I didn’t sleep.
Not that I could, not with the ghost of his breath still hot on my neck, his fangs still grazing my pulse, the echo of his voice—Always—still ringing in my skull. The war room had been silent after he left, the stone walls absorbing every breath, every heartbeat, every unspoken thing that passed between us. I’d stayed there—on the cold floor, 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 teeth had broken my skin, 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.
But maybe—
Maybe love was stronger.
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 corridors of the Citadel were silent, the silver torches casting long, flickering shadows against the obsidian walls. I moved fast, my boots silent on the stone, my magic coiled tight beneath my skin. The bond pulsed—hot, insistent—like a second heartbeat. I could feel him. Not close. Not near. But present. A thread of fire in my veins, a whisper in my blood.
He was in the war room. Still. Brooding. Alone.
And I was going to him.
Not to fight. Not to destroy. But to choose.
The door to the war room was slightly ajar. Light spilled out—faint, golden. I hesitated. My hand hovered over the handle. My breath caught. The sigil on my collarbone burned, its vines curling lower, tightening like a cage.
Then—
A voice.
Soft. Silken. Familiar.
“You don’t have to hide from me, Kaelen.”
Elowen.
My blood turned to ice.
I stepped back. Pressed myself against the wall. Listened.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” she murmured. “Since the gala. Since she arrived. You think I don’t notice? You think I don’t feel it?”
“Leave,” Kaelen’s voice was low, rough. “Now.”
“Or what?” she purred. “You’ll punish me? Like you did that night under the Blood Moon? When you fed from me? When you claimed me?”
My stomach dropped.
“That was a lie,” he said, cold. “A political move. Nothing more.”
“Liar,” she whispered. “I can still feel your fangs on my neck. I can still taste your blood on my lips. You wanted me. You needed me. And now—” Her voice dropped. “Now you’re letting her ruin you.”
“She’s not ruining me,” he said, voice rising. “She’s—”
“Changing you,” Elowen finished. “And that’s worse. You were strong. Cold. Untouchable. And now—” A pause. “Now you’re weak.”
Silence.
Then—
“You don’t know her,” he said, voice low. “You don’t know what she’s done. What she’s survived.”
“And you do?” she asked, laughing. “You think she’s some noble rebel? She’s a terrorist. She wants to burn the Concord to the ground. And you—you’re letting her.”
“I’m not letting her do anything,” he said. “I’m protecting what’s mine.”
“And what am I?” she asked, voice trembling. “Was I nothing? Was our night together—”
“A mistake,” he said, cold. “And if you don’t leave now, I’ll have you removed.”
“Fine,” she said, her voice sharp. “But remember this, Kaelen. I know your secrets. I know your weaknesses. And if you don’t come back to me—”
“I won’t,” he said.
“Then I’ll make sure she knows the truth.”
Footsteps. The door opened. She stepped out—violet eyes blazing, blood-red lips curled in a snarl. She saw me. Stopped. Smiled.
“Vera,” she said, voice sweet. “How… convenient.”
My magic flared. Thorns of power coiled around my wrists. “Get out of my way.”
“Or what?” she asked, stepping closer. “You’ll use your magic on me? In front of the High Warden? After what he just said?”
My breath caught.
She leaned in, her lips brushing my ear. “He called me a mistake. But he still remembers how I taste. How I feel. And when he touches you—” She laughed. “He’s thinking of me.”
Fire surged through my veins.
I grabbed her throat. Thorns erupted from my skin, wrapping around her neck, squeezing. Her eyes widened. She gasped.
“Say that again,” I growled. “I dare you.”
“Vera.”
His voice.
Low. Commanding.
I turned.
Kaelen stood in the doorway, his pale gold eyes blazing, his fangs bared. “Let her go.”
“She was in your room,” I snapped. “Again.”
“And?” he asked, stepping closer. “She’s not worth your rage.”
“She said you fed from her,” I said, my voice breaking. “That you claimed her.”
“It was a lie,” he said. “A political alliance. Nothing more.”
“And you expect me to believe that?” I asked, my magic flaring. “After everything?”
“You don’t have to believe me,” he said, stepping closer. “You just have to trust me.”
My breath hitched.
“And if I don’t?”
“Then you lose,” he said, voice dropping. “Because I’m not letting you go. Not to her. Not to anyone.”
Elowen laughed—weak, broken. “You think she’ll ever trust you? You think she’ll ever love you? She came here to kill you, Kaelen. And one day—” She smiled. “She’ll do it.”
“Get out,” he said, not looking at her. “Now.”
She didn’t move.
So I did.
I shoved her. Hard. She stumbled back, hit the wall, slid to the floor. I stepped over her, my boots silent on the stone.
And then I was in his arms.
Not gentle. Not soft.
Desperate.
My hands fisted in his coat. My mouth crashed against his. My magic flared—thorned vines snaking up his arms, wrapping around his wrists, claiming him.
He groaned—low, pained, pleased—and the sound went straight to my core.
“Tell me,” I growled against his lips. “Tell me you didn’t want her.”
“I didn’t,” he said, his hands sliding to my waist, pulling me flush against him. “I’ve never wanted anyone but you.”
“Liar.”
“Truth,” he said, his mouth moving down my jaw, to my neck, fangs brushing my pulse. “You’re the only one who’s ever made my blood still. The only one who’s ever made me feel alive.”
My breath caught.
“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.
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.