The Aerie’s bathhouse is a cavern of steam and shadow, carved from volcanic rock, its domed ceiling dripping with condensation, its pools glowing faintly with enchanted sapphire light. It’s meant to be a place of peace—of ritual cleansing, of quiet reflection, of release. But tonight, it feels like a trap.
I shouldn’t be here.
I know that. The bond hums between me and Kaelen, warm and insistent, ten paces away in his war room, poring over maps and encrypted files with Silas. I can feel him—his focus, his tension, the quiet storm of his thoughts. He’s planning. Protecting. Watching.
But not me.
Not right now.
Because I told him I needed to clear my head. That the magic was spiking beneath my skin, that the memories were clawing at the edges of my mind, that I needed to *breathe*. And he let me go.
For the first time since the bond ignited, he didn’t argue. Didn’t command. Didn’t pull me back.
He just looked at me—his gold eyes burning, his voice rough—and said, “Don’t push the bond.”
And I didn’t.
I walked. Slow. Steady. Ten paces. Then twenty. Then thirty, until the pull was a dull ache, not a blade twisting in my ribs. Until the soulfire threat faded into the background, a warning, not a punishment.
And now, here I am.
Steam rises in thick, curling tendrils, obscuring the pillars, the alcoves, the carved runes along the walls that hum with ancient warding magic. The air is thick with the scent of eucalyptus and salt, the low gurgle of water, the distant echo of footsteps. I strip off my dress, folding it neatly on a stone bench, and step into the outer pool—warm, soothing, the water lapping at my thighs. My magic hums beneath my skin, restless, raw. I close my eyes, tilt my head back, and let the heat sink into my bones.
I don’t want to think.
About Cassian. About the ring. About the truth that’s coiled in my chest like a serpent, waiting to strike.
About Kaelen.
About the way he knelt in the garden last night, his forehead pressed to my stomach, his body trembling, his voice broken as he whispered, “I don’t know how to be anything else.”
About the way I touched his neck. About the way he held me. About the way the bond flared, white-hot and electric, like it was sealing something deeper than magic.
I don’t want to think about how much I *wanted* it.
How much I *want* him.
And that’s the worst part.
Not the lies. Not the betrayal. Not even the fact that the man who saved me might be my father.
It’s that I don’t hate Kaelen anymore.
And if I don’t hate him—
Then what am I even fighting for?
I sink deeper into the water, letting it rise to my shoulders, the heat pressing against my skin, my breath slow, my pulse steady. The steam wraps around me like a veil, hiding me, shielding me, if only for a moment.
And then—
I hear it.
A whisper.
Soft. Smooth. Familiar.
“Darling.”
My eyes snap open.
Maeve Thorne stands at the edge of the pool, her gown of liquid crimson clinging to her like blood, her lips curved in a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. She’s barefoot, her skin glistening, her dark hair loose around her shoulders. She doesn’t step into the water. Just watches me, her gaze raking over my body—the curve of my hip, the dip of my waist, the swell of my breasts just above the surface.
“You’re alone,” she says, voice purring. “How… unusual.”
“I needed to think.”
“About the Council vote?” She steps closer, her bare feet silent on the stone. “About how you nearly got yourself exiled? Again?”
“I didn’t *nearly* get exiled. I’m still here.”
“For now.” She tilts her head. “But Cassian won’t stop. And neither will I.”
I don’t react. Just watch her, my storm-colored eyes locked on hers. She’s good. Cold. Calculated. But I’ve seen her type before—vampires who use beauty like a weapon, who trade in whispers and half-truths, who think power is in seduction, not strength.
She’s wrong.
“You want something,” I say. “So say it.”
She smiles. Slow. Dangerous. “I came to warn you.”
“About?”
“Kaelen.” She steps to the edge of the pool, crouching, her fingers trailing in the water. “He’s not what you think he is. He’s not the noble Alpha. Not the misunderstood hero. He’s a killer. A tyrant. And he’ll destroy you if you let him.”
“He’s already tried.”
“And yet here you are.” Her eyes flick to my neck, to the bond sigil glowing faintly over my heart. “Still breathing. Still *his*.”
“I’m not his.”
“Aren’t you?” She leans in, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You rode him in a fever dream. He shared his blood with you. You touched his neck in the garden. You let him *kneel* for you.” Her smile sharpens. “You’re not just his mate, Torrent. You’re his *addiction*.”
My breath hitches.
But I don’t look away.
Just stare at her, my magic flaring beneath my skin, crackling at my fingertips.
“And what about you?” I ask, voice low. “How many nights did you spend in his bed? How many times did he let you taste his blood? How many times did he *mark* you?”
Her smile falters.
Just for a second.
But I see it.
The crack in the mask.
“He never marked me,” she says, voice sharp. “He never *claimed* me. I was just… convenient.”
“And now I’m in the way.”
“You’re a threat.” She stands, brushing water from her fingers. “To the Council. To the balance. To *me*.”
“Then do something about it.”
She doesn’t answer.
Just turns—and calls out, voice carrying through the steam.
“My lord? I’m here.”
My blood runs cold.
Footsteps echo on the stone. Slow. Deliberate. Familiar.
And then—
He steps into the chamber.
Kaelen.
His black coat is gone. His shirt is open at the collar, his sleeves rolled to the elbows, his gold eyes burning in the dim light. He doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t look at Maeve.
Just scans the room, his jaw tight, his body coiled like a spring.
“You summoned me,” he says, voice low, rough.
Maeve smiles. “I told you I’d be here. That I needed to speak with you. Alone.”
My breath catches.
