16. Chapter 16

16

Chapter 16

Mia

I wake with a jolt, my heart racing. Moonlight streams through my bedroom window, but everything feels…different.

Maybe it’s because it’s been so long since I was back at my old apartment. Mom and Dad kept it just as I’d left it before I was taken, yet everything feels different somehow. As if I’m seeing it through new eyes.

My skin tingles in an unsettling way, and Gran’s warnings about dark paths echo in my mind.

Something has changed. I can’t put my finger on it, but it’s something big.

Is it the blood magic?

I press my hand to my neck where Soren’s dream-bite still throbs. The mark shouldn’t be real – it was just a dream. Yet here it is, tangible proof of what happened between us. Our connection pulses stronger than ever, a constant awareness of him humming through my veins.

Rising from bed, I catch my reflection in the mirror and freeze. My eyes seem brighter, almost luminescent. The pallor I’ve carried since my escape has given way to a subtle flush. Even my movements feel different – more fluid, more certain.

I close my eyes and reach for Soren through our bond. His wall is still there, but it feels…thinner. Like tissue paper instead of steel. Behind it, I sense turmoil and grief, so intense it makes my chest ache. Something’s happened to him, something that’s shattered his carefully maintained control.

“Yes, something has definitely changed,” I murmur to myself as I lean closer to examine the bite marks.

I know it was wrong to resort to dark magic to reach him, but I was desperate. I should feel scared or guilty about crossing that line, but instead, I feel…powerful. Complete. As if a piece of me that was missing has finally clicked into place.

“Dark magic is forbidden for a reason. It corrupts everything it touches,” Gran’s voice rings in my memory. But this doesn’t feel like corruption – it feels like possibility.

Unless this is something else.

The blood bond.

Rowan and Darick had spoken about it. And now, Gran says my bond with Soren has been sealed.

Is that what I’m feeling?

I consider the implications of this. If Soren dies, I die. The thought should terrify me more than it does, but somehow it feels…right. Like we were always meant to be connected this way.

I trace the bite marks on my neck again, remembering the electric surge when his fangs pierced my skin in that dream-that-wasn’t-quite-a-dream. Even now, hours later, my body hums with the memory.

I could have used this knowledge to try to convince him to fight, to escape. If you die, I die too. But I didn’t. Because that’s not why I need him to live.

Closing my eyes, I let myself remember every moment in captivity when he showed me kindness. Small gestures at first – better care, better food, books to read. Then larger risks – stepping in when guards got aggressive, taking over the blood extractions so he could do it more gently. A year of quiet protection, building to the moment he finally helped me escape.

My hand presses against my chest, where I feel the echo of his heartbeat alongside my own. This connection between us – it’s more than just magic or prophecy or fate. It’s something we built together, choice by choice, risk by risk, until it became as natural as breathing.

Yes, if he dies, I die. But that’s not why I’ll fight for him. I’ll fight because, in that year of darkness, he became my light. Because every time our eyes met, every brush of his hand against mine, every moment of protection he offered at his own risk – it all meant something. Means something.

Sealing the bond just makes it official. Makes it permanent. Makes the stakes impossibly high.

“Soren,” I sigh, his name coming out like a breath. It hangs in the air. Air that feels like it’s beginning to crackle.

I sense him before I see him – a ripple in our connection, like a stone dropped in still water. Then he’s there, in my bedroom, his presence both solid and ethereal. The moonlight should make him look softer, but instead, it highlights the sharp angles of his face, the tension in his jaw.

“Maxwell is dead,” he says without preamble. The agony in his words takes the air from my lungs, and through our connection, I feel the raw edges of his grief.

“I’m so sorry, Soren,” I whisper. “Lucien?” I ask, though I already know the answer.

Soren nods, raking a hand through his disheveled dark hair. “He made it look like suicide. The trial…” He pauses, and I feel his struggle to maintain composure. “The trial is set for tomorrow at midnight. Lucien’s orchestrated everything. Without Maxwell’s testimony…”

“We can still fight this,” I start, but he cuts me off with a sharp gesture.

“You don’t understand. Lucien has the Assembly in his pocket. He’s eliminated the one person who could have exposed him, and now he’s moving to tie up loose ends.” His eyes meet mine, intense and haunted. “The trial is just a formality. The verdict has already been decided.”

“You were hoping you could protect us – me and Maxwell – by taking the blame.” Of course I’ve known it. I just want him to admit it.

“Yes.” He nods. “I’m so sorry, Mia. I did what I thought was right. But I can see that it’s pointless now. Lucien Marlowe operates on a level of deception that just can’t comprehend.”

“I know,” I say softly. “That’s because you are a good man, Soren. An honest man. And he is pure fucking evil.”

“Yes,” he says. The bond between us pulses with his fear – not for himself, I realize with startling clarity, but for me. Images flash through our connection: Maxwell’s ashes, the cold cruelty of Lucien’s planning, the growing isolation as former allies distance themselves.

“That’s why I’m here,” Soren continues, his voice low and urgent. “The Blackwoods are next. Your blood…it’s what he’s wanted all along. Maxwell wasn’t sacrificing me – he was protecting his entire line. Your family is the answer. I won’t let him take you again, Mia. I can’t.” His voice cracks. “I won’t be there to protect you next time.”

“I’m not afraid of Lucien Marlowe,” I say, reaching my hand up to cup his cheek. Something twitches at the edges of my consciousness as I say it. Something dark and dangerous. Marlowe better not threaten what is mine.

Soren reaches up and rests his hand over mine, where it cradles his cheek. He leans into my palm for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut.

God. So much pain.

