The bite on my chest burns.
Not with pain—though the skin is still tender, the twin punctures above the bond sigil pulsing faintly with each beat of my heart—but with *connection*. A live wire beneath my ribs, humming with something deeper than magic, deeper than fate. Kaelen’s blood is in my veins now. His life force. His strength. His *claim*.
And I let him.
I didn’t fight. Didn’t pull away. When his fangs pierced my skin, when his blood flooded my mouth, when our magic surged and the poison burned away, I didn’t push him off. I *kissed* him. Hard. Desperate. Like I’d die if I didn’t.
And now, as I lie in the dark of Kaelen’s chambers, wrapped in a blanket on the hearthside couch, I can’t stop touching it.
My fingers brush the mark—small, precise, already healing—and a shiver runs through me. Not from cold. Not from fear.
From *need*.
The blood-sharing wasn’t just survival. It was intimacy. A psychic tether forged in desperation, in surrender, in the quiet, traitorous part of me that *wanted* it. That still wants it. That craves the heat of his body, the roughness of his voice, the way his wolf howls for me even when his mind pretends he doesn’t care.
But he does.
And that terrifies me.
Because I didn’t come here to fall for him.
I came to burn the Council to ashes.
And now, with his blood in my veins and his handprint still warm on my back from when he carried me back here, I don’t know what I’m fighting for anymore.
Not just justice.
Not just revenge.
But *truth*.
And the truth might destroy me.
I close my eyes, trying to still my thoughts, but the dreams come fast—flashes of fire, of Cassian’s hand reaching through the flames, of Kaelen’s voice in the dark, whispering my name. I don’t know what’s real anymore. What’s memory. What’s magic. What’s *us*.
And then—
I feel it.
A pull. Not from the bond. Not from Kaelen.
From *her*.
Elara.
My mentor. My mother’s sister. The witch who taught me to wield storm magic, who hid me after the Council took my mother, who now lives in the Veil—a psychic prison where hybrids are stripped of identity, memory, *self*.
But she’s not gone.
Not completely.
She reaches me in dreams. Through bloodline magic. A whisper in the dark, a thread of power that ties us together, no matter how deep they bury her.
And tonight, she’s calling.
I sit up slowly, my body still weak from the poison, my magic coiled tight beneath my skin. The fire in the hearth has burned to embers. The room is silent. No movement from Kaelen’s bed. No spike in his pulse. He’s asleep. Dreaming. Of me, maybe.
I don’t look at him.
Just slip off the couch, bare feet silent on the slate floor, and move to the center of the room. I kneel, pressing my palms to the stone, and close my eyes.
“Elara,” I whisper. “I’m here.”
Nothing.
Just silence. The hum of the Aerie’s wards. The distant wind through the mountain passes.
And then—
A breath.
Soft. Faint. Like a sigh through ancient trees.
And then—
Darkness.
—
I’m not in the chambers anymore.
I’m in a garden.
Not the Aerie’s sterile training yard or the Council’s cold marble halls, but a wild, overgrown place—vines climbing stone arches, moonblooms glowing faintly in the dark, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and jasmine. Fireflies drift like embers above the grass. The moon hangs low, silver and full, casting long shadows across the path.
And there, beneath an ancient willow, sits Elara.
She looks younger than I remember—her hair dark, her face unlined, her eyes bright with power. She’s wearing the robes of the Hollow Moon Coven, deep indigo embroidered with storm sigils, her hands resting on a staff carved from blackthorn. She smiles when she sees me.
“Torrent,” she says, her voice like wind through leaves. “You’ve grown.”
My breath catches. “Aunt Elara.”
She reaches for me, and I take her hand, pulling her into an embrace. Her body is solid. Real. Not a ghost. Not a memory. But *here*.
“You’re stronger,” she murmurs, pulling back to study me. “The bond has changed you.”
“It’s not just the bond.” I touch the bite mark on my chest. “He saved me. Shared his blood.”
Her eyes narrow. “Kaelen?”
“He poisoned me. Wolfsbane. Silver-laced.”
“And he saved you with blood-sharing?”
“Yes.”
She studies me, her gaze sharp, searching. “Then the tether is formed. You’re bound beyond magic now. Beyond law. You’re in his veins. And he’s in yours.”
My stomach twists. “I know.”
“And how do you feel?”
I don’t answer.
Because I don’t know. I should hate him. I should want to kill him. I should be planning my next move, my next strike, my next lie.
But all I can think about is the way he held me when the poison took me. The way his fangs pierced my skin, not to claim, but to *save*. The way he groaned my name when I kissed him, like I was the only thing keeping him from drowning.