“You lied,” I say, standing, water sluicing down my body. I don’t care that I’m half-naked, that my chemise is clinging to my skin, that my hair is plastered to my neck. I step out of the pool, my bare feet silent on the stone, my magic humming beneath my skin. “You didn’t come to warn me. You came to *trap* me.”
Maeve doesn’t flinch. Just turns to Kaelen, her voice soft, intimate. “I wanted to see you. To talk. To remember what it was like… before *her*.”
Kaelen’s gaze flicks to me.
Just once.
But I see it—the flash of something deeper. Guilt? Anger? *Need*?
And then—
He looks back at Maeve.
“We have nothing to remember,” he says, voice cold. “You were never mine. And I was never yours.”
Her smile falters.
“You let me taste your blood for three nights,” she says, voice trembling. “You let me wear your cloak. You let me—”
“I let you survive,” he interrupts, stepping forward. “I let you stay in the Aerie when the Council wanted you exiled. I protected you. But I never *wanted* you. And I never *claimed* you.”
“And her?” Maeve hisses, turning to me. “You’d let her die for you. You’d kneel for her. You’d *bleed* for her. Why? Because she’s your *mate*?”
“Yes,” he says, stepping between us, his body a wall of heat and muscle. “She is. And that’s not something you can understand.”
“I understand power,” she snaps. “And I understand betrayal. And if you think I’ll let her take what’s mine—”
“You have nothing to lose,” he growls. “Because you never had it to begin with.”
She stares at him, her eyes blazing, her chest rising and falling fast. And then—
She laughs.
Soft. Cold. Like ice cracking.
“You’re right,” she says, stepping back. “I don’t have anything. But I have *this*.”
And then—
She reaches up.
Unbuttons her gown.
And lets it fall.
She’s wearing nothing beneath.
Her body is pale, perfect, her curves sculpted like marble, her skin glistening in the steam. And on her neck—
A bite mark.
Fresh. Red. *Real*.
My breath stops.
“You see?” she whispers, her fingers brushing the mark. “He *has* claimed me. He *has* wanted me. And he’ll do it again. Because men like him?” She looks at me, her eyes black with fury. “They don’t love. They *consume*. And when they’re done with you, they’ll come back to me.”
I don’t move.
Don’t speak.
Just stare at the mark.
At the lie.
Because I know it’s a lie.
Kaelen doesn’t flinch. Just stands there, his face a mask of ice, his gold eyes burning.
And then—
He speaks.
Not to her.
Not to me.
But to the air, his voice low, rough, carrying.
“The mark is fake.”
Maeve freezes.
“It’s blood paint. Vampire trickery. And if you think I’d ever let my fangs touch your skin—” He takes a step forward, his voice dropping to a growl. “You’re even more desperate than I thought.”
Her face twists.
“You *wanted* me,” she hisses. “You *took* me.”
“I never touched you.”
“Liar.”
“The truth,” he says, stepping closer, “is that you’re afraid. Afraid of being forgotten. Afraid of being replaced. Afraid that the man who never wanted you will finally have the one woman who *does*.”
She doesn’t answer.
Just stares at him, her breath coming fast, her hands clenched at her sides.
And then—
She turns.
And runs.
Her bare feet echo on the stone, her gown forgotten, her body pale in the steam. And then—
She’s gone.
—
The silence that follows is thick, suffocating.
Steam curls around us, obscuring the pillars, the runes, the world beyond. I don’t look at him. Don’t speak. Just stand there, my skin too tight, my magic flaring in jagged bursts beneath my skin.
And then—
He turns.
Looks at me.
“You believe me,” he says, voice low.
It’s not a question.
“I know it’s a lie,” I say, voice rough. “The mark. The blood. The way she said you let her taste your blood. I’ve *felt* your blood. I’ve *tasted* it. And if you’d ever given it to her like that, I’d know.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just steps closer, his presence a wall of heat and muscle, his gold eyes searching mine.
“You’re shaking,” he says.
“I’m not.”
“Liar.” His hand rises, slow, deliberate, his fingers brushing my cheek. “You think I don’t feel it? The bond. Your pulse. Your magic. You’re not just angry. You’re *hurt*.”
My breath hitches.
“I’m not hurt.”
“Then why are you trembling?”
“Because I’m *furious*.” I step back, breaking his touch. “You let her summon you. You let her *call* you. You walked into this room knowing she was here, knowing what she’d say, knowing what she’d *show*—”
“I didn’t know,” he says, voice rough. “Silas intercepted a message. Said she claimed it was urgent. That she had information about Cassian. I came to shut her down. Not to see *her*.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me?”
“Would you have come with me?”
“No.”
“Then I did what I had to.”
I stare at him. Because he’s right.
And that terrifies me.
“You think I don’t see it?” I say, voice low. “The way she looks at you. The way she *claims* you. The way she thinks she has a right to you.”
“She doesn’t.”
“But others will.” I step closer, my voice dropping. “The Council. The packs. The Silk Courts. They’ll see this. They’ll hear about it. They’ll say you’re weak. That you’re distracted. That you’re *mine*.”
“I am yours.”
My breath stops.
“Don’t say that.”
“Why not?” He steps forward, closing the distance, his body pressing into mine, his breath hot against my neck. “You felt it in the garden. You felt it when I knelt. You felt it when you touched my neck. I’m not hiding anymore. I’m not pretending. I *want* you. I *need* you. And if the world wants to burn because of it—” His hand slides up my side, slow, deliberate, his fingers brushing the edge of the bond sigil. “Then let it burn.”
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 *ache* for 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 back, 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 dress from the bench, yanking it over my head, not caring that it’s damp, not caring that my hair is a mess. I need out. I need air. I need to *think*.
“Where are you going?” Kaelen asks, stepping forward.
“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.