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According to the legend Caspian uncovered, a mate’s blood had the most potent effect beneath the full moon.

Well… no surprise there. And as luck would have it, the full moon was tomorrow. That worked in our favor, but the ritual itself was riddled with risk. It required Hadrian to be disconnected from all monitoring equipment, leaving him completely vulnerable in exchange for the privacy the ceremony demanded. The ritual was meant to be performed between mates alone, undisturbed. That part, at least, I could agree with. The last time we exchanged blood… well, I wouldn’t have wanted an audience for that either.

Still, unease gnawed at me. What if we removed Hadrian from life support because we placed our faith in an old legend—only for him to slip away because of it?

I asked Caspian if I could read everything he had found on the subject. Without hesitation, he agreed and brought me the centuries-old tomes that spoke of "mates" among vampires. As I pored over the brittle pages, my heart pounded. The way the bond was described felt eerily familiar. Unlike the werewolves' connection—an undeniable force woven with raw passion—the vampire bond was far more subtle. It was less about an overwhelming wave of desire and more about an inexplicable attachment, a sense of belonging to another without truly understanding why.

That was exactly how I had felt when I first laid eyes on Hadrian.

He was the first man who had ever stirred something deep within me. Even now, as I recalled that moment, I knew—I would have followed him anywhere. The pull had been magnetic, impossible to resist, though I had tried time and time again. So had he. He had hurt me before… more times than I could count. But what if he had done it not out of cruelty, but because he couldn’t comprehend his own emotions? What if he had been desperate to prove—to himself, to me—that he was the one in control of his fate?

It didn’t make his choices any less painful. It didn’t excuse them. But we had both blamed our connection on the blood bond, and even after I severed it… nothing had changed.

So what if… what if we truly were meant to be?

The thought filled me with cautious hope, but it did little to steady my nerves. As the ritual drew closer, my body trembled with anxious energy, making it impossible to focus. The nobles were growing restless—Lucian, Gareth, and I had spun them a tale, assuring them the King would wake any day now. A lie we had been maintaining for a week. They were suspicious, and that was precisely why the ritual had to be kept a secret. No one could know we were staking everything on a legend.

Only six people were privy to the truth: Caspian, Freya, Gareth, Lucian, myself… and Varen—because Freya had told him before we could stop her.

The ritual was set for nine o’clock. Caspian planned to remove the final pieces of medical equipment twenty minutes prior. To ensure we weren’t interrupted, we had issued strict orders: from eight o’clock until dawn, no one was permitted to enter the King’s floor under any circumstances.

At five minutes to nine, I stood outside Hadrian’s chamber, clad in a black silk nightgown, a dagger clutched in my hand. My breath caught as I watched Caspian carry out the last piece of machinery. That was it.

There was no turning back.

“Good luck.” Caspian placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder before disappearing into the dimly lit corridor.

And then… I was alone.

I stepped inside and shut the door behind me. The room was quiet—too quiet. Hadrian lay motionless on the bed, his body partially covered by the sheets, exposing the powerful curve of his shoulders. Moonlight streamed through the window, casting a soft glow across his pale face, making him look almost serene. Almost… distant.

But that distance only made the ache in my chest deepen.

His heart was still beating—but faintly, weakly. Time was slipping away, and I couldn’t afford to hesitate. I climbed onto the bed beside him, reaching out with trembling fingers to trace the familiar planes of his cold face.

God, I missed him.

With a shaky breath, I placed an empty glass on the bedside table. Then, steadying my hand over it, I gripped the dagger, pressing the blade deep into my palm. A sharp hiss escaped me as warm blood spilled into the glass.

"Please… let this work," I whispered, swallowing hard before bringing the rim to my lips.

I leaned over Hadrian, parting his lips gently, and let my blood flow into his mouth. Tilting his head slightly, I ensured every drop made its way down his throat. Then I sat back… and waited.

Nothing happened.

Dread curled around my chest, squeezing the air from my lungs. My gaze darted to my palm—already healed. No. I couldn’t let this fail. Without a second thought, I sliced deeper this time, wincing at the sharp sting. Clenching my teeth, I forced the blood out, watching as it filled nearly half the glass.

