The Spire didn’t sleep, but I couldn’t stay awake.
Not after the visions. Not after seeing what I’d seen—Kael kneeling, voiceless, as my mother screamed. Me, holding a child with silver hair. Cassian raising a dagger in a throne room thick with blood. The images played behind my eyelids like a film on loop, seared into my mind by magic and memory. I’d rewrapped Kael’s wound with trembling hands, my fingers brushing his skin like a confession, my breath hitching every time the bond pulsed between us. And when I finally left the infirmary, Riven at my heels like a silent sentinel, I didn’t go to my room.
I went to the gardens.
The same moonlit oasis where I’d read my mother’s journal. The same silver-leafed trees whispering in the wind, the same pool reflecting the stars like scattered glass. I found the bench beneath the willow, its trailing branches veiling me from the world, and I sat, my boots silent on the stone, my hands clenched in my lap.
My mother’s voice echoed in my skull. *“He tried. They stopped him. Forgive him. Forgive me.”*
Kael’s voice, raw and broken. *“I’ve known you for lifetimes.”*
And the vision—oh, gods, the vision—of us, together, fire and wind, smoke and flame, a child laughing in moonlight. A future. *Our* future. If we survived.
I pressed a hand to the Dusk-mark beneath my collarbone. It still glowed faintly, pulsing in time with the bond. But it wasn’t just reacting anymore. It was answering. To him. To the truth. To the unbearable rightness of what I’d seen.
I didn’t hate him.
Not anymore.
But that didn’t mean I was ready to love him.
A whisper of movement.
I didn’t look up. Didn’t need to. I could feel him before I saw him—the bond tightening, pulling, reaching. The air around me thickened, charged with ozone and iron and embers. His scent. His magic. Him.
“You shouldn’t be out of bed,” I said, voice low.
“Neither should you,” Kael replied.
I finally looked up.
He stood at the edge of the path, silver hair catching the moonlight, his coat open, revealing the bandages beneath. He was pale—too pale—but his posture was straight, his silver eyes sharp, unreadable. He didn’t walk toward me. Just stood there, watching, like he was afraid to break the moment.
“The healers said you needed rest,” I said.
“I needed to see you.”
My breath caught.
He took a step forward. Then another. Slow. Deliberate. Like he was testing the ground, or me.
“You saw the visions,” he said.
Not a question.
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And I don’t know what to believe.”
He stopped a few feet away. “You saw the truth. My silence. Her death. The locket. Me promising to find you.”
“I saw a lot of things,” I whispered. “Our child. The fire. Cassian killing you—”
“Then we’ll stop it,” he said, voice low. “Together.”
“And if we can’t?”
“Then we die together.”
I stared at him. “You say that like it’s a comfort.”
“It is.” He stepped closer. “Because I’ve spent a lifetime waiting for you. And if I have to burn with you, Thunder, I’d rather burn than live without you.”
The bond surged.
Heat. Not magic. Need. A deep, primal pull, low in my belly, spreading through my limbs. My breath hitched. My skin burned. I clenched my thighs together, trying to suppress the ache.
“You don’t get to decide that,” I said, voice shaking. “You don’t get to decide how this ends.”
“I don’t.” He reached out, his fingers brushing my cheek—just once, feather-light. The bond flared, a wave of heat crashing through me, so intense I nearly cried out. “But I get to decide how it begins.”
“It’s already begun,” I whispered. “The moment you touched me in that ritual.”
“No.” His thumb traced my jawline, slow, deliberate. “It began long before that. In another life. Another time. You felt it too. In the vision.”
I closed my eyes. “I saw us. Kissing. Bodies pressed together. The bond flaring gold.”
“That wasn’t a vision of the future,” he said. “It was a memory.”
My eyes snapped open. “What?”
“We’ve been bound before,” he said. “In every lifetime. You die. I mourn. You’re reborn. I find you. And the bond reclaims us.”
“That’s impossible.”
“Is it?” He stepped closer, his hand sliding to my waist, pulling me to my feet. “You think this is the first time you’ve come here to destroy me? You’ve tried before. In every life. And in every life, you fail. Because you can’t hate me. Not really. Not when your body knows me before your mind catches up.”
My breath came faster. “You’re lying.”
“Am I?” He leaned down, his lips brushing my ear. “Then why does your Dusk-mark burn when I touch you? Why does the bond flare red when we’re close? Why did you come to me in the night, half-naked, trembling, when the fever hit?”
My stomach dropped. “I didn’t—”
“You did,” he murmured. “You don’t remember. But your body does. And mine remembers you.”
“Stop.”
“No.” His hands slid to my hips, pulling me flush against him. “I’ve been silent for too long. Bound by oaths. Bound by duty. Bound by fear. But not anymore. Not with you.”
“You don’t know me,” I whispered.
“I know your breath,” he said, his lips grazing my neck. “I know the way your heart races when I touch you. I know the taste of your skin. The sound of your voice when you moan. The way your body arches into mine before you even realize you want it.”
“That’s the bond,” I gasped. “Magic. Curse. Trap.”
“No.” His mouth found mine—just a whisper of contact. “That’s us.”
And then—
I kissed him.
Not because he pulled me in. Not because the bond screamed. Not because the visions had broken me.
But because I wanted to.
My hands fisted in his coat, dragging him closer, my mouth opening under his, my tongue meeting his in a clash of heat and need. He groaned, deep in his throat, his hands sliding up my back, tangling in my hair, holding me like he’d never let go.
The bond erupted.
Not a pulse. Not a surge.
A explosion.
Fire. Not metaphorical. Real. A wave of molten heat ripped through me, starting where our mouths met and exploding outward—up my spine, across my chest, down my limbs. I gasped, but he swallowed the sound, his tongue delving deeper, his hands tightening in my hair.