I imagine how I’d feel if I lost Mom or Dad. The mind-numbing grief. Only his link with Maxwell lasted hundreds of years. It must feel as if a part of himself has been ripped away.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper again, stepping up to him and sliding my arms around him, pulling him close.

For a long moment, Soren just stands in my embrace, his face buried in my hair. I feel the subtle tremors running through his body – centuries of control cracking under the weight of his grief. My heart aches for him. Through our bond, his pain flows into me like a dark tide.

My sweet, sweet man…

I tilt my face up, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. His breath catches. When I pull back slightly to look at him, the raw vulnerability in his eyes makes my chest tight.

“Let me help,” I whisper, rising on tiptoes to brush my lips against his again. The kiss is tender, gentle – an offering of comfort rather than passion. His mouth is cool against mine but warms quickly as I linger there.

He makes a sound deep in his throat, his arms tightening around me. The kiss deepens naturally, need threading through the tenderness. His tongue traces the seam of my lips, and I open to him with a soft sigh.

This man. This beautiful, complicated man who protected me for a year in that horrible place. Who defied his maker and put his life on the line to free me. Who’s now willing to die to keep me safe.

My fingers thread through his dark hair as the kiss grows heated. His hands slide down my back, pulling me closer until I’m pressed fully against him. The hard planes of his body align with my curves perfectly, as if we were made to fit together this way. Maybe we were.

“Mia,” he breathes against my mouth. The word holds volumes – need and warning and surrender all at once.

“I’ve got you,” I tell him, walking backward toward my bed. “Let me take care of you.”

He follows, his eyes never leaving mine. When my legs hit the mattress, I sink down onto it, drawing him with me. He braces himself above me, hesitating.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he whispers.

In answer, I pull him down for another kiss. This one is deeper, hungrier. I pour everything I’m feeling into it – my gratitude for his protection, my fury at what’s been done to him, my determination to save him the way he saved me.

His control splinters. With a groan, he surrenders to the kiss, to my touch, to us. Our clothes fall away between increasingly desperate kisses. Each newly revealed inch of skin demands to be touched, tasted, treasured.

I trail my fingers over the thick muscles of his broad chest, marveling at how someone so powerful can feel so vulnerable under my hands. His own touch is reverent, as if he can’t quite believe I’m real. Although, in this moment, I’m not. This is yet another fantasy that blurs the lines between reality and dreaming.

“You’re everything,” I whisper against his throat. “Everything.”

He shudders as I press open-mouthed kisses along his jaw, down his neck. His hands tangle in my hair as I explore him with lips and tongue and gentle teeth.

Through our bond, I feel his pleasure spiral higher. It feeds my own, creating an endless loop of sensation.

His hands slide up my ribs, and I melt into his touch with a soft gasp. The cool brush of his fingers against my sensitive flesh sends shivers through me. He takes his time exploring, mapping every curve and hollow. My breasts, my belly, the swell of my mound.

When his mouth follows the path of his hands, I clutch at his shoulders, trembling. His tongue traces patterns that make me writhe beneath him. The contrast between his cool lips and my flushed skin is exquisite torture.

“God, Soren, I need you so badly.” I’m gasping as I reach between us, finding his cock hard and ready. He groans against my skin as I stroke him, his hips rocking instinctively into my touch.

His fingers trail lower, teasing and exploring. I gasp his name as he finds my clit with his thumb, then slides his fingertip between my folds. The dual sensations of his skilled touch and our shared arousal through the bond are almost overwhelming.

“Please,” I whisper, guiding him where I need him most. He understands, shifting to align our bodies perfectly. When he finally sinks into me, the connection blazes white-hot between us.

I cry out at the perfect fullness, the rightness of him inside me. His forehead presses against mine as he starts to move, our breaths mingling. The bond pulses with each thrust, pleasure building in waves.

“Mine,” I gasp, raking my nails down his back. “You’re mine.”

“Yours,” he agrees roughly. “Always yours.”

The admission breaks something loose in both of us. Our movements grow frantic, desperate. I arch beneath him, taking him deeper, wanting to crawl inside his skin.

When his fangs graze my throat, I bare my neck in offering. “Please,” I beg. “Drink from me…”

He sinks his teeth into my flesh at the same moment I fall apart around him. The pleasure is blinding, overwhelming. At the same time, I can feel his pleasure rising, almost as if it’s my own. By the time his release crashes through him, I’m riding an overwhelming wave of bliss.

In that moment, we are one being. One heart. One soul. The connection between us burns away everything else – all the fear and pain and uncertainty – leaving only this perfect oneness.

As we come down slowly, he licks the puncture wounds closed with infinite tenderness. I stroke his hair, his back, anywhere I can reach. His weight anchors me as our breathing gradually steadies.

“I won’t let them take you from me,” I tell him fiercely. “We’ll find a way.”

He raises his head to look at me, his eyes glowing softly in the darkness. I see the protest forming on his lips and silence it with a kiss.

“No,” I say firmly. “You don’t get to sacrifice yourself. Not for me. Not for anyone. We fight together or not at all.”

A ghost of a smile touches his mouth. “So stubborn,” he murmurs, but there’s wonder in his voice.

“You knew that when you fell in love with me,” I say, then freeze as I realize what I’ve admitted.

His smile grows. “I did,” he agrees softly. “Just as you knew what you were getting into when you fell in love with me.”

Joy blooms in my chest, bright and fierce. I pull him down for another kiss, pouring all my love into it. He responds with equal fervor, and soon, we’re lost in each other again.

Let Lucien come for us. Let the whole world try to tear us apart. They’ll learn what happens when you threaten what belongs to a Blackwood witch.

We’ll find a way. We have to.

Because I’m not letting anyone take him from me. Not the Council, not Lucien, not death itself.

He is mine, and I am his, and that’s all that matters.