I didn’t have to turn to know who had entered.
“You should not have come here,” Kaelith said softly, almost bored.
I didn’t respond. Not at first. Instead, I looked down at her. At Aurelia.
At the hollow of her throat where breath still gathered like dew—shallow, too shallow. The sigils across her skin shimmered faintly, alive with echoes too old to be his craft. Runes that should have slept, stirring as though they remembered their first purpose. And beneath them… the change.
“You did something,” I said, finally turning. My voice was steady, but the shadows along the walls thickened. “What did you do?”
Kaelith leaned against the doorframe as if this were some minor interruption to his evening. His tunic hung loose, streaked with blood.
“My father,” he began, voice unhurried, “once told me the only way to end the rot of the past was to change the vessel that carried it.” His mouth curved faintly, like the memory amused him. “The blood of the old gods is too fractured. Too fragile. But change the vessel—mold it in time—and the burden can be carried.”
His eyes moved to Aurelia. And for a heartbeat, reverence softened his face. “She is my beginning, Malachi. And their end.”
I stilled.
Their.
He offered no explanation. And that silence said enough.
“She wasn’t marked the way she needed to be,” he went on, colder now. “If she’d gone to Synnex as she was, she would have died. I saw it. So I did what had to be done.”
“You didn’t.” My voice came taut, quiet as wire.
“I didn’t drain her,” he said lightly. “Only a taste. And because I’m not selfish, I gave her a taste as well.”
A breath caught in my throat. “You know what that means.”
“Yes.” He stepped nearer to the bed, gaze locked on her. “She’s changing. Becoming what she was always meant to be. Not yours. Not theirs.Mine. My conduit. My claim to the new order. My wife.”
“No.” The word burned out of me. “She never chose this.”
“I didn’t force her to drink,” he said. “The bond was offered. She took it. Her body chose. And now she’ll rise a Vampyre, just like us.”
Long ago, Vampyre bonds were forged only through ritual—sanctioned by the gods and sealed in blood. A sacred vow, made at death’s threshold. Always consensual.
To forge it without will meant risking more than death. It meant madness. Fragmentation. Two souls tangled until neithercould claim dominion. Shadows bleeding together until one no longer knew which belonged to whom.
“She could die,” I said, the words clipped and raw. “Or worse—lose herself. Her shadow will not be hers alone. It will carry you too.”
“Maybe that’s the point,” he murmured.
I stepped closer. “You’ve condemned her.”
“I’ve changed her.” His eyes glinted. “She’ll be something the gods can’t touch.”
“She was already marked,” I snapped. “Scarred by the Nightmother herself. She carried more than you’ll ever understand.”
“And it was fragile—mortal,” he bit back. “She needed strength. Permanence. I gave it to her.”
He circled to the foot of the bed, fingertips brushing the carved wood.
Then he smiled—hollow, cruel. “And gods, Malachi… she is unlike anything I’ve ever tasted. I’d say you should try it, but you’ve always been so dull when it comes to sharing.”
The shadows inside me twisted, hungry for his throat.
“If she survives,” I said, voice low, “you’ve made her more dangerous than even you can fathom.”