Page 1 of The Bound Blood
ONE
KAEL
The mark still burns.
Even now, with her lying motionless beneath the ward light, it pulses like a second heartbeat beneath my skin. I stand in the shadowed corner of the infirmary. Watching, like always. She's hard to look away from, even now.
Lindsay doesn’t stir. The blue glow of magic around her is faint now, barely visible, but it’s there—threading through the air like smoke, curling over her skin as though the Veil itself refuses to let her go. Or maybe it’s trying to take her back.
The bed she’s on looks too small, too fragile to hold something so dangerous.
And gods help me…sheisdangerous. Not that she looks it. No, she still has that edgy, innocent look about her. Like she tried to be different because she knew she wasn't the same as everyone else, but not because she was really trying to break any unwritten rules.
Her hair fans out over the pillow in blue tangles, cheeks paler than they should be, lips parted just enough to make her look peaceful. As if nothing happened, and she didn’t nearly unravel half the Academy from the inside out.
I clench my jaw. My fingers twitch at my side, shadows curling tight around me, waiting for my command. One order. That’s all it would take.
But I can’t do it. Not now. Not anymore.
The longer I look at her, the worse it gets. The mark on my palm, the one she left on me, flares in protest, as if it can feel what I’m thinking. As ifitknows what I was sent to do.
Kill her.
End the threat before it becomes a full-blooded prophecy. But the prophecy never mentionedthis. Never mentionedher. Or the things she would make me feel.
A healer moves past me, oblivious to the war in my head. She mutters something about runic stabilization and exits the room without sparing a glance in my direction. Good. I don’t need more eyes on me, her half-blood friend is enough.
Tamsin's pretending not to watch me, but I know she's tracking my every move. I know that she's the kind of friend who would put herself in danger to protect Lindsay. If she thought I meant her harm, I wouldn't be allowed this close. At least not without killing her too.
Raiden’s tails twitch in the next cot over, his kitsune form still holding on. Nolan shifts slightly, a cut stitched up along his cheek, his hands still covered in gauze. I barely register them. Or Tamsin sitting next to Nolan's bedside.
They’re alive. That’s more than I expected. But they’re not the reason my chest aches. Not the reason I haven’t left this room since the moment I woke up hours ago.
She is.
And if I stay any longer, I’m going to do something I can’t take back. A decision I’m not even sure what side I’d fall on.
I step toward the bed. One more glance. One more breath of her sweet lavender scent. Her fingers twitch. It’s barely a movement, but my whole body locks in place. The Veil reacts—just a flicker, just a hiss of magic along the edge of the wards—but Ifeelit. Like she’s calling to something inside me that should never have answered.
It’s the same pull I felt every time she put herself in danger. I have to figure out this hold she has over me.
“Fuck,” I whisper, under my breath.
Then I turn and vanish into the shadows before I change my mind. I need answers. Even if it means facing the Courts and possibly my father.
Even if it means facing what I’ve become—weak for a girl that can’t even protect herself fully.
The portal opens for me with a sigh after a flick of my wrist.
I slip through the cracks between realms, shadow-stepping past stone and sky until the world shifts beneath my feet—until cold, ancient magic coats the air like frost. The demon realm doesn’t welcome. It devours. Unless you have nothing to lose, then it traps you in the depths until you realize you actually did have something worth keeping. Then it tortures you with the memory of whatever it was for eternity.
The obsidian gates of the lower Court rise like jagged teeth in the distance. I land outside them, heartbeat racing, my breath clouding despite the heat. Every time I come here, it feels more like a graveyard. Less like home.
A low voice cuts through the dark.
“Well, if it isn’tthefavorite son.”
I don’t need to look to know who it is. The oily smugness is unmistakable.
