His Eternal Bond Was Never Mine

I stopped and turned, my face an icy mask. “What now?”

“It’s about the Rite of the Crimson Fountain.” He opened his eyes, and they held an unquestionable command. “I need to postpone it.”

“Why.” It wasn’t a question.

“Livia’s soul is still unstable with the bond. The blood-healer said the pure energy of the Crimson Fountain would be good for her.”

He paused, seeming to search for the right words.

The Rite of the Crimson Fountain. The highest honor. The moment we were supposed to receive the blessing of our ancestors in the clan’s sacred blood pool.

“So I’ve decided… she will undergo the rite in your place.”

If she undergoes the rite.

He said it so casually, as if he were rescheduling a meeting.

It was the highest honor for a Prince’s mate, the moment you received the blessing of the entire Coven.

A sacred moment we had dreamed of together.

My heart was numb.

I couldn’t even feel the pain anymore.

I answered in the calmest voice I could manage. “Fine.”

My silence seemed to unnerve him more than any screaming match would have. “You… have nothing to say?”

“No.”

“…Good.” A flicker of relief crossed his face, as if he’d been expecting a much bigger fight.

He continued in a business-like tone. “I’m taking Livia to a private estate outside Seattle. You handle the ceremony preparations. And don’t bother me with the details unless the sky is falling.”

He cut the link.

I walked to my alchemy lab.

It was once filled with vials of Eternal Blood I had carefully brewed for our ceremony, stored in precious crystal decanters.

I had imagined using them to fortify our bond, to protect our eternity.

Darius had never once set foot in here.

He’d said he wasn’t interested in “all these bottles and jars.”

Now, they were meaningless.

With a strangled cry, I grabbed the first precious vial—a potion of stilled starlight—and hurled it against the stone wall.

The sharp crack of shattering crystal and the rich scent of precious elixirs filled the air.

It was a funeral for a future that had already died.

Each one represented a betrayed hope.

When the last shard of stardust potion had settled, I took out my phone and opened the calendar.

Over the date I had marked countless times for the Rite of the Crimson Fountain, I drew a heavy, red X.

Countdown: twelve days.