I didn’t sleep.
Not that I could, not with the memory of his mouth still burning on my neck, his fangs still grazing my pulse, the way his hands had gripped my hair like he’d never let go. The infirmary had been silent after Dain left, the stone walls absorbing every breath, every heartbeat, every unspoken thing that passed between us. I’d stayed there—on that cold table, my robe half-open, my skin still humming from his touch—long after he’d gone. My fingers kept drifting to the spot where his fangs had pressed into me, not deep enough to mark, not quite, but close. Too close. And worse—part of me wished he’d done it. Wished he’d bitten me. Claimed me. Made it real.
I pressed two fingers to my lips, still swollen from the kiss. Still warm. Still his.
It hadn’t been like the other times. Not a fight. Not a test. Not a battle of wills. It had been… surrender. Mine. His. Ours. And that terrified me more than anything.
Because I wasn’t supposed to want this.
I wasn’t supposed to want him.
I was Vera of the Thorn Bloodline. The last true Thorn Witch. The one who’d sworn to burn the Concord to ash. The one who’d watched her mother burn for daring to break the chains. I wasn’t supposed to fall for the monster who enforced it. I wasn’t supposed to let him touch me. To let him see me. To let him know me.
And yet—
He did.
And worse—he didn’t care.
Not about the lies. Not about the mission. Not about the vow.
He cared about me.
I stood, my legs unsteady, and pulled my robe closed. The sigil on my collarbone pulsed faintly, its vines creeping lower now, curling toward my sternum like roots seeking soil. I traced it with trembling fingers. It wasn’t just a mark anymore. It was a presence. A weight. A hunger.
I hated that I hadn’t pulled away.
I hated that I’d let him touch me.
I hated most of all that I hadn’t wanted to.
A knock at the door.
I didn’t look up. “Come in.”
The door opened. Not Kaelen. Not Dain.
Lira.
The Unseelie spy stepped inside, her violet eyes sharp, her blood-red lips curled in a smirk. She wore a gown of midnight silk, the bodice tight, the sleeves sheer, her dagger strapped to her thigh—always ready, always watching. She scanned the room, took in the disheveled linen, the lingering scent of iron and night, the way my fingers still hovered over my neck.
“Well,” she said, stepping closer. “You’ve been busy.”
“It wasn’t—” I started.
“Don’t,” she said, holding up a hand. “Don’t lie to me. I can smell him on you. Iron and night. Hunger and heat. You’re dripping with it, darling. Like you’ve been fucked raw.”
My breath caught. “We didn’t—”
“You didn’t have to,” she said, circling me like a predator. “The bond’s sealed. The magic’s synced. You came together in the ritual. You fought together in the battle. You kissed like you were starving. And now—” She stopped in front of me, her gaze sharp. “Now you’re hers.”
“I’m not anyone’s,” I snapped.
“Then why are you trembling?” she asked, not unkindly. “Why is your magic flaring? Why is your sigil spreading? You’re not just bound to him, Vera. You’re his. And he’s yours. And if you don’t stop pretending otherwise, you’re going to get us both killed.”
“I’m not pretending,” I whispered.
“Liar,” she said, stepping closer. “You’re terrified. Not of the Council. Not of the Concord. But of him. Of how much you want him. Of how much you need him. Of how much you’d ruin yourself just to have him.”
My breath hitched.
“And he feels it too,” she said. “I’ve never seen him like this. Not in two hundred years. He smiles at you. He hesitates around you. He feels for you. And you—you look at him like you want to kill him. And like you want to love him. All at once.”
“I don’t love him,” I said, my voice breaking.
“You don’t have to,” she said. “But you feel for him. And that’s more dangerous than love.”
“Why?”
“Because love can be denied,” she said. “But feeling? Feeling is truth. And truth gets people killed.”
She turned to leave. “They’re calling the full Council. The assassins were from the Crimson Regent’s house. They’re blaming you.”
My breath caught. “What?”
“They’re saying you orchestrated the attack,” she said, her back to me. “That you used the chaos to frame the Regent. That you’re a terrorist, just like they said.”
“That’s insane.”
“And yet,” she said, pausing at the door, “if they believe it, if they vote against you—”
“Then I’ll be executed,” I finished.
She looked back at me, her eyes filled with pity. “And if Kaelen doesn’t stop them—”
“He will,” I said, too quickly.
