I didn’t go to the east room that night. I didn’t go to bed at all. I stayed in Kaelen’s chambers—his scent still clinging to the air, his heat still embedded in the sheets—and paced like a caged animal, my bare feet silent on the cold black stone. The bond pulsed beneath my skin, a living thing now, thrumming with every beat of my heart, pulling me toward him even as I fought it. My body remembered his touch. My magic still reached for his. And worse—my mind kept replaying the softness of his kiss, the raw ache in his voice when he said, I won’t be your revenge.
I hated that I cared.
I hated that I wanted him to come back.
And I hated most of all that I wasn’t sure I wanted to kill him anymore.
By dawn, I was exhausted. Not in body—witches don’t tire easily—but in spirit. The weight of the bond, the storm of my own conflicting desires, the memory of his pain when he spoke of his mother—it all pressed down on me like a stone on my chest. I stopped pacing. Sat on the edge of the bed. Stared at my hands.
They were trembling.
Not from fear. Not from magic.
From need.
I pressed them into my thighs, hard enough to leave marks. I had a mission. A vow. My mother’s blood was on the hands of the Concord, and I was the only one left to avenge her. I couldn’t afford weakness. I couldn’t afford him.
But the bond didn’t care about vows.
It didn’t care about justice.
It only cared about him.
A soft knock at the door.
I didn’t look up. “Come in.”
The door opened. Lira slipped inside, her dark green gown blending with the shadows, her sharp eyes scanning the room before landing on me. She took one look at my face and sighed.
“You didn’t sleep.”
“Neither did you,” I said, finally lifting my gaze. “You were in the Moon Garden last night. You saw everything.”
She stepped closer, her voice low. “I saw him walk away. Again. I saw you standing there, looking like you’d been gutted.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Liar,” she said, sitting beside me. “You’re dripping with it, darling. His hunger. Your want. It’s all over your skin. I can smell it.”
I flinched. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know desire when I see it,” she said, her tone softening. “And you, Vera? You’re starving for him.”
“I’m not.”
“Then why are your hands shaking?”
I clenched them into fists. “Because I’m angry.”
“At him?”
“At everything.”
She studied me. “You think you can fight this bond? That you can lie to yourself about what it does to you?”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“You do,” she said. “You can run. I can get you out. The tunnels beneath the citadel—they’re old, unmonitored. I’ve used them before.”
“And the rebels?” I asked, voice low. “They’ll die without me.”
“They’ll survive,” she said. “The plan stalls. But they won’t die.”
“My mother died for this,” I said, my voice raw. “They executed her for trying to break the Concord. I survived by hiding. I won’t run again.”
Lira exhaled sharply. “Then you’re going to have to face him. And this time, you won’t be able to lie to yourself about what it does to you.”
“It does nothing to me,” I snapped.
She laughed—soft, bitter. “You’re dripping with his hunger, darling. Lavender and storm, yes—but underneath? Him. His need. Your want. It’s all over your skin.”
I turned away. “I came here to kill him.”
“And you still might,” she said. “But not before you want him. Not before you feel him.”
She reached into her sleeve, pulled out a small vial of shimmering liquid. “This will dull the bond. For a few hours. Won’t break it. Won’t hide it. But it’ll give you control.”
I took it, the glass cool in my palm. “What is it?”
“Fae sleep-draught. Mixed with wolfsbane. It’ll numb the connection. Make it easier to lie.”
I hesitated. “And the cost?”
“Headache. Nausea. A little dizziness. And if you take too much, you’ll pass out. But you’ll live.”
I tucked the vial into my robe. “Thank you.”
She touched my arm. “Don’t thank me. Just survive.”
Then she was gone—slipping out as quietly as she’d come.
I sat there, the vial burning in my pocket, the sigil burning on my skin.
I wouldn’t run.
But I wouldn’t break either.
Not yet.
—
The day passed in a blur of tension and silence. Kaelen didn’t come to me. I didn’t go to him. We moved through the Citadel like ghosts, our paths carefully avoiding each other, the bond between us pulling tighter with every hour of separation. I trained in the hidden courtyard—sparring with shadow-doubles, pushing my magic until my veins burned, trying to burn him out of my system. But it didn’t work. Every time I cast a spell, every time I called on my Thorn Magic, I felt him—his power, his presence, the echo of his touch.
By evening, I was raw. My magic was frayed. My body ached. And the sigil on my collarbone had spread further—thorned vines curling down my chest, across my ribs, the dark lines pulsing faintly with every breath.
I returned to his chambers. The east room was still untouched. I didn’t go in. I sat on the edge of his bed instead, my fingers tracing the sigil, my mind racing.
What was I doing?
I was supposed to be destroying the Concord. Not falling apart over a man who represented everything I hated.
