Elira Vale woke up screaming.
Not because she remembered the blade.
Not because she remembered the chanting.
Because she could feel someone else breathing inside her.
Her eyes snapped open to a ceiling stained with water damage and age. Bare bulb. Concrete. The air was cold enough to sting, thick with iron and smoke. Her wrist throbbed. When she tried to sit up, nausea rolled through her so violently her vision greyed.
She clutched her wrist.
A strip of cloth had been tied around it. Not clean. Not medical. The blood had soaked through and dried dark. The cut burned like it had been kissed by fire.
Her mouth went dry.
Where am I?
The thought didn't stay private.
A low chuckle slid through her skull, intimate and calm, like it had been waiting for her to wake.
You are where they left what they could not kill.
Elira went rigid.
She did not move. She did not blink. Her heart hammered like it was trying to break out of her ribs.
The voice again, closer than her own pulse.
Try to pretend you didn't hear me. It won't help.
Her throat tightened. She swallowed and tasted metal.
"Get out of my head," she whispered.
The sound of her own voice made the room feel real, but it did nothing to make the voice go away.
This is my head now, too. A pause. Mild amusement. You opened the door.
"I didn't open anything," Elira rasped. "They forced me. They cut me. They—"
She remembered the darkness spilling up through the symbol like living ink. She remembered the weight that had pressed into the room. She remembered the way the silver-haired man's smile had faltered for the first time.
The bond does not give her freedom.
It gives him access.
Her stomach twisted.
She pushed herself up. Her body felt wrong. Heavy in some places, too light in others, like her senses were misaligned. The concrete floor was cold under her palms. Her fingers trembled. When she took a breath, it felt like it went deeper than it should, like it touched something it wasn't meant to touch.
The voice inhaled with her.
Her breath hitched.
"Stop that," she said, anger cutting through panic.
No, the voice replied. You are the vessel. I am the presence. Your body is the border between us.
Elira closed her eyes hard, trying to force the world back into something normal. She counted her breaths, the way she did with dying patients, the way she did with herself when the panic wanted to swallow her whole.
One.
Two.
Three.
The voice spoke again, softer.
I have been buried for centuries. Do you think I would leave because you asked?
Her eyes snapped open.
"Who are you?" she demanded.
A pause long enough to feel like a hand tightening.
Kael Thorn.
The name hit the air inside her like a stone dropping into deep water. It didn't echo in the room. It echoed in her bones.
King.
Elira's jaw clenched. "No. You're not—"
Do not lie to yourself. It wastes time.
She stood, unsteady. The room was small, a storage space or a basement. There was a single door and no window. A metal chair. A table with a bowl of water that looked untouched.
Someone had brought her here.
Someone had decided she should wake up.
And the people who did the ritual were still out there.
Her skin crawled.
Elira moved to the door and tried the handle.
Locked.
She twisted harder. Nothing.
A pulse of irritation slid through her blood, not hers, older and colder.
You will not break that door. Your hands are soft.
"Shut up," she spat.
The pressure behind her eyes returned, light at first, then sharper. Her vision blurred.
She staggered back, instinctively clutching her head.
"What are you doing to me?"
Teaching you what happens when you speak to me as if I were lesser.
Elira's breath came fast. Fear flashed. Then anger rose, hot and desperate.
"You can't punish me inside my own body."
A low laugh.
Your body is the reason I exist in this world again. It is not yours the way you think it is.
The words landed like a slap.
Elira swallowed hard and forced herself to stand straighter, even while her knees shook. She refused to fold. Not completely.
"Why me?" she whispered. "Why did it bind to me?"
Kael's presence shifted, like something significant turning its head.
Because your blood answered.
Elira stared at the door, at the invisible line beyond it, trying to make sense of something that could not be made clean.
"They wanted to control you," she said. "That's why they did it. They wanted to summon you and… use you."
Yes.
The single word was heavy.
"And it failed," Elira said, voice tightening. "Because you're bound to me instead."
It failed because they are arrogant. A pause. But it also failed because you were desperate.
Elira flinched. "That's not my fault."
Everything that happens next will be your fault if you refuse to learn.
Her stomach dropped.
"What happens next?" she asked.
Kael did not answer immediately.
The silence was worse than the voice.
Then, quietly, he said:
They will come.
Elira's spine went cold. "Who?"
The council. Their hunters. Their loyalists. Their frightened servants. Anyone who understands what went wrong. A faint edge of satisfaction. They will come for the vessel.
Elira's mouth went dry.
"They'll kill me."
Yes.
The honesty stunned her.
"You're not even going to pretend otherwise?"
Do you want comfort? Find a priest. His tone sharpened. You want survival. Listen.
Elira's hands curled into fists.
"Then tell me what to do."
Kael's presence pressed closer, not physically but internally, like his attention narrowed until it wrapped around her spine.
Rule one: You do not speak of me to anyone. Not even in prayer. Names have weight. Yours is already chained to mine. Do not add more chains.
Elira swallowed.
Rule two: You do not run unthinkingly. Distance does not free you. Distance weakens you.
Her stomach turned. "So I'm trapped."
Yes. Then, a pause that felt like a smile. And so am I.
Elira's throat tightened. "Then break it."
A cold amusement moved through her veins.
If I break it, you die. If they break it, you die. If you break it, you die.
Elira stared at the door, the locked handle, the concrete, the dim bulb.
She felt the truth settle in her like a stone.
She had no safe option.
She only had options that hurt.
She moved to the table, grabbed the bowl of water, and drank like she was trying to drown the panic. The water tasted stale. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
"What do you want?" she asked, voice rough. "Why are you here? What do you want from me?"
Kael's answer came smoothly, unhurried, like a blade sliding free.
Obedience.
Elira's hand froze mid-wipe.
"I'm not your—"
The pressure behind her eyes snapped hard. Her knees buckled. She caught herself on the table, gasping.
Careful, Elira Vale, Kael murmured. I am not a guest.
Her breathing shook.
She forced the words out anyway. "I won't be owned."
Silence.
Then Kael's voice dropped lower, the amusement gone.
You already are. They marked you for death. I marked you for a purpose. Choose which mark you prefer.
Elira's chest tightened until it hurt. She stood there trembling, furious, terrified, and sickened by the part of her that understood he was right.
A sound cut through the room.
Footsteps.
Not one person.
Several.
Outside the door.
Elira went still, eyes wide.
Kael's presence sharpened, predatory, suddenly awake in a way it hadn't been.
They found us, he said.
Elira's voice broke. "What do we do?"
Kael's answer was a whisper that felt like claws.
We do not beg.
The door rattled.
A key scraped in the lock.
Elira backed away, heart slamming, wrist throbbing, vision swimming.
And inside her, Kael Thorn smiled like a king returning to war.
Let them come.