“I don’t know,” I whisper.
She touches my cheek, her fingers warm. “You’re afraid.”
“I came here to burn the Council to ashes. To make him pay for what he did to my mother. But he didn’t do it, Elara. Cassian did. And now—” My voice breaks. “Now I don’t know who the enemy is.”
“The enemy is the lie,” she says, her voice firm. “Not the man.”
“And Cassian? He’s my *father*.”
She doesn’t flinch. Just nods. “I know.”
My breath stops. “You *know*?”
“I’ve always known. Your mother told me. Before they took her.”
“And you never told me?”
“Would it have changed anything?”
“Maybe.”
“Or maybe it would have made you reckless. You were a child. Grieving. Angry. If I’d told you Cassian was your father, you might have run to him. Trusted him. And he would have used you.”
My hands clench. “He *did* use me. He left me in the fire. He let them take my mother. He—”
“He saved you,” she interrupts. “He pulled you from the flames. Hid you. Kept you alive. Not out of love. Not out of guilt. But because you’re his blood. And blood is power.”
“Then why didn’t he protect her?”
“Because he was afraid. The Council was closing in. They knew about your mother’s hybrid nature. They knew about you. He thought if he gave her up, they’d leave you alone. That he could raise you in secret. But they came for you anyway. And when he saw the fire, when he saw the guards—” She shakes her head. “He made a choice. He saved the child. Lost the woman.”
Tears burn in my eyes. “He let her die.”
“He thought he was saving *you*.”
I don’t answer.
Because the truth is worse than hate. Worse than revenge. It’s *understanding*. And understanding feels like betrayal.
“You came here to burn the lies,” Elara says, her voice soft. “Not the men.”
“And what if the lies are all I have?”
“Then you’ll burn with them.”
I look at her. “What do I do?”
“Trust your magic. Trust your blood. Trust the bond.”
“I can’t trust the bond. It’s magic. It’s fate. It’s not *real*.”
“Isn’t it?” She steps closer, her eyes blazing. “You felt it in the Soul Mirror. You felt it in the fever dream. You felt it when he saved you. The bond isn’t just magic, Torrent. It’s *memory*. And somewhere in the ruins of your mother’s trial, your souls have already met.”
My breath hitches.
Because she’s right.
The dreams. The visions. The way Kaelen looked at me before we even spoke. The way his wolf *knew* me.
It’s not just fate.
It’s *remembering*.
“But Cassian—”
“Cassian knows,” she says, her voice dropping. “He knows about your bloodline memory. He knows you can touch the past. That’s why he’s afraid of you. That’s why he tried to have you exiled. That’s why he poisoned you.”
My blood runs cold. “He knows I can remember?”
“He knows you’re dangerous. Not because you’re strong. Not because you’re clever. But because you *remember*. And if you touch him—”
“I’ll see the truth.”
She nods. “And the truth could destroy him.”
“Or me.”
“Or both of you.” She touches my cheek again. “But you have to try. You have to face him. Touch him. *Remember*.”
“And if I’m not ready?”
“Then you’ll never be free.”
The garden begins to fade—vines dissolving into mist, moonblooms dimming, the willow crumbling to ash. Elara’s form grows translucent, her voice distant.
“Be careful, Torrent,” she whispers. “The Veil is not just a prison. It’s a weapon. And Cassian will use it against you.”
“Wait—”
But she’s gone.
—
I wake with a gasp, my body jolting upright, my hands flying to my chest, to the bite mark, to the bond sigil. The room is dark. The fire in the hearth has burned to embers. And Kaelen is watching me.
He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, fully clothed, his gold eyes sharp, his presence a wall of heat and muscle. He doesn’t speak. Just studies me, his gaze scanning my face, my body, the way my breath hitches, the way my fingers tremble against my skin.
“You were dreaming,” he says, voice low.
“I was talking to Elara.”
He doesn’t question it. Doesn’t doubt. Just nods once. “And?”
“Cassian knows.”
“About?”
“My bloodline memory. He knows I can touch the past. That if I touch him, I’ll see the truth.”
His jaw tightens. “Then he’ll avoid you.”
“Or he’ll provoke me.” I stand, pacing. “He’ll force a confrontation. Make me touch him. And when I do—”
“You’ll see everything.”
“And if I’m not ready?”
“Then you’ll break.”
I stop, turning to face him. “And what about you? What if I see something about *you*? Something you don’t want me to know?”
He doesn’t flinch. Just holds my gaze, his voice rough. “Then you’ll know the truth. And I’ll face it. With you.”
