.
The grove. The tree. The lovers.
And as the female fell, her hand reached out—
Not for him.
Not for escape.
For the seed.
And she threw it—
Into the shadows.
Where it was found.
Where it was hidden.
Where it waited.
And now—
It was in my hands.
***
I didn’t sleep that night.
Didn’t leave the market.
Just sat in the back of my stall, the seed in a glass case, sealed with blood and moonsteel. I didn’t light a candle. Didn’t summon a flame. Just sat in the dark, my fangs bared, my pulse slow, my mind racing.
Who was she?
Not just a survivor.
Not just a spy.
She was a witness.
To the first purge.
To the first lie.
To the first bond that defied the old order.
And now—
She was back.
Not for revenge.
Not for power.
For truth.
And if she was telling the truth—
Then the war wasn’t over.
It had just begun.
***
I sent the message at dawn.
Not by courier.
Not by blood-raven.
By memory.
I bit into my wrist—deep, precise—and let three drops of blood fall onto a scrap of parchment. Then I whispered the words—truth, storm, bond—and the ink flared crimson, the message burning into the fibers.
One destination.
One recipient.
Jade.
She’d know what to do.
She’d know who to trust.
And if I was wrong—
Then I’d die for it.
But if I was right—
Then we might just survive.
***
I was closing up the stall when she returned.
Not through the tunnels.
Through the ceiling.
One moment the air was still.
The next—
She dropped from the rafters, silent, graceful, her cloak fanning out like wings. She didn’t land on her feet.
On mine.
Her boots pressed into my toes, her body close, her green eyes burning into mine. “You told her,” she said, her voice low. “You sent the message.”
I didn’t flinch. Just looked up, my fangs bared. “And if I did?”
She didn’t answer.
Just leaned in—close, too close—her breath hot against my neck. “You’re trouble,” she whispered.
I smiled—slow, dangerous. “You have no idea.”
And then—
She kissed me.
Not soft.
Not gentle.
Hard.
Deep.
Claiming.
Her mouth crashed into mine, hungry, furious, a war cry. I groaned, arching into her, my hands flying to her waist, pulling her against me. She didn’t let me take control. Didn’t let me dominate. Just kissed me—deep, aching, fierce—her tongue sweeping into my mouth, her fingers tangling in my hair, her body pressing against mine.
The bond—
Not mine.
Not hers.
Shared.
Flared—emerald and crimson, fae and vampire, truth and fire—ripping through the market like a storm. The torches roared to life. The glass cases cracked. The blood vials pulsed with magic.
And then—
She broke the kiss.
“You’re not what I expected,” she said, her voice rough.
“Neither are you,” I said, pressing my forehead to hers.
And then—
She stepped back.
Not to leave.
But to fight.
“They’re coming,” she said, her green eyes burning. “The remnants. The loyalists. The ones who still believe in the old order.”
“Then let them come,” I said, my fangs bared, my coat lined with silver thread. “We’ve bled for this. Fought for this. Burned for this. And if they think they can take it from us—” my voice dropped, “—they’ll learn what the storm really is.”
She didn’t smile.
Just nodded.
And then—
She reached into her cloak.
Not for a weapon.
Not for a seed.
For a contract.
Old. Torn. Sealed with blood and thorn.
“This is the first pact,” she said, holding it out. “The one that started it all. The one that bound the first hybrid and the first fae. And if we break it—” her voice rose, “—then we break the lie.”
I took it.
Not with my hands.
With my fangs.
And as the blood dried on my lips—
I knew.
This wasn’t just a war.
It was a reckoning.
And I was ready.
***
We left the market at dawn.
Not in silence.
Not in shadow.
>In the open.She walked beside me, cloaked, silent, her presence a wall. I didn’t speak. Just kept my hand on the dagger beneath my coat, the contract in my pocket, the seed in a glass vial against my chest.
And then—
She reached out.
Not for my hand.
Not for my arm.
For my heart.
Her fingers brushed the vial—just enough to make it pulse—and I felt it.
Not magic.
Not desire.
Truth.
And then—
I took her hand.
Not gently.
Not carefully.
With *force*.
“You’re trouble,” I said, my voice low.
She smiled—slow, devastating. “You have no idea.”
And then—
We walked.
Not toward the past.
Not toward the war.
Toward the storm.
Because we were not what we were.
We were not what they expected.
We were the fire.
And we would burn the world down.