I didn’t sleep. Again.
Not that I could, not with the ghost of his kiss still burning on my lips, his fangs still grazing my pulse, his voice still echoing in my skull: I won’t be your weapon.
As if I’d ever want him for anything but destruction.
As if the ache between my thighs, the tremble in my hands, the way my magic still reached for his in the dark—none of it meant anything.
It didn’t.
It couldn’t.
I was Vera of the Thorn Bloodline. My mother died for this mission. The rebels trusted me. The hybrids counted on me. I wasn’t here to fall for the monster who enforced their chains. I wasn’t here to feel for him.
And yet.
I pressed two fingers to my lips, still swollen from his kiss. Still warm. Still marked.
I hated that he’d pulled away. Hated that he’d looked at me with something like pain in his eyes, like I’d wounded him just by existing. Like I was the one who’d used him.
I hadn’t.
I wouldn’t.
And I certainly wouldn’t let him make me feel guilty for wanting to burn his world to the ground.
I stood from the edge of the bed—his bed, in his chambers, in his godforsaken Citadel—andpaced. Ten steps. Turn. Ten steps back. The connecting door to my assigned room stood open, a silent taunt. I hadn’t slept there. I couldn’t. The bond pulled too tight, a live wire humming beneath my skin, and the farther I moved from him, the more it ached, like my magic was starving.
Pathetic.
I was pathetic.
A warrior, a witch, a daughter of rebellion—reduced to trembling at the memory of a man’s touch.
And not just any man.
Kaelen D’Rae.
High Warden. Enforcer of the Concord. The man who’d used my magic to bind a hybrid in the Obsidian Hall like a dog on a leash.
I stopped pacing. Turned to the mirror.
The woman staring back looked hollow. Her eyes were too bright, her skin too pale, her lips too red. The thorn sigil on her collarbone pulsed faintly, its vines creeping lower now, curling toward her 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 closed my eyes.
I didn’t want this.
I didn’t want him.
But my body disagreed.
And worse—my magic did too.
A knock at the door.
I froze.
“Enter,” I said, voice steady despite the sudden thunder of my pulse.
The door opened.
Not Lira this time.
Not a guard.
Kaelen.
He stood in the threshold, tall and still as a blade in the dark. His armor was gone, replaced by a black tunic that clung to the hard lines of his chest, his sleeves rolled to the elbows, revealing forearms marked with old scars. His ink-black hair was slightly tousled, as if he’d run a hand through it. His pale gold eyes—sharp, unreadable—locked onto mine.
“You’re up early,” he said.
“Couldn’t sleep,” I said, not moving. “Too much excitement yesterday. You know, the part where you decided to claim me in your bedroom, then in the Moon Garden, then walk away like I meant nothing.”
His jaw tightened. “I didn’t walk away because you meant nothing.”
“Then why?” I snapped. “Why stop? You had me against the wall. You were biting my neck. You were—”
“I stopped,” he said, stepping inside, closing the door behind him, “because I realized you weren’t kissing me back. You were using me.”
My breath caught. “That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” He stepped closer. “You want to destroy the Concord. You want to kill me. And you thought if you let me touch you, if you let me want you, you could use that against me. Turn my desire into a weapon.”
“Maybe I did,” I said, lifting my chin. “Wouldn’t you do the same?”
He didn’t answer.
He just looked at me—really looked at me—and for the first time, I saw it.
Not just hunger.
Not just possession.
Hurt.
“I’m not your enemy,” he said, voice low. “Not anymore.”
“You were the moment you pressed your hand to that hybrid’s chest,” I shot back. “You used my magic to enslave him. You think I didn’t see that? You think I didn’t feel it?”
He flinched. “I was enforcing the law.”
“The Concord is the law,” I said. “And it’s built on the backs of people like me. Like him. You think I don’t know what happens to hybrids who resist? They’re bound. Broken. Used as living keys to maintain a system that doesn’t give a fuck about them.”
“And what would you have me do?” he asked, voice rising. “Let the system collapse? Let another Species War tear this city apart? I’ve seen what happens when order falls, Vera. I watched my human mother burn alive because fae extremists thought she was impure. I stood there, helpless, while they lit the pyre beneath her. And I swore I’d never let chaos win again.”
I froze.
His voice cracked on the last word. Just once. Just enough.
And in that crack—
I heard it.
Not just anger.
Not just control.
Pain.
Real, raw, unguarded pain.
And for the first time, I didn’t see the monster.
I saw the man.
But I couldn’t let that matter.
“So you built a new kind of fire,” I said, voice low. “One that burns slower. One that chains instead of kills. One that uses magic like a leash.”
“It’s order,” he said. “It’s peace.”
“It’s slavery,” I said. “And you’re its enforcer.”
He stepped closer. “And you’re a terrorist.”
My breath hitched.
“You came here under false identity,” he said. “You lied. You infiltrated. You planned to destroy the Concord—knowing it would throw the realms into chaos. Knowing thousands would die. Is that justice? Or is that just revenge?”
“It’s both,” I said, stepping into him. “My mother didn’t die for order. She died for freedom. And I won’t stop until I have it.”
“Then you’ll die,” he said, voice rough. “And I’ll die with you. Is that what you want?”
“I don’t want anything from you,” I said, but my voice trembled.
“Liar,” he breathed, one hand lifting, thumb brushing my lower lip. “You want me. You want my touch. My mouth. My fangs on your skin. You want to feel me inside you, claiming you, ruining you.”
My breath caught.
My thighs clenched.
“And I want you,” he said, leaning in, his lips hovering over mine. “Not as a weapon. Not as a tool. Not as a means to an end. I want 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 gripped my hips, yanking me flush against him.
My breath exploded from my lungs. His heat seeped through my robes. His hardness pressed against my stomach, aching, ready. My magic surged, thorned vines erupting across my skin, snaking up his arms.
He groaned—low, pained, pleased—and the sound went straight to my core.
“Tell me,” he growled, lips brushing mine. “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 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 hips, up my back, tangling in my hair. Mine found his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic.
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.