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A future we may not get.

‘Yes,’ I whisper. ‘Always.’

His fangs pierce my throat.

Pain flashes bright, then pleasure floods after it, wild and holy and terrifying. He drinks, and the bond tears open wider. My blood pours into him. His mark burns against my chest where our bodies press together.

And Valentin follows me over the edge with a sound that shakes the wards. His body drives deep, muscles locking, his pleasure pouring through the bond until I cannot tell where mine ends and his begins.

Then as I’m beginning to climax again, he tears his own wrist with one fang and brings it to my mouth.

‘Drink,’ he says. ‘Now.’

I do.

His blood hits my tongue, and the world explodes and the Vault vanishes.

Netheris opens beneath us like a black mouth.

I’m falling and flying at once. Valentin is with me, inside me, around me, his body still locked to mine while our blood drags us through some impossible passage between life, death, curse and choice. I see red rivers. Bone-white shores. The Blood Chrysalis pulsing in the far dark like a heart made of crystal and sin.

A being turns inside it.

Morrighan?

Her eyes open, flaying vicious and gleeful into my heart.

Valentin’s arms tighten around me. No. His denial becomes a weapon as the bond flares.

Not yet.

The words come from both of us, in screams and roars.

Maybe it’s enough. Or it’s merely a reprieve. Either way, the Vault slams back into place and I come awake, gasping against his wrist.

My body burns. Then freezes. Then empties out in a rush so sudden I know this is the part Rowan warned us about. The mortal body cannot carry the first surge cleanly. The bond will pull me under. My heart may stop. Breath may leave. Valentin must hold me through it.

Easy enough on paper. Horrifying when my lungs forget their work.

‘Valentin,’ I choke.

He pulls away from my throat, blood on his mouth, eyes wide with panic. ‘I have you.’

My vision blurs as the candles stretch into long spears of light. Runes spin slowly under us. I clutch at his shoulders, but my grip is weakening.

‘No,’ he says. Very kingly. Very pointless.

I try to smile and fail.

His hand closes around my throat, gentle despite the terror in his eyes. Not choking. Holding. Feeling the pulse that stutters beneath his palm. His other arm lifts me from the stone as if my body weighs nothing, cradling me against him while blood slides between us.

‘Stay with me,’ he commands.

My lips part but no air comes.

His face breaks… Gods, it breaks. I watch blood tears track from his eyes, silver and red, glittering in the candlelight. The sight is so beautiful and awful that I want to tell him I’m sorry. That I love him. That if I die after seeing Valentin Moretti cry over me, then at least I’m leaving with excellent dramatic timing.

Nothing comes out but his voice enters my mind, raw enough to tear.