She smiled—sad, knowing. “Then prove it. Not as a weapon. Not as a rebel. But as the woman who wants him. Because if you don’t—”
“What?”
“Then she wins.”
And then she was gone.
I stood there, my hands trembling, my skin burning, the bond screaming in my veins.
Elowen thought she could break me.
She thought she could take him.
She thought I was weak.
She was wrong.
I wasn’t weak.
I was angry.
And anger, I knew, was a far more powerful magic than love.
I turned to the door.
And I walked.
Not to hide.
Not to run.
But to claim what was mine.
Because if Kaelen D’Rae belonged to anyone—
It was me.
—
The Council Chamber was silent when I entered.
Seven thrones in a crescent. Seven faces hidden in shadow. The air hummed with tension, thick with the weight of what was about to be decreed. The dais was still stained with blood—black, thick, vampire blood—from the assassins. The runes had been cleansed, the wards reinforced, but the memory of violence clung to the stone like a stain.
Kaelen stood at the center of the dais, tall and still as a blade in the dark. His armor was gone, replaced by a black coat tailored to perfection, silver thorn embroidery winding up the lapels, his ink-black hair slightly tousled, his pale gold eyes scanning the room before locking onto mine.
And then he walked.
Not toward the Council.
Not toward the dais.
Toward me.
My breath caught.
He stopped an arm’s length away, close enough that I could smell him—iron and night, cold earth and something darker, something alive. My pulse jumped. My magic thrummed.
“You’re late,” I said, lifting my chin.
“Council business,” he said, voice low.
“More lies?”
“Truth,” he said, stepping closer. “They’re testing me. Watching. Waiting to see if I’ll break.”
“And will you?”
He didn’t answer.
He just looked at me—really looked—and I saw it.
Not hunger.
Not possession.
Belief.
He believed in me.
And that was more terrifying than anything.
“They’re saying I orchestrated the attack,” I said, my voice steady. “That I’m a terrorist.”
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. “I know.”
“And do you believe them?”
“No,” he said, one hand lifting, thumb brushing the pulse at my throat. “I know you’re brave. I know you’re strong. I know you’ve spent your life fighting for people no one else cares about. And I know you’re not a terrorist.”
My breath caught.
“Then what am I?” I whispered.
“You’re a revolution,” he said. “And I’m the man who’s supposed to stop you.”
“And will you?”
He didn’t answer.
He just looked at me—his eyes gold, his fangs bared, his breath hot—and for the first time, I saw it.
Doubt.
Not just in me.
In himself.
And then—
The Seelie Queen spoke.
“Vera of the Thorn Bloodline,” she said, her voice like winter wind. “You stand accused of orchestrating the assassination attempt on the Council. How do you plead?”
All eyes turned to me.
I didn’t look at them. I kept my gaze on Kaelen. “Not guilty.”
“Evidence has been presented,” said the Unseelie King. “A dagger bearing your sigil was found on one of the assassins. Witnesses claim you were seen arguing with the High Warden moments before the attack.”
“Convenient,” I said, still looking at Kaelen. “That a dagger with my sigil just happened to be on a vampire assassin sent by the Crimson Regent. How… predictable.”
“You deny it?” asked the Vampire Senator.
“I deny that I’m stupid enough to leave my mark on a weapon used in an assassination,” I said. “And I deny that I’d risk the bond—risk him—to make a point.”
The room stilled.
Even I hadn’t meant to say that.
But it was true.
And worse—I meant it.
Kaelen’s breath hitched.
And then—
He stepped forward, closing the distance between us. “She’s mine,” he said, voice low, dangerous. “And I say she’s innocent.”
A murmur ran through the chamber.
“You cannot vouch for her,” said the Witch Elder. “The bond clouds your judgment.”
“Then unbind us,” he said, stepping into me. “Sever the bond. Kill us both. But until you do—” He turned to the Council, his eyes blazing gold. “She is under my protection. Touch her, and you answer to me.”
My breath caught.
“You would defy the Council?” asked the Werewolf Alpha.
“I would defend what’s mine,” he said, one hand sliding to my waist, pulling me flush against him. “She is not a pawn. Not a weapon. Not a means to an end. She is Vera. And she is mine.”
My heart hammered.
“And if we vote against her?” asked the Human Observer.
“Then you vote against me,” he said, voice dropping to a whisper. “And I will walk out of this chamber and take her with me. And if you try to stop us—” His fangs bared. “I will tear this place down stone by stone.”
