I didn’t go to the east room.
Kaelen had assigned me a chamber—smaller than his, but still opulent in that cold, bloodless way the Citadel favored: black stone, silver inlays, a narrow bed draped in gray silk. No fire. No warmth. Just silence and the distant echo of guards’ footsteps.
I stood in the doorway for a full minute, staring at the empty space, the untouched sheets, the lifeless air. Then I turned and walked into his room instead.
Not to challenge him. Not to provoke.
But because the bond was a live wire beneath my skin, thrumming with every beat of my heart, and the farther I moved from him, the tighter it pulled, like a leash made of lightning. My breath came short. My hands trembled. The sigil on my collarbone burned, not with pain, but with need—a deep, primal craving I couldn’t name, couldn’t fight.
And I hated that I needed anything from him.
Especially this.
He was at the window, back to me, a silhouette carved from shadow and steel. Moonlight spilled over his shoulders, glinting off the silver embroidery of his armor. He didn’t turn. Didn’t speak. But I knew he felt me. Felt the shift in the air, the pulse of my magic, the heat of my breath.
“You don’t belong here,” he said, voice low, rough.
“Neither do you,” I shot back. “But here we are.”
Still, he didn’t look at me. “Go to your room.”
“Or what? You’ll throw me out? Chain me? Kill me?” I stepped closer, my voice sharpening. “You already know I’d rather die than marry you. What more do you want?”
He turned then, slow, deliberate. His eyes—pale gold, feral—locked onto mine. “I want the truth.”
“You don’t get to demand anything from me.”
“I own you,” he said, stepping forward. “By law. By fate. By blood. You’re mine, Vera. Whether you like it or not.”
“I am no one’s,” I hissed, stepping into him. “You think a mark on my skin makes me yours? You think a cursed bond gives you the right to—”
“I don’t want rights,” he growled, closing the distance between us. “I want to know who you are. Why you’re here. What you’re hiding.”
“Maybe I’m just a witch who hates monsters,” I said, lifting my chin. “And you’re standing right in front of me.”
His jaw tightened. His fangs pressed into his lip. But he didn’t look away. “You don’t hate me.”
“I do.”
“Liar.”
“You don’t know me.”
“I know how your pulse jumps when I touch you,” he said, voice dropping to a whisper. “I know how your magic reaches for mine. I know how your body arches when I’m close—like it’s starving for me.”
My breath caught.
He stepped closer. “I know you want me.”
“I want to kill you.”
“Same thing,” he murmured, one hand lifting, thumb brushing the pulse at my throat. “Desire and death. Fire and thorns. You’re made of the same things I am.”
His touch burned.
My skin lit up. My blood surged. My thighs clenched. The sigil on my collarbone flared, hot and bright, sending a ripple of magic through me. I wanted to shove him away. To claw at his face. To bite his throat.
And I wanted to kiss him.
“Don’t touch me,” I whispered, but my voice trembled.
“You don’t mean that,” he said, thumb tracing my jaw. “You want me to touch you. You want me to hurt you. To claim you. To break you.”
“I’m already broken,” I said, voice raw. “And you can’t fix me.”
“I don’t want to fix you,” he said. “I want to ruin you.”
And then he moved.
Fast. Brutal. Unforgiving.
One second he was in front of me—the next, his hands were on my arms, spinning me, slamming me back against the wall. My breath exploded from my lungs. The impact rattled my bones. But I didn’t cry out. I wouldn’t give him that.
He caged me in, one arm braced beside my head, his body pressing against mine, hard and unyielding. His heat seeped through my robes. His breath was hot on my neck. His scent—iron and night, cold earth and something darker—flooded my senses.
“Tell me your name,” he murmured, lips brushing my ear. “Your real name.”
“You already know it.”
“Say it.”
“Vera.”
He stilled.
Just for a heartbeat.
Then his hand slid from my arm, up my neck, fingers tangling in my hair. He tilted my head back, forcing me to look at him. His eyes were fully gold now, pupils slitted, feral. His fangs were bared. His breath came in ragged pulls.
“Vera,” he said, my name a curse and a prayer on his lips. “Daughter of Elira. Last of the Thorn Bloodline. The witch who came to burn the Concord to ash.”
My blood turned to ice.
He knew.
“You think I wouldn’t find out?” he said, voice rough. “You think I wouldn’t dig into every lie you’ve told? Every step you’ve taken? You’re not the first rebel to come here with fire in your veins. But you’re the first one who made my blood still.”
“Then kill me,” I said, lifting my chin. “End it. Before the bond forces us together.”
“I could,” he said, thumb brushing my lower lip. “I could snap your neck right now. Drain you dry. Let your magic die with you.”
His touch sent a jolt through me—sharp, electric. My breath hitched. My thighs clenched. My body ached.
“But I won’t,” he said. “Because I need you.”
“You don’t need me,” I spat. “You need my magic. My blood. My body. But not me.”
“You’re wrong,” he said, voice dropping to a whisper. “I need all of you. The fire. The thorns. The hate. The hunger. I need the woman who looks at me like I’m a monster—and makes me want to be one.”
My heart hammered.
“You don’t know me,” I whispered.
“I know enough,” he said. “I know you watched your mother burn. I know you survived by playing dead. I know you’ve spent every day since vowing to destroy the system that killed her.”
My breath caught.
“And I know,” he said, leaning in, lips hovering over mine, “that you’re not going to destroy me.”
“Why not?”
“Because you want me too much.”
And then—
The air shimmered.
Not from magic. Not from the bond.
From us.
From the heat between us, the hunger, the unspent desire coiling tight in my gut. My skin prickled. My magic flared. The sigil on my collarbone burned, spreading—thorned vines snaking down my chest, curling around my ribs.
He felt it too.