And the visions—gods, the visions—flooded back, but stronger now, clearer, like they’d been waiting for this.
A moonlit garden. Me, younger, my hair longer, my Dusk-mark glowing. Kael, kneeling, pressing a silver locket into my palm. *“Keep it safe,”* he whispers. *“It’s the key.”* I kiss him—soft, sweet, full of promise.
A battlefield. Smoke and blood. Me, fire in my hands, my back to his. He calls the wind, shielding us, his voice a growl: *“Stay close.”* I glance back, smile. *“Always.”*
A bedchamber. Moonlight through the windows. Us, naked, tangled in sheets, his body moving over mine, his mouth on my neck, my fingers in his hair, my back arched, crying out his name.
A throne room. Me, pregnant, my hand on my belly, facing the High Queen. Kael at my side, his magic coiled like smoke. *“We won’t let you take her,”* he says. *“Not this time.”*
And then—
Darkness.
Cassian. A dagger. Blood. Screams.
And me—whispering, *“This time, I’ll answer the curse with fire.”*
I broke the kiss, stumbling back, my hands pressed to the Dusk-mark, my breath coming in ragged gasps. The visions faded, but the bond remained—alive, pulsing, hungry.
“You felt it,” Kael said, voice rough. “The memories. The lives we’ve lived. The love we’ve lost. The battles we’ve fought.”
“That wasn’t love,” I whispered. “That was magic. Bond. Curse.”
“It was us,” he said. “Every time. And every time, we’re torn apart. By war. By politics. By death. But the bond always finds us. Always reclaims us. And this time—”
“This time, I came here to destroy you,” I said, voice breaking.
“And you failed,” he said, stepping closer. “Because you can’t hate me. Not when your body knows me. Not when your soul remembers me.”
“I don’t—”
“You do.” He cupped my face, his thumbs brushing my cheeks. “You came here for vengeance. But you stayed for this.”
“I didn’t stay—”
“You did.” His mouth found mine again, softer this time, slower. A kiss that wasn’t hunger, but home. “You stayed because you felt it too. The pull. The need. The way your body answers mine before your mind even catches up.”
I didn’t pull away.
Couldn’t.
His lips moved over mine, gentle, insistent, feeding the bond, feeding the fire, feeding the truth I’d been running from.
And then—
I kissed him back.
Not with anger. Not with magic.
With need.
My hands slid up his chest, over the bandages, to his neck, pulling him deeper, my tongue tangling with his, my body arching into his. He groaned, lifting me, my legs wrapping around his waist, his hands gripping my ass, holding me like I was the only thing keeping him from drowning.
The bond roared.
Not pain. Not magic.
Claiming.
It surged between us, a living thing, feeding on our breath, our heat, our desire. The air around us crackled, thick with ozone and fire, the silver leaves of the willow trembling as if caught in a storm.
His mouth left mine, trailing down my neck, his teeth scraping my pulse point, his tongue soothing the sting. I gasped, my head falling back, my fingers tightening in his hair.
“Kael—”
“Shh.” His lips brushed my ear. “Just feel.”
And I did.
I felt everything.
The way his body answered mine. The way his magic coiled around mine, smoke meeting flame. The way his breath hitched when I arched into him. The way his hands trembled when he touched me. The way the bond pulsed, a live wire strung between us, feeding on every second, every breath, every heartbeat.
And the visions—gods, the visions—kept coming, but I didn’t fight them.
I let them in.
A cottage by a lake. Me, cooking over a fire, my belly round with child. Kael, watching from the doorway, his eyes soft, his voice a whisper: *“You’re beautiful.”*
A forest at dawn. Us, running, laughing, our hands clasped, the bond flaring gold between us.
A battlefield. Me, falling, a blade in my side. Kael, screaming my name, his magic erupting in a storm of wind and fire.
And then—
Darkness.
Cassian. The dagger. Blood.
And me—whispering, *“This time, I’ll answer the curse with fire.”*
I broke the kiss, my breath ragged, my body trembling. “It always ends the same,” I whispered. “You die. I scream. The curse wins.”
“Not this time,” he said, his forehead resting against mine. “Because this time, I’m not silent. This time, I’m not bound. This time, I’m not letting you face it alone.”
“And if we can’t stop it?”
“Then we face it together.” He kissed me again, slow, deep, full of promise. “And if we die, we die knowing we fought. Knowing we loved. Knowing we were us.”
The bond pulsed—soft this time, almost… pleading.
I looked at him—really looked at him. The man who’d let my mother die. The man who’d taken a curse meant for me. The man who’d searched for me for twenty years. The man who’d just shown me a thousand lifetimes of love and loss.
And I realized—
I didn’t want to destroy him.
I wanted to keep him.
But I couldn’t say it.
Couldn’t admit it.
So I kissed him instead.
Hard. Desperate. Full of everything I couldn’t say.
He answered with a groan, his hands tightening on my hips, his body pressing me against the willow, the silver leaves whispering around us like a benediction.
And the bond—
The bond flared, gold and bright, wrapping around us like a promise.
And for the first time, I didn’t fight it.
I leaned into it.
Into him.
Into the truth.
That I hadn’t come here to destroy the man who let my mother die.
I’d come here to find the man who’d loved her.
And the man who loved me.
And when I finally pulled away, breathless, trembling, my forehead resting against his, I whispered the only truth I had left.
“This doesn’t mean I forgive you.”
He didn’t smile. Didn’t gloat.
Just kissed my forehead, soft and slow.
“It doesn’t have to,” he said. “But you can’t hate me like you planned.”
And he was right.
Because I couldn’t.
Not anymore.
The bond pulsed between us, alive, strong, unbreakable.
And for the first time, I didn’t want to break it.
I wanted to keep it.