Silence.
Thick. Heavy. final.
And then—
The High Priestess stood. “The bond is sealed. The Thorn and Bloom are one. To harm one is to harm both. The vote is void.”
Another murmur—this one of protest.
But no one argued.
Because they knew.
He meant it.
And worse—they knew I did too.
He turned to me, his eyes softening just for a heartbeat. “You’re safe,” he said, voice rough.
“I don’t need you to protect me,” I whispered.
“No,” he said, stepping closer. “You need my touch. My mouth. My fangs on your skin. You need to feel me inside you, claiming you, ruining you.”
My breath hitched.
My thighs clenched.
And then—
He leaned in, his lips brushing my ear. “But I need you more.”
And the entire hall erupted in whispers.
Because they’d heard it.
The truth.
And the man who’d just claimed me in front of them all.
Elowen stood at the edge of the room, her violet eyes sharp, her blood-red lips curled in a snarl.
But I didn’t care.
Because for the first time—
I wasn’t sure I wanted to kill him.
And that terrified me more than anything.
—
Later, in his chambers, he pinned me to the bed.
Not to take. Not to claim.
To protect.
His body covered mine, his arms caging me in, his breath hot on my neck. His fangs grazed my pulse, not to bite, but to feel. My magic flared—dark vines snaking up his arms, wrapping around his wrists, claiming him.
“No one will hurt you,” he said, voice raw. “Not while I live.”
“I don’t need you,” I whispered.
“Liar,” he said, pressing his forehead to mine. “You’re trembling. Your sigil’s spreading. Your magic’s fraying. You need me, Vera. And not just to survive.”
“I don’t need you.”
“You do,” he said, his other hand sliding to my waist, pulling me flush against him. “You need my touch. My mouth. My fangs on your skin. You need to feel me inside you, claiming you, ruining you.”
My breath caught.
My thighs clenched.
“And I need you,” he said, voice dropping to a whisper. “Not as a weapon. Not as a tool. Not as a means to an end. I need you because you’re the only thing that’s ever made my blood still. Because you’re the only one who’s ever looked at me like I’m a monster—and made me want to be one.”
My heart hammered.
“You don’t know me,” I whispered.
“I know enough,” he said. “I know you’re brave. I know you’re strong. I know you’ve spent your life fighting for people no one else cares about. And I know you’re not a terrorist.”
“Then what am I?”
“You’re a revolution,” he said. “And I’m the man who’s supposed to stop you.”
“And will you?”
He didn’t answer.
He just looked at me—his eyes gold, his fangs bared, his breath hot—and for the first time, I saw it.
Doubt.
Not just in me.
In himself.
And then—
He kissed me.
Not violent this time.
Not desperate.
Soft.
Slow. Deep. Reverent. His mouth moved over mine like he was memorizing me, like he’d waited a lifetime for this. His hands slid from my waist, up my back, tangling in my hair. Mine found his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his coat.
And for the first time—
I didn’t fight.
I didn’t pull away.
I kissed him back.
Not because I wanted to use him.
Not because I wanted to destroy him.
But because I couldn’t not.
His breath hitched. His fangs grazed my lip, not to hurt, but to feel. My magic flared, merging with his, our bond pulsing, alive. The sigil on my collarbone burned, spreading—thorned vines curling down my chest, across my ribs.
He broke the kiss, but only to drag his mouth down my jaw, to my neck, fangs brushing my pulse. I gasped. My head fell back. My hands gripped his hair.
“Say it,” he growled against my skin. “Say you’re mine.”
“Never,” I breathed.
He bit down—just enough to sting. I cried out. My back arched. My magic exploded, thorned vines wrapping around his arms, his chest, claiming him.
He laughed—dark, dangerous. “You’re already mine.”
And then—
He stopped.
Again.
Pulled back. Hands falling from my body. Breath ragged. Eyes still gold, still feral.
But this time, he didn’t walk away.
This time, he just looked at me—really looked—and said, voice raw, “I won’t be your revenge.”
My breath caught.
“And you,” he said, stepping back, “won’t be mine.”
And then he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him.
I stayed where I was, my body still trembling, my skin still burning, my heart still pounding.
I hated him.
I wanted to kill him.
And I wanted him to come back.
Because for the first time in my life—
I wasn’t sure which one I wanted more.
And that terrified me more than anything.