I didn’t go to the east room.
Kaelen had given me a chamber—small, cold, untouched—but I couldn’t bring myself to cross the threshold. Not when the bond pulled so tight beneath my skin, a live wire humming with every beat of my heart. Every step away from him made my magic fray, my breath shorten, my body ache. The sigil on my collarbone had spread further overnight—thorned vines curling down my sternum, across my ribs, the dark lines pulsing faintly with need. It wasn’t just a mark anymore. It was a hunger. A demand.
And it wanted him.
I sat on the edge of his bed instead, my bare feet silent on the cold stone, my fingers tracing the sigil, my mind racing. Elowen’s face flashed behind my eyes—her violet gaze, her blood-red lips, the way she’d leaned in and kissed Kaelen’s neck like she had the right. Like she belonged there.
She didn’t.
And yet—
He hadn’t stopped her.
He’d said it was a test. That he needed to know if I’d come for him. That he wanted to see if I’d fight for what was mine.
And I had.
I’d walked into his chambers like a storm, my magic flaring, my voice a blade. I’d demanded answers. I’d let him touch me, let him kiss me, let him claim me in front of the Council. I’d stood there, trembling, as he pressed his palm to my chest and made the bond explode, proving to everyone that I was his.
And still—
Still, I wasn’t sure.
Because what if he’d let her touch him not to test me—but because he wanted it?
What if he’d used me to make her jealous?
What if I was just another pawn in his game of power and control?
I pressed my hands into my thighs, hard enough to leave marks. I couldn’t afford doubt. I couldn’t afford weakness. I had a mission. A vow. My mother had died for this. The rebels were counting on me. I couldn’t let a man—any man, even one who made my blood sing and my magic burn—derail me.
But the bond didn’t care about vows.
It didn’t care about justice.
It only cared about him.
A knock at the door.
I didn’t look up. “Come in.”
The door opened. Not Kaelen. Not Lira.
Dain.
The werewolf Beta stood in the threshold, his dark eyes scanning the room before settling on me. He wore simple leathers, his scarred hands loose at his sides, his presence quiet, unthreatening. But I felt the weight of him—the centuries of loyalty, the quiet observation, the way he’d watched Kaelen’s every move since we’d arrived.
“He’s in the war room,” Dain said, stepping inside. “Meeting with the Blood Houses. Won’t be back for hours.”
I nodded. “Good.”
He studied me. “You’re not sleeping.”
“Neither are you.”
“I don’t need to.”
“I do.”
“Not if you’re burning up with the bond.”
I didn’t answer.
He stepped closer. “You feel it, don’t you? The pull. The need. It’s not just magic. It’s biology. The Thorn and Bloom bond—it demands proximity. Touch. If you’re apart too long, it’ll consume you.”
“I can handle it.”
“You’re trembling,” he said, voice low. “Your magic’s flaring. The sigil’s spreading. You’re not just fighting the bond, Vera. You’re fighting him. And yourself.”
“I don’t want him.”
“Liar,” he said, not unkindly. “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.”
My breath caught.
“You don’t have to choose,” he said. “Not yet. But you can’t keep pretending this doesn’t affect you.”
“It doesn’t.”
He laughed—soft, knowing. “You’re dripping with his hunger, darling. I can smell it on you. Lavender and storm, yes—but underneath? Him. His need. Your want. It’s all over your skin.”
I flinched. “You sound like Lira.”
“She’s right,” he said. “And so am I. You need him. Not just for the bond. Not just for survival. But because he’s the only one who’s ever looked at you and seen you. Not a weapon. Not a rebel. Not a pawn. But Vera.”
My throat tightened.
He turned to leave. “The Moon Garden. Go there. He’ll come. And when he does—don’t fight it. Not this time.”
And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.
I sat there, my hands trembling, my skin burning, the bond screaming in my veins.
I didn’t want to go.
I didn’t want to see him.
But I couldn’t stay here.
Not while the ache in my chest grew with every breath.
So I stood.
And I walked.
—
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.
I stepped onto the moss, my bare feet silent, my breath shallow. The sigil on my chest burned, not with pain, but with need. My magic reached for his, a silent plea, a desperate pull. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold it in, trying to keep it from spilling out.
And then—
I felt him.
Not with my eyes. Not with my ears.
With my blood.
He was coming.
I turned.
Kaelen stepped into the garden, 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 here,” he said, voice low.
“You’re late,” I said, lifting my chin.
“Council business.”
“More lies?”
“Truth,” he said, stepping closer. “They’re testing me. Watching. Waiting to see if I’ll break.”
“And will you?”
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.
“I already have,” he said, voice rough. “The moment you walked into my hall.”
My breath caught.
“You think I don’t feel it?” he asked, stepping closer. “The bond. The pull. The way your magic reaches for mine. The way your body arches when I’m near—like it’s starving for me.”
“I’m not starving for you,” I whispered.
“Liar,” he said, one hand lifting, thumb brushing the pulse at my throat. “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, stepping into me. “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 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 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 soft. 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 hip, up my back, tangling in my hair. 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 tunic, fingers digging into the fabric.
“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—
His hand slipped under my robe.
Up my thigh.
Over my hip.
And higher.
My back arched. My breath came in a gasp. My body clenched around nothing, aching, needing. I could feel him—hard, ready, aching—pressed against me. 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 groaned—low, pained, pleased—and the sound went straight to my core.
My hands flew to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic. I wanted to rip it off. To feel his skin. To feel him inside me, claiming me, ruining me.
And then—
He stopped.
Just like that.
His hand stilled. His breath hitched. His fangs pulled back from my skin.
He lifted his head, his eyes blazing gold, his chest heaving. 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, his hand sliding from under my robe, his touch leaving fire in its wake. “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.
And that terrified me more than anything.