The morning after the bite, the Aerie feels different.
Not the stone—still cold, still humming with containment wards, still shifting its position over the Black Sea like a predator circling prey—but the air. The silence. The way the corridors seem to stretch longer, the shadows deeper, the glances sharper. I feel it in the way the guards’ eyes flick to me as I pass, in the way the witches lower their voices in the library, in the way even the wind through the mountain passes sounds like a whisper.
She bit him.
He let her.
They’re not fighting anymore.
And worst of all—
She might be his queen.
I don’t correct them. Don’t deny it. Don’t even acknowledge it. I walk through the halls with my head high, my storm-gray dress simple, unadorned, my hair pulled back, my magic coiled tight beneath my skin. But inside, I’m unraveling.
Because I bit him.
Not in passion.
Not in surrender.
But in *claiming*.
And he didn’t pull away. Didn’t growl. Didn’t punish me.
He *licked the blood from his lip* and called me *storm*.
And then he kissed me like he’d die if he didn’t.
I press my fingers to my mouth, still tasting him—copper and pine and wildness—and my stomach twists. Not from guilt. Not from fear.
From *need*.
The kind that burns through vengeance, through duty, through the fire that’s driven me since the night they took my mother. The kind that makes me wonder—
What if I don’t want to burn the Council to ashes?
What if I want to build something instead?
And what if that something… is *him*?
I stop at the threshold of the dining hall, my breath catching. Kaelen is already there, seated at the far end of the long obsidian table, his black coat draped over the back of his chair, his sleeves rolled to the elbows, his gold eyes scanning a report. He doesn’t look up. Doesn’t sense me. Not yet.
But I feel him.
The bond hums between us—warm, steady, alive—like a second heartbeat. It’s not the ten-pace tether anymore. Not the soulfire threat. It’s something deeper. Something *remembered*.
He lifts his head.
And sees me.
Just once.
But it’s enough.
His gaze lingers—on my lips, on the pulse in my throat, on the way my fingers tremble against my mouth. And then—
He looks away.
Not in rejection.
Not in anger.
But in *restraint*.
Because he knows.
He knows what I’m thinking.
What I *want*.
And he’s not going to be the one to break first.
So I do.
I walk in, my boots echoing against the slate, my magic flaring in jagged bursts beneath my skin. I don’t sit across from him. Don’t take the seat at the opposite end.
I take the one beside him.
Close. Too close. My thigh brushes his under the table, my shoulder nearly touching his. I can feel the heat of him, the roughness of his breath, the way his pulse stutters when I lean in.
“You’re quiet,” I say, voice low.
He doesn’t look at me. “I’m working.”
“On?”
“Security reports. Council movements. Cassian’s latest play.”
“And?”
He finally turns, his gold eyes burning. “And you’re not helping by sitting this close.”
My breath hitches.
“Why not?” I tilt my chin up. “Afraid you’ll lose control?”
“I’m afraid I’ll *lose* you.”
The words hit like a blade.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“You might.” He reaches for my hand, his fingers brushing mine, the bond flaring white-hot between us. “If Cassian moves. If the Council fractures. If the Veil—”
“Then we face it together.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just holds my gaze, his voice rough. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I do.” I turn my hand, lacing my fingers with his. “I’m not just here to burn the Council to ashes, Kaelen. I’m here to burn the lies. And if that means standing beside you—” I lean in, my lips brushing his ear. “Then I’ll burn *with* you.”
His breath catches.
And then—
The doors burst open.
Not guards. Not Silas. Not even Cassian.
Maeve Thorne.
She stands in the threshold, her gown of liquid crimson clinging to her like blood, her hand resting on her stomach, her face pale, her eyes wide with something I can’t name.
Fear?
Triumph?
Both?
The room goes silent.
Kaelen’s hand tightens around mine. His body tenses. His fangs press against his gums.
And then—
She speaks.
“My lord,” she says, voice trembling. “I need to speak with you. Alone.”
I don’t move.
Don’t release his hand.
Just stare at her, my storm-colored eyes locked on hers. She’s not looking at me. Not really. Her gaze flicks to our joined hands, to the bond sigil glowing faintly over my heart, to the way Kaelen’s thumb strokes my knuckles.
And then—
She places her hand on her stomach again.
Lower this time.
