Updated Dec 29, 2025 • ~10 min read
POV: NOVA
The questions started the next day.
I’d ask them during training, over meals, in the quiet moments before sleep. And Dorian answered every single one with uncomfortable honesty.
“Why did you become the king’s general?”
“Necessity and pride. I was the strongest vampire in our territory. The king offered a position of power. I thought I could use it to prevent atrocities. Instead, I became the one committing them.”
“Have you killed other children?”
A pause. Then: “No. You were the first and only child I was ordered to kill. And I couldn’t do it. That small mercy is all that keeps me from complete self-hatred.”
“Do you regret marrying me?”
“Never. Not for a single moment.”
The honesty was brutal. But necessary.
Two weeks after I’d found the journals, everything changed.
I was training alone in our chambers—practicing forms Dorian had taught me, pushing my body past exhaustion because it was easier than thinking. The training had been particularly brutal that day, and I’d taken several hard hits.
I didn’t notice the bruising until later, when I was bathing. Dark marks across my ribs where Dorian’s practice sword had landed harder than intended. It hurt to breathe deeply.
When I emerged from the bathroom in sleeping clothes, Dorian took one look at me and stood immediately.
“You’re injured.”
“I’m fine. Just bruises.”
“You’re holding your ribs. I hit you too hard during training.”
“I told you not to hold back.”
“Not holding back doesn’t mean breaking your ribs.” He crossed to me, hands hovering like he wanted to check but didn’t dare touch. “Let me see.”
“It’s fine—”
“Nova. Please.”
The raw concern in his voice made me relent. I lifted my shirt slightly, revealing the dark bruises spreading across my right side.
Dorian’s expression went stricken. “I’m sorry. I should have been more careful.”
“You were teaching me to fight real opponents. Real opponents don’t pull their punches.”
“Real opponents also don’t care if they hurt you. I do.” He moved to the healer’s supplies we kept stocked—salves and bandages for training injuries. “Sit. Let me tend to this.”
I should have refused. Should have maintained the careful physical distance we’d established.
Instead, I sat on the edge of the bed.
Dorian knelt before me with the salve, his movements gentle as he touched the bruises. His hands were cool against my heated skin, surprisingly careful for someone who could kill with those same hands.
“Tell me if it hurts,” he said, smoothing salve over the worst of the bruising.
It did hurt. But also felt good—someone tending to me, caring for injuries, touching me without threat or demand.
Through the bond, I felt his guilt at causing pain, his desire to fix it, his careful control as he touched me with clinical precision.
“You don’t have to be so careful,” I said. “I’m not fragile.”
“I know. But I’ve hurt you enough. I’d prefer not to add to it.”
His hands continued their work, methodically covering each bruise. I found myself relaxing despite the intimacy, despite the bond flaring at the contact.
“There,” he said finally, starting to pull back.
But something made me catch his wrist. “Wait.”
He froze, dark eyes searching my face. “Nova?”
I didn’t know what I was doing. Didn’t have a plan. I just knew I was tired of the distance. Tired of fighting the bond every moment. Tired of pretending he was only a monster when he was so much more complicated than that.
“Thank you,” I said. “For tending to me. For being careful. For caring.”
“Always.”
We were close. Too close. I could see gold flecks in his dark eyes, could smell the cedar and darkness that clung to him, could feel the bond screaming to eliminate the last few inches between us.
“This is a bad idea,” I whispered.
“Terrible,” he agreed.
But neither of us moved away.
His hand came up slowly, giving me time to retreat, and cupped my face. His touch was gentle, reverent, like I was something precious instead of the daughter of a woman he’d killed.
“Nova,” he said, voice rough. “Tell me to stop.”
I should. Should push him away, maintain boundaries, remember everything he’d done.
Instead, I leaned in.
The kiss was soft at first. Tentative. Two people who’d circled each other for months finally giving in to gravity that had been pulling at us all along.
Then it deepened. His hands tangled in my hair. My hands gripped his shoulders. The bond exploded between us, twenty years of longing and guilt and need pouring through the connection.
I forgot to breathe. Forgot to think. Just felt—his mouth on mine, his hands careful even in passion, the way he let me control the pace while making it clear he’d give me anything I asked for.
When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, reality crashed back.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” I said.
“I know.”
“This doesn’t change anything.”
“I know.”
“I still haven’t forgiven you.”
“I know.” His thumb brushed my cheek. “But you wanted it anyway.”
I had. Despite everything, despite the history and pain and impossibility of us, I’d wanted to kiss him. Wanted to feel the mate bond without fighting it. Wanted to pretend, just for a moment, that we were simply two people instead of victim and perpetrator.
“This is so messed up,” I said.
“Extraordinarily.”
“We can’t do this. Can’t—” I gestured between us. “This.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m supposed to hate you!”
“You can do both. Hate me and want me. They’re not mutually exclusive.”
He wasn’t wrong. Through the bond, I could feel both—my rage at what he’d done alongside my undeniable attraction to who he’d become.
“I need to think,” I said, standing. “I need—”
A sound from the window stopped me. We both turned to see a shadow move outside.