His breath hitched. His fangs pressed into his lip. His hand tightened in my hair.
“Tell me,” he murmured. “Tell me you don’t want this.”
“I don’t want you,” I whispered.
“Liar.”
“I hate you.”
“Liar.”
“I’ll kill you.”
“Liar.”
And then—
He kissed me.
Not gentle. Not slow.
Violent.
His mouth crashed into mine, hard and demanding, his fangs scraping my lip, his tongue claiming my mouth like he had the right. I gasped. My body arched into him. My hands flew up—whether to push him away or pull him closer, I didn’t know.
He didn’t let me decide.
One hand slid from my hair, down my neck, over my collarbone, fingers tracing the sigil—hot, possessive. The other locked around my waist, yanking me flush against him. I could feel him—hard, aching, ready—pressed against my stomach.
My magic surged.
Dark vines erupted across my skin, snaking up his arms, wrapping around his wrists. He didn’t pull away. He groaned—low, pained, pleased—his fangs pressing into my lip until I tasted blood.
And then—
I bit him back.
Hard.
He growled—deep, feral—and the sound went straight to my core. My thighs clenched. My breath came fast. My body burned.
He broke the kiss, but only to drag his mouth down my jaw, to my neck, fangs grazing my pulse. I gasped. My head fell back. My hands gripped his armor, fingers digging into the steel.
“Say it,” he growled against my skin. “Say you’re mine.”
“Never,” I breathed.
He bit down—just enough to sting, not enough to break skin. 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—
A knock at the door.
We froze.
“Kaelen,” came Lira’s voice, muffled through the stone. “The Moon Garden. Now. It’s urgent.”
He didn’t move. Didn’t release me. His breath was hot on my neck. His fangs still pressed into my skin.
“Go,” I said, voice trembling. “Before I change my mind and kill you.”
He lifted his head, eyes blazing gold. “This isn’t over.”
“It never was,” I said.
He stepped back, but his hand lingered on my waist, thumb brushing the edge of the sigil. Then he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him.
I stayed against the wall, my breath ragged, my body trembling, my skin still burning where he’d touched me.
I hated him.
I wanted to kill him.
And I wanted him to come back.
—
I didn’t wait for an invitation.
I followed.
The Moon Garden was a hidden courtyard deep in the Citadel’s heart—a place of silver moss, black roses, and ancient thorn trees that whispered in the wind. Moonlight spilled through the canopy, painting the ground in fractured light. The air was thick with magic, heavy with the scent of night-blooming jasmine and damp earth.
Kaelen stood at the center of the garden, back to me, arms crossed, his silhouette sharp against the silver glow. Lira was there too, her green gown blending with the shadows, her eyes sharp, knowing.
They were arguing.
“You can’t keep her locked up,” Lira said. “The bond is destabilizing. She needs space. Air. Freedom.”
“She’s a threat,” Kaelen said, voice low. “She came here to destroy the Concord. To kill me.”
“And yet you didn’t kill her,” Lira shot back. “You brought her here. You touched her. You claimed her.”
“I had no choice.”
“You always have a choice,” she said. “And you chose her.”
He turned, his eyes flashing gold. “I chose survival.”
“Liar,” she said. “You chose her.”
I stepped forward, my boots crunching on the moss.
They both turned.
“You’re right,” I said, looking at Lira. “He did.”
Kaelen’s jaw tightened. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Neither should you,” I said, stepping closer. “But here we are.”
Lira looked between us, then stepped back. “I’ll give you two a moment.”
She vanished into the shadows.
And then it was just us.
Again.
The air between us crackled—charged with magic, with hunger, with the memory of his mouth on mine. I could still feel the ghost of his fangs on my neck, the press of his body against mine, the way my magic had reached for his.
“You followed me,” he said.
“You left me,” I said.
“You told me to go.”
“And you listened?”
He stepped closer. “I always listen to you.”
“Liar.”
“You’re the liar,” he said, closing the distance. “You say you hate me. You say you want to kill me. But your body says something else.”
“My body doesn’t speak for me.”
“It does,” he said, one hand lifting, thumb brushing my lower lip. “It trembles when I touch you. It arches when I’m near. It burns for me.”
My breath hitched.
“You want me,” he murmured. “Say it.”
“I want to destroy you.”
“Same thing.”
He leaned in, his mouth hovering over mine. “Say my name.”
“Kaelen.”
He stilled.
Then his hand slid to my neck, fingers tangling in my hair. He tilted my head back, forcing me to look at him. His eyes were fully gold now, pupils slitted, feral. His fangs were bared. His breath came in ragged pulls.
“Tell me,” he said, voice rough. “Tell me you don’t want this.”
“I don’t want you,” I whispered.
“Liar.”
“I hate you.”
“Liar.”
“I’ll kill you.”
“Liar.”
And then—
He kissed me.
Again.
Harder this time. Deeper. More desperate. His mouth claimed mine like he had the right, like he owned me, like I was already his. I didn’t fight. I couldn’t. My hands flew up, gripping his armor, fingers digging into the steel. My body arched into him. My magic surged, thorned vines snaking up his arms, wrapping around his wrists.
He groaned—low, pained, pleased—and the sound went straight to my core. My thighs clenched. My breath came fast. My body burned.
He broke the kiss, but only to drag his mouth down my jaw, to my neck, fangs grazing 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.
Just like that.
He pulled back, his hands falling from my body, his breath ragged, his eyes still gold, still feral. But something in them had changed.
Doubt.
Pain.
Regret.
“I won’t be your weapon,” he said, voice rough. “If you want me, want me for me. Not to destroy the Concord. Not to kill me. Not to use me. Want me because you can’t not.”
My breath caught.
He stepped back. “I won’t be your revenge.”
And then he turned and walked away, vanishing into the shadows of the Moon Garden.
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.