And I see it.
The swell.
Subtle. Barely there. But real.
My breath stops.
“You’re—”
“Pregnant,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “With your heir.”
The room erupts.
Whispers. Gasps. A few Councilors hiss in outrage. Others murmur in shock. Even the guards shift, their hands tightening on their weapons.
Kaelen doesn’t react.
Just sits there, his face a mask of ice, his gold eyes burning. But I can feel it—the tension in him, the way his wolf is coiled tight beneath his skin, the way his pulse hammers in his throat.
He’s not afraid.
He’s *furious*.
“You expect me to believe that?” I say, voice low, rough.
Maeve turns to me, her eyes wet, her lips trembling. “I wouldn’t lie about this. Not about a child.”
“No,” I say, standing, my magic flaring beneath my skin. “You’d just lie about bite marks and blood-sharing. Why not a pregnancy?”
“The child is real,” she says, stepping forward. “The Council can test it. The bloodline will prove it.”
“And if it doesn’t?” Kaelen says, finally speaking, his voice like a blade. “If the blood test shows no trace of my lineage?”
“Then I’ll accept exile,” she says, lifting her chin. “But I won’t let my child be called a liar.”
The room holds its breath.
Because she’s good. Cold. Calculated. She’s not just claiming a child. She’s claiming *legitimacy*. A bloodline. A future. And if the Council believes her—
Then I’m nothing.
Not the fated mate.
Not the avenger.
Just the woman who came to kill him.
And Kaelen?
He’ll have no choice.
He’ll have to acknowledge the heir. Protect the child. Uphold the law.
And I’ll be cast aside.
“You’re lying,” I say, voice low. “You’ve been lying since the beginning.”
“Then prove it,” she says, stepping closer. “Let them test the blood. Let them see the truth.”
My breath hitches.
Because she’s right.
If I fight, if I accuse, if I call her a liar without proof—
Then I look like the jealous mate.
The unstable hybrid.
The woman who can’t accept that she’s not the only one who’s touched him.
But if I let them test it—
And it’s real—
Then I lose everything.
“Do it,” Kaelen says, standing, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “Test the blood. Now.”
Maeve freezes.
“You’d risk your heir’s safety?” she says, voice trembling.
“I’d risk *anything* to expose a lie,” he growls. “And if you’re carrying my child, then the blood will prove it. If not—” His gold eyes burn. “Then you’ll answer for treason.”
Gasps ripple through the room.
Even I flinch.
Because he’s not just threatening her.
He’s staking his entire rule on this.
And if the test proves she’s lying—
Then he wins.
But if it’s true—
Then he loses me.
“Very well,” Maeve says, lifting her chin. “I’ll submit to the test. But I warn you—” Her eyes flick to me. “The truth will destroy you.”
—
The testing chamber is a vault of silver and glass, its walls lined with ancient vials, its air thick with the scent of ozone and old magic. The Council’s blood-seers stand at the far end, their hands gloved, their faces masked, their voices low as they prepare the ritual.
I stand at the edge of the room, my arms crossed, my magic humming beneath my skin. Kaelen is beside me, his presence a wall of heat and muscle, his jaw tight, his fangs pressing against his gums. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t look at me. Just watches Maeve as they draw a vial of her blood, as they place it in the silver basin, as the seers chant in low, guttural tones.
The blood begins to glow.
Not red.
Not human.
But a deep, shifting violet—the mark of vampire lineage.
But not just any vampire.
The shade darkens. Thickens. And then—
It flickers.
Just once.
And I see it.
A thread of gold.
Wolf-blood.
My breath stops.
“There,” Maeve says, voice triumphant. “Proof.”
But I don’t believe it.
Because the gold is faint. Too faint. Like it’s been *added*. Like it’s not natural.
“It’s not pure,” I say, stepping forward. “The wolf-blood—it’s diluted. Forced. This isn’t a natural conception.”
The lead seer frowns. “The magic shows lineage. It does not lie.”
“But *she* does,” I say, turning to Kaelen. “You know she does. You’ve never touched her. You’ve never shared blood. You’ve never—”
“Then let the test continue,” he says, voice low. “Let them trace the origin.”
The seers nod.
The chanting deepens.
The blood swirls.
And then—
It splits.
Not into two.
But into *three*.
