The floor is a single expanse of mirror-polished obsidian and across it, drawn with painstaking care, is a pentagram written in my own blood.
It gleams wetly, each line precise, each angle aligned with key points that only a Don of the Bleeding Court would know how to mark. Sigils spiral outward