My breath catches.
Because he’s not the monster.
He’s not the villain.
He’s the man who tried to save my mother. The man who let the world believe he was the monster. The man who just saved my life with his blood.
And I’m starting to believe him.
“He’s my father,” I whisper.
“I know.”
“And you’re not afraid of what I’ll become?”
“I’m not afraid of you.” He stands, stepping closer. “I’m afraid of losing you.”
The words hit like a blade.
I don’t move. Don’t breathe. Just stare at him, my heart hammering, my skin too tight.
And then—
The bond flares.
Hot and sudden—like a blade twisting in my ribs. I cry out, clutching my chest as fire lances through me, sharp and deep. My vision blurs. My breath comes in ragged gasps.
Soulfire.
From breaking the ten-pace rule.
And then—
Kaelen is there.
His arms lock around me, pulling me into his chest, his breath warm on my neck, his body a wall of heat and muscle. The fire in my chest eases—just slightly—but doesn’t vanish.
“Ten paces,” he murmurs, his voice rough. “Or you burn.”
“I know.”
“Then stop running.”
“I’m not running.”
“You are.” He tilts his head, studying me. “You’ve been running your whole life. From the Council. From the truth. From *me*.”
My breath hitches.
“You think you know me?” I snap, pushing against his chest. “You think because you held me while I cried, because you saved me with your blood, you understand me?”
“No,” he says, not letting me go. “But I’m starting to.”
I glare at him. “You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to pretend you care.”
“I don’t pretend.” His voice drops. “I *do* care. Whether you want me to or not.”
The words hit like a blade.
I don’t answer.
Just look away, my chest rising and falling fast. The bond hums between us, warm and insistent. And beneath it, something else—something deeper, older, that makes my stomach twist.
Need.
Not just for revenge.
Not just for justice.
For *him*.
And I hate it.
“Let me go,” I whisper.
“No.”
“Kaelen—”
“You’re not leaving this room,” he says, voice low, rough. “Not until the pain stops. Not until you stop pretending you don’t feel it.”
“Feel what?”
“This.” His hand slides up my side, slow, deliberate, his fingers brushing the edge of the bond sigil. “The pull. The heat. The way your body knows mine even when your mind refuses to.”
My breath hitches.
“You think I don’t feel it too?” he continues, his thumb circling the mark. “You think I don’t wake up every night with your name on my lips? That I don’t dream of you? That I don’t *want* you?”
My pulse hammers.
“Then why don’t you take me?” I challenge, tilting my chin up. “If you want me so badly, why don’t you just *claim* me? Bite me. Mark me. Make me yours in every way?”
His jaw clenches. “Because you don’t want it.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you’d use it against me.”
“Maybe I would.”
“And maybe I’m tired of fighting you.”
The words hang between us, sharp as glass.
And then—
I push up, straddling him, my hands braced on his chest, my body pressing into his. His breath catches. His eyes narrow. His cock thickens beneath me, hard and sudden, a ridge of heat against my core.
“Then stop fighting,” I whisper, leaning down until our lips are inches apart. “Stop pretending you don’t want me. Stop hiding behind duty and control and *lies*.”
His hands rise, gripping my hips, his fingers digging into my skin. “You’re playing with fire.”
“Then let me burn.”
And then—
I kiss him.
Not soft. Not hesitant.
Hard. Desperate. A collision of teeth and tongue and fury. My lips move over his, demanding, taking, *claiming*. His groan vibrates against my mouth, his body arching into mine, his hands sliding up my back, into my hair.
The bond flares—white-hot, electric. Our pulses sync. Our breaths tangle. The world narrows to the taste of him, the feel of him, the *need*.
And then—
I stop.
I pull back, breathing hard, my forehead pressed to his. His lips are swollen, his eyes dazed, his chest rising and falling fast.
“You want me dead,” I say, voice trembling.
“I want you *bound*,” he growls. “Either way, you’re not leaving.”
And just like that, the moment shatters.
I push off him, scrambling off the bed, my legs unsteady, my skin too tight. I can’t do this. I can’t keep pretending I don’t want him. I can’t keep pretending I don’t *feel* him.
Because if I do—
If I let myself—
Then I’m not just here to burn the Council to ashes.
I’m here to burn myself alive.
I grab my gown from the floor, yanking it over my head, not caring that it’s wrinkled, not caring that my hair is a mess. I need out. I need air. I need to *think*.
“Where are you going?” Kaelen asks, sitting up.
“To clear my head.”
“You’re pushing the bond.”
“Then let it burn.”
And I walk out.