And yet—
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him. Not the monster. Not the enforcer. But the man who’d flinched when I spoke of the hybrid in the hall. The man who’d cracked when he spoke of his mother. The man who’d kissed me like he was starving for me.
I hated that I saw him.
I hated that I cared.
A knock at the door.
I didn’t look up. “Come in.”
The door opened. Lira stepped inside, but she wasn’t alone.
She was followed by a woman I’d never seen before.
Tall. Pale. Dressed in blood-red silk that clung to every curve. Her hair was black as midnight, her lips painted the same deep crimson. But it was her eyes that caught me—violet, sharp, and filled with a quiet, dangerous amusement.
“Vera,” Lira said, her voice tight. “This is Elowen. Mistress of House Valen.”
My blood turned to ice.
House Valen. One of the Blood Houses. Vampires. Old, powerful, and deeply entrenched in the Concord.
And this woman—Elowen—was looking at me like I was a problem she was already planning to solve.
“I’ve heard so much about you,” she said, her voice a velvet purr. “The Thorn Witch. The High Warden’s fated mate.” She let the word hang in the air, dripping with implication. “How… tragic.”
“Tragic?” I asked, standing slowly.
“That you’re not real,” she said, stepping closer. “That you’re just a lie wrapped in illusion. A rebel with a grudge and a death wish.”
My magic flared—dark vines snaking up my arms. “You don’t know me.”
“I know enough,” she said, her smile widening. “I know you’re not who you say you are. I know you came here to destroy the Concord. And I know—” she leaned in, her breath cold against my ear—“that Kaelen will grow tired of you. He always does.”
I shoved her back. “Don’t touch me.”
She laughed—low, musical. “Oh, he’ll touch you. But not for long.”
“Get out,” I said, my voice a blade.
She didn’t move. “He fed me under the Blood Moon once. Tasted divine.” Her hand drifted to her neck, where a faint scar—no, a bite mark—peeked from beneath her collar. “He likes it when I scream.”
My stomach dropped.
Lira stepped between us. “Elowen. You’ve said enough.”
Elowen’s smile didn’t waver. “I’ve only just begun.” She turned back to me. “You think you’re special? You think you’re the first woman to catch his eye? He’ll use you. He’ll break you. And when he’s done, he’ll move on.”
“Get. Out.”
She finally stepped back. “With pleasure.” She glanced at Lira. “We’ll talk later, darling.” Then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.
I stood there, my breath coming fast, my magic still flaring, my skin burning.
“She’s dangerous,” Lira said quietly.
“I can handle her,” I snapped.
“No, you can’t,” she said. “She’s not just a vampire mistress. She’s a spy. A manipulator. And she’s close to Kaelen.”
“Not anymore,” I said. “He’s mine.”
Lira turned to me, her eyes sharp. “Are you sure about that?”
“I don’t care if she thinks they were lovers,” I said. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It does,” Lira said. “Because she’s already spreading rumors. Saying you’re unstable. That you attacked her. That you’re not fit to be the High Warden’s mate.”
“Let her talk,” I said. “No one will believe her.”
“They will,” Lira said. “Because she’s not alone. She’s got allies in the Blood Houses. And if they turn the Council against you—”
“Then I’ll fight them,” I said. “I came here to burn the system. I’m not afraid of one vampire with a grudge.”
Lira studied me. “You should be.”
She reached into her sleeve and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. “She’s not just talking, Vera. She’s acting.”
I took it. Unfolded it.
And my blood turned to ice.
It was a photograph. Not a mortal one. A fae glamour-image, captured in silver mist. Kaelen, shirtless, his chest marked with claw-like scratches. And Elowen, half-naked, straddling him, her head thrown back in ecstasy, her mouth open in a silent scream.
The date stamp glowed faintly in the corner.
Three nights ago.
“It’s fake,” I said, my voice shaking. “It has to be.”
“Maybe,” Lira said. “But it’s convincing. And it’s already circulating. The Blood Houses are whispering. The Council is watching. And if they start to believe you’re not in control—”
“I am in control,” I said, crumpling the photo in my fist.
“Are you?” Lira asked. “Because right now, you’re trembling. Your magic’s flaring. And your sigil—” she reached out, brushing her fingers over the thorned vines on my collarbone—“it’s spreading faster. The bond’s destabilizing. You need him, Vera. And if you don’t get to him soon, it’ll consume you.”
I swallowed hard. “I don’t need him.”
“Liar,” she said, her voice soft. “You’re dripping with his hunger, darling. And if you don’t do something soon, you’ll lose everything.”
She turned to leave.
“Lira,” I said, my voice breaking.
She stopped.
“What do I do?”
She looked back at me, her eyes filled with pity. “You go to him. 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, the crumpled photo in my fist, the sigil burning on my skin, 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.