Chapter 6 What Have You Done
Kaelen's POV
The mark burns over my heart like a brand.
Through it, I feel everything her terror, confusion, desperate need to escape. The bond hums between us like a live wire, and I hate that I can feel it. Hate that part of me wants to comfort her instead of calculating how to minimize the damage she's caused.
Thorne, Thaddeus repeats, circling Lyra like a predator. That name sounds familiar.
I'm nobody. Just a registered donor. I got lost. Smart girl, keeping her eyes down. No sudden movements. Playing the part of frightened livestock perfectly.
How unfortunate. Thaddeus stops directly in front of her. His silk-gloved hand reaches toward her collarbone right where the mark hides beneath her white dress.
Every vampire instinct I possess screams to intervene. To stop him before he touches her.
I crush the urge ruthlessly.
Councilor, I say, my voice cutting through the ritual chamber like a blade. The girl has given her testimony. Unless you have actual evidence of wrongdoing, I believe the Council has more pressing matters to attend to. The Winter Solstice celebration continues in our absence.
Thaddeus's ancient eyes shift to me. Calculating. Suspicious. How interesting. The Winter Prince, defending a nobody donor. His smile doesn't reach his eyes. Tell me, Lord Nightshade, why do you care what happens to this particular human?
It's a trap. I see it clearly. If I show too much interest, he'll investigate further. If I show none, he'll examine her anyway and discover the mark.
I don't care, I say flatly. The lie tastes like ash on my tongue. But interrogating every human who gets lost in the Crimson Spire wastes valuable Council resources. We have a celebration to complete, territory disputes to settle, and blood contracts to approve. Shall we debate the wanderings of one confused donor all night?
Through the bond, I feel Lyra's hurt at my cold dismissal. The way my words cut her.
I ignore it. I have to.
How pragmatic, Thaddeus says, studying my face for any crack in my composure. Very well. The girl may go. He turns back to Lyra, and I see the calculation in his eyes. He's not done. But do be more careful where you wander, Miss Thorne. The Crimson Spire can be dangerous for those who see things they shouldn't.
The threat is crystal clear.
Lyra nods once and moves toward the door. Every step she takes tears at the bond, pulling it tighter. The mark burns hotter, protesting the distance.
One more thing.
Her footsteps falter.
Thaddeus pulls a faded photograph from his breast pocket. I believe I knew your mother. Elena Thorne, yes? She worked for me briefly before her... unfortunate accident.
Through the bond, I feel Lyra's grief and rage colliding like tidal waves.
Yes, she whispers. That was my mother.
Such a tragedy. She had such unique qualities. Remarkable blood composition, if I recall correctly. His eyes bore into her, searching. I often wondered if those traits might have passed to her children. Do you have any siblings, Miss Thorne?
The question is a knife aimed at her throat.
If she admits to having a sister, Thaddeus will know the moon blood trait could be in multiple family members. He'll hunt them all down systematically, the way he hunted Elena.
I'm alone, Lyra says, her voice barely audible. My mother was all I had.
She's lying. Protecting her sister with everything she has. And through the bond, I feel the fierce, protective love behind that lie love so strong it makes my chest ache with something I haven't felt in centuries.
I see. Thaddeus taps his obsidian cane once against the stone floor. Then you have my deepest condolences. You may go.
Lyra practically runs from the chamber.
The moment the door closes behind her, the bond stretches between us like wire pulled too tight. I can feel her location, her emotions, her terror. The mark pulses with every beat of her heart.
Lord Nightshade, Thaddeus says quietly, and the false sympathy is gone from his voice. That girl bears a striking resemblance to her mother. Elena had certain qualities that made her both valuable and dangerous. I'm sure you understand my concern.
Meaning?
Meaning I would hate to see history repeat itself. His smile is pure threat now. Keep your distance from Miss Thorne. For both your sakes.
He leaves, taking the other Council members with him. Their footsteps echo down the corridor until silence fills the ritual chamber.
I'm alone with the smell of burned blood still hanging in the air and the weight of consequences I can't escape.
The mark throbs over my heart. Through it, I feel everything, Lyra running through the Spire's corridors, desperate to reach her sister, absolutely certain I'm a monster who doesn't care if she lives or dies.
She's not wrong.
I've spent four hundred years being exactly that monster. Cold. Calculating. Untouchable. I've watched humans suffer and done nothing to stop it because getting involved meant risking everything I'd rebuilt after Seraphine died. After I learned that caring about someone truly caring could destroy you more completely than any physical wound.
And now this girl, this nobody donor with moonblood and fierce protective love, has shattered my carefully constructed walls in three drops of blood.
I touch the mark over my heart. It burns at the contact, and through the bond, I feel the echo of pain on Lyra's skin. She's touching hers too, probably staring at it in horror, trying to understand what's happened to her.
Connected. Permanently. Impossibly.
In twelve days, the mark will fully mature. When that happens, I'll face an impossible choice.
If I claim her, complete the bond and make her immortal, vampire law demands we both be executed. The Council will make it slow. Public. An example to anyone who might think about defying their authority.
If I reject her refuse to complete the bond she’ll die. Slowly. Painfully. The incomplete bond will tear her apart from the inside out, and through our connection, I'll feel every second of her agony. Every scream. Every moment of suffering.
There's no third option. No loophole. No escape.
I sink into a chair and let my head fall into my hands.
Four centuries of survival. Four centuries of being smart, careful, emotionless. Four centuries of never letting anyone close enough to hurt me again.
Destroyed in a single moment by a clumsy human who stumbled into the wrong room.
Through the bond, I track her location. She's outside the Crimson Spire now, running through December snow in nothing but that thin white dress. The temperature is below freezing. She's shaking violently. Crying. Terrified.
And part of me, the part I thought had died with Seraphine four hundred years ago, wants to go after her. Wants to wrap her in my coat and carry her somewhere warm. Wants to promise her that everything will be okay.
But nothing will be okay.
In twelve days, one of us will die.
Or more likely, both of us will.
The bond hums steadily, that constant awareness of her presence. I feel the exact moment Lyra makes it home to her apartment in The Hollow. Her overwhelming relief. Her desperate need to hold her sister and confirm she's safe. Her absolute determination to protect Stella no matter what it costs.
Damn you, I whisper to the empty ritual chamber. Damn you for making me feel this.
But the mark only burns brighter in response.
Claiming me.
Changing me.
Connecting me to the one human who might destroy everything I've built.
Or save me from the monster I've become.