—
The corridors are silent this early—just the soft creak of shifting stone, the distant hum of containment wards, the echo of my footsteps as I stride down the narrow passage, my breath coming fast, my skin still humming from the kiss, from the touch, from the way his body arched beneath mine.
I don’t know what I’m doing.
I don’t know what I want.
One minute, I’m ready to kill him. The next, I’m straddling him, kissing him like I’ll die if I don’t.
And the worst part?
He’s not the only one who’s changed.
I am too.
Because I don’t want to kill him anymore.
I want to *know* him.
To understand why he let the world believe he was the monster. To know what it cost him. To see the man beneath the mask.
And that?
That’s the real betrayal.
Not Cassian’s lies.
Not Maeve’s schemes.
But the truth I can no longer deny.
I don’t hate him.
And that might be the most dangerous thing of all.
I turn a corner—and freeze.
Silas Varek stands there, half-vampire, Kaelen’s Beta, his dark coat buttoned to the throat, his expression unreadable. But his eyes—sharp, observant—betray him. He’s seen something. Felt something.
“Torrent,” he says, voice calm. “You’re up early.”
“Couldn’t sleep.”
“No.” He steps closer. “I don’t imagine you could.”
I don’t answer.
Just stare at him, my pulse hammering. He knows. He can smell it—the heat, the need, the way my magic is spiking in jagged bursts against the wards.
“You’re not his prisoner anymore,” he says quietly.
“I never was.”
“You were.” He tilts his head. “But not now. Now you’re his *problem*.”
My breath catches.
“He’s never hesitated for anyone,” Silas continues. “But for you… he’d burn the world.”
I don’t answer.
Because he’s right.
And that terrifies me.
“Be careful,” he says, stepping past me. “The Council is fracturing. Cassian is moving. And if you break Kaelen—”
“I’m not trying to break him.”
“No,” he says, pausing. “You’re trying to save him. And that might be worse.”
And then he’s gone.
—
I don’t go back to the chambers.
Instead, I find myself in the training yard—a vast, open space of packed earth and ironwood dummies, the air thick with the scent of sweat and steel. I need to move. Need to fight. Need to burn off the heat, the need, the *doubt*.
I strip off my gown, tossing it aside, and step onto the mat in my underthings. My magic hums beneath my skin, restless, raw. I don’t use a weapon. Just my hands. My body. My rage.
I attack.
First the dummy—fists flying, kicks snapping, magic crackling in my fingertips. Then the air—spinning, dodging, striking. I don’t stop. Don’t slow. Just move, faster and faster, until my muscles burn, until my breath comes in ragged gasps, until the world narrows to the next strike, the next block, the next breath.
And then—
I feel it.
The pull.
Not from the bond.
From *him*.
I turn.
Kaelen stands at the edge of the yard, arms crossed, his gold eyes burning, his presence a wall of heat and muscle. He doesn’t speak. Just watches me, his gaze scanning my body—the sweat on my skin, the rise and fall of my chest, the way my magic flares with every movement.
“You’re pushing the bond,” he says, voice low.
“You’re pushing *me*,” I snap.
“Then fight me.”
My breath catches.
“What?”
“If you’re so full of rage,” he says, stepping onto the mat, “then use it. On me.”
I don’t hesitate.
I surge forward, fists flying, magic crackling. He blocks—fast, brutal, inhuman—his arms deflecting my strikes, his body a wall of muscle and bone. I kick. He catches my leg, spins me, slams me onto the mat.
But I’m not done.
I roll, kick up, land on my feet, and attack again. Faster. Harder. Wilder. He blocks. Counters. Pins me. I break free. Attack. Fall. Rise. Fight.
And then—
He stops.
Just… stops.
Stands there, breathing hard, his chest rising and falling, his eyes locked on mine.
“You’re not fighting me,” he says, voice rough. “You’re fighting *yourself*.”
My breath hitches.
“You don’t want to kill me,” he continues. “You want to *understand* me. And that scares you more than hate ever did.”
I don’t answer.
Just stare at him, my chest heaving, my skin on fire.
And then—
He steps forward.
Closes the distance.
And pulls me into his arms.
Not to fight.
Not to dominate.
But to *hold* me.
My body molds against his, my head resting on his chest, his breath warm against my neck. The bond hums—steady, warm, alive. I close my eyes, breathing him in—pine and ash and wildness.
And for the first time since I walked into this place with a knife at my throat—
I don’t feel like an assassin.
I feel like a woman who’s just realized the enemy isn’t the man she thought he was.
And maybe—
Just maybe—
He was never the enemy at all.