The violet—true vampire.
The gold—wolf-blood.
And a third—black, oily, *poisonous*.
“This is not conception,” the lead seer says, voice sharp. “This is *injection*. The wolf-blood has been introduced artificially. The child—if there is one—is not of your lineage, High Alpha. It is a fabrication. A deception.”
Maeve’s face twists.
“Lies!” she screams. “You’re all in league with her!”
“No,” Kaelen says, stepping forward, his voice like thunder. “The magic does not lie. *You* do.”
He turns to the Council. “Maeve Thorne, by the laws of the Concord, you are hereby charged with treason, deception, and the attempted usurpation of the High Alpha’s lineage. You will be stripped of rank, exiled from the Aerie, and barred from all Council proceedings.”
Gasps. Whispers. A few Councilors nod in approval.
Maeve doesn’t move.
Just stares at me, her eyes black with fury, her chest rising and falling fast.
And then—
She laughs.
Soft. Cold. Like ice cracking.
“You think this is over?” she says, stepping back. “You think you’ve won?” Her eyes flick to Kaelen. “You’ll never be free of me. And you—” She turns to me, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You’ll never be enough.”
And then she’s gone.
—
The chamber empties fast.
Guards escort Maeve out, her head high, her gown trailing behind her like a shadow. The seers pack their vials, their voices low. The Councilors murmur as they leave, their glances sharp, their loyalty shifting.
And then—
It’s just us.
Kaelen and me.
Standing in the silence, the bond humming between us, warm and alive.
He doesn’t speak.
Just turns to me, his gold eyes searching mine.
And then—
He reaches for me.
Not to pull me close.
Not to kiss me.
But to *hold* me.
His arms lock around me, pulling me into his chest, his breath warm against my neck, his body a wall of heat and muscle. I don’t resist. Don’t pull away. Just let him hold me, my hands fisting in his coat, my face buried in his shoulder.
“You believed me,” he says, voice rough.
“Of course I did.”
“Even when the blood showed gold?”
“I knew it was a lie.” I pull back, looking into his eyes. “Because I’ve *felt* your blood. I’ve *tasted* it. And if you’d ever given it to her, I’d know.”
His breath hitches.
And then—
He kisses me.
Not hard. Not desperate.
Soft. Slow. *True*.
His lips move over mine, gentle, reverent, like he’s afraid I’ll break. My hands rise, fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. 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 pull back.
“If she was willing to lie about a child,” I say, voice low, “what else is she capable of?”
He doesn’t answer.
Just holds my gaze, his voice rough. “Whatever it takes to destroy us.”
“Then we stop her first.”
“How?”
I touch the bond sigil on my chest. “By using what she gave us. The truth. The ring. The bond.”
He studies me—my sharp jaw, my defiant eyes, the fire in my blood. And for the first time, I see it.
Not just the avenger.
Not just the assassin.
But the queen.
Strong. Fierce. Unbreakable.
And she’s his.
“Then we move,” he says, voice low. “But we do it smart. We do it quiet. And we do it *together*.”
I don’t smile.
Just nod once.
And then—
I reach for his hand.
Not to fight.
Not to run.
But to *stay*.
And he takes it.
Because for the first time in two hundred years—
He doesn’t want to be the monster.
He wants to be hers.
—
Later, in the war room, I find the file.
Hidden in the encrypted archives. Buried beneath layers of Council records. A single document—dated the night of my mother’s trial.
The vote.
Not the forged one.
But the *real* one.
And there, in Kaelen’s hand—
“Against exile. For mercy.”
My breath stops.
He tried to save her.
He *voted* to spare her.
And Cassian—
He forged the decree.
He sealed her fate.
And now?
Now I know the truth.
Not just about Maeve.
Not just about the lies.
But about *him*.
He’s not the monster.
He’s the man who tried to save my mother.
And if I kill Cassian—
It won’t bring her back.
But it might let me finally *live*.
I close the file, pressing it to my chest, my breath coming fast.
And then—
I whisper, so low only the bond can hear:
“If you touch her again, I’ll kill you myself.”
But I don’t mean Maeve.
I mean *me*.
Because if I let myself love him—
If I let myself *choose* him—
Then I’ll never be the woman who came to kill him.
And that might be the most dangerous thing of all.