Again, I fed him, tipping the crimson liquid past his lips in careful, measured sips. I didn’t stop until I was certain he had taken every last drop.

And then… silence.

I sat on the edge of the bed, trembling, my fingers gripping the empty glass so tightly I thought it might shatter.

“Hadrian,” I whispered, my voice unsteady. “Hadrian, please… my blood should heal you. Please… come back to me.”

My voice cracked.

I sucked in a ragged breath, forcing air through my constricted throat.

He wasn’t moving.

Even his scent—his presence—seemed to be fading.

“No,” I exhaled desperately, panic tightening its grip around my chest. “No! You have to wake up now! I know you’re my mate, my destiny… my life!” My voice cracked, raw with pain.

I grasped his shoulders, shaking him, willing him to react—to give me something, anything. But every passing second only deepened the agony, feeding my fear until it twisted into something sharper, something darker.

Anger.

“Why did you have to be such an idiot?!” I yelled at his still face, my voice shaking with fury and despair. “You should have known there’s no one more important to me than you! You should have just killed Jarred! Did you spare him for my sake?! Is that what this is?! Why the hell did you do that?! Are you fucking stupid?!”

The weight of helplessness slammed into me, and suddenly, the fight drained from my limbs. My tears spilled freely, heavy and burning, landing on our entwined fingers as I clung to Hadrian’s hand.

“I love you…” I whispered, my voice barely more than a breath. “I’ll count to five… If you don’t wake up by then, it’ll mean I was wrong… that we were never destined at all.”

The countdown wasn’t for him—it was for me. A final thread to cling to before I forced myself to let go.

Shivering, I released his hand, wiping my face with trembling fingers before closing my eyes.

“One.” I spoke cautiously, knowing that every number would bring me closer to the inevitable.

I waited, straining for any sign, any change.

“Two…” The word caught in my throat.

I sharpened my senses—listening, feeling—and froze.

His heartbeat.

I couldn’t hear it anymore.

The world tilted, and a crushing pressure wrapped around my chest. My breaths turned frantic, shallow, gasping, but they weren’t enough. I was suffocating. A sickening wave of nausea rolled through me.

“Three,” I choked out, my voice unsteady.

Then—his scent.

His warmth.

And suddenly, I felt him.

Strong arms encircled me, pulling me against a body that was solid, warm, real. Soft lips brushed against my hair, then my eyelids, my cheeks.

Could it be real?

I hesitated, terrified to open my eyes, terrified that it was all in my mind—that I had already lost him.

Then his voice, hoarse and low, sliced through the chaos inside me.

“Thalassa.”

My heart stopped.

My eyes flew open, and there he was—Hadrian. His face, illuminated by the faint moonlight, bore a fragile smile. He was sitting up, alive, breathing, awake.

A sharp gasp tore from my lips as my trembling hands slid around his bare waist. I held him tightly, my mind reeling, unable to trust my senses. But when his arms tightened around me, the warmth of his body sinking into mine, the reality of it shattered every doubt.

“You’re the only one who gets to curse me, my Queen,” he murmured against my hair.

I pulled back to search his face, my eyes wide with disbelief. “You… heard?”

A wicked smirk curled his lips.

I shoved him away. “I can’t believe you were awake and let me cry my heart out for you!”

His laughter rumbled through the space between us before he pulled me back into his arms. “I wasn’t awake,” he admitted, voice like velvet. “I just heard my Queen calling… and you brought me back.”

A fresh wave of tears spilled down my cheeks, but this time, they weren’t from despair. My fingers clutched at his back, unwilling—unable—to let go.

“You’re my mate,” I swore, my voice breaking between the sobs I couldn’t hold back. “I’ll always find a way to bring you back.”

He pressed his lips to my temple, his breath warm against my skin. “I won’t leave you again,” he vowed, his grip tightening. “Not even if you want me to.”

It was only when I heard the slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat against my ear that my trembling stopped.

This wasn’t a dream.

This was my reality—my sweetest, most impossible reality.

My King.

My mate.

Hadrian had come back to me.

That night, I never left his embrace. We didn’t make love, but we cherished each other in every way that mattered. We held on, savoring the closeness, tracing each other’s skin with reverent touches, exchanging soft kisses like whispered promises.

It was the most beautiful, sleepless night of my life.