Someone had been watching.
Dorian was at the window in a blur, looking out, but whoever it was had vanished.
“They’re gone,” he said, voice tight. “But they saw us. Saw the kiss.”
Dread pooled in my stomach. “Who?”
“I don’t know. But they’ll tell the council. Tell Isolde.”
As if summoned, a knock came at the door. Dorian opened it to find one of Isolde’s servants holding a summons.
The council requests your immediate presence. Both of you.
We exchanged glances. This couldn’t be good.
The council chambers were already full when we arrived. Every council member present, along with what looked like half the vampire court. This wasn’t a private meeting—it was a spectacle.
Isolde sat at the center, violet eyes gleaming with satisfaction.
“General Vale. Lady Nova. Thank you for joining us on such short notice.” Her smile was predatory. “We’ve received a rather… interesting report about activities in your chambers this evening.”
My stomach sank.
“Someone was watching us,” Dorian said flatly. “Spying through our windows. I assume that was on your orders?”
“The council has every right to monitor the political marriage. To ensure it’s being… fulfilled appropriately.”
“What my wife and I do in private is none of the council’s concern.”
“Isn’t it though? This marriage was arranged for political purposes. To bind vampire and wolf. If you’re not actually consummating the union—”
“What we do or don’t do is still private,” I cut in. “You don’t get to police our bedroom.”
“Actually, we do. The treaty requires this marriage to be legitimate. Which means eventual production of an heir.” Isolde’s smile sharpened. “We need assurance you’re working toward that goal.”
The implication was clear and humiliating.
“We kissed,” I said, voice hard. “That’s what your spy saw. Is the council really so desperate for gossip that you need reports on our affection?”
“A kiss suggests the relationship is progressing. Good. But the council requires more concrete proof of consummation.”
“You want us to what?” Dorian’s voice dropped to something dangerous. “Perform for witnesses? Provide evidence of intimacy?”
“If necessary.”
“Absolutely not.” He stepped forward. “My wife’s dignity is not up for debate. What happens between us stays between us.”
“Then how do we know the marriage is legitimate?”
“Because I’m telling you it is. Is my word suddenly worthless?”
The council members exchanged glances. Challenging the general’s honor was risky, even for them.
But Isolde wasn’t done. “The kiss your spy reported—was it forced? Or genuine?”
The question hung in the air, designed to trap us.
If we said forced, the marriage was invalid. If we said genuine, we’d have to explain why—which meant admitting the mate bond was affecting us.
“It was genuine,” I said before I could think better of it. “I kissed him willingly. No coercion.”
Shock rippled through the assembled vampires.
“Then you’ve chosen to be intimate with your family’s murderer,” Isolde said, faux sympathy dripping from her words. “How… surprising.”
“I’ve chosen to be intimate with my mate,” I corrected. “What he was doesn’t erase what he is now.”
“And what is he now?”
I looked at Dorian—at the man who’d kept journals full of guilt, who’d honored my mother’s last wish for twenty years, who’d tended my injuries with gentle hands just hours ago.
“He’s someone trying to be better,” I said. “Someone carrying twenty years of guilt. Someone who doesn’t excuse what he did but tries to atone for it anyway.” I met Isolde’s eyes. “He’s my mate. And how I feel about that is none of your concern.”
Silence fell. The council clearly hadn’t expected me to defend him.
Dorian’s hand found mine, fingers lacing together. Through the bond, I felt his gratitude, his surprise, his fierce protectiveness.
“The marriage is legitimate,” he said firmly. “My wife and I are building a relationship. It may not be conventional, but it’s real. And the council will respect our privacy going forward. Or we’ll have problems.”
The threat was clear.
Isolde looked like she’d swallowed something sour, but she nodded. “Very well. The council accepts your assurances. For now.”
As we left the chambers, I felt every vampire’s stare on our joined hands.
“You defended me,” Dorian said once we were alone. “In front of the entire council.”
“I defended us. There’s a difference.”
“Is there?”
I thought about it. “I don’t know anymore. Everything’s complicated.”
“Agreed. But Nova—” He stopped, pulling me around to face him. “Thank you. For what you said in there. For not denying the kiss or pretending it was a mistake.”
“It might have been a mistake.”
“But not one you regret?”
“I don’t know yet.”
He smiled. “That’s more than I expected.”
As we walked back to our chambers, hands still joined, the bond humming contentedly, I realized something:
I’d just publicly claimed Dorian as my mate. Not in anger or obligation, but as genuine acknowledgment of what was growing between us.
It terrified me.
But also felt right.
We’d crossed a line tonight. The kiss, the defense, the hand-holding.
There was no going back to simple hatred now.
We’d have to navigate whatever complicated thing this was becoming.
Together.
For better or worse.
And despite everything, I found myself looking forward to it.
Even if it was terrifying.
Even if it made no sense.
Even if it was the most impossible thing I’d ever tried.
At least I wouldn’t be doing it alone.
We’d face it together.
Me and my mate.
The monster who’d destroyed my life and the man trying to build a new one.
Both true.
Both real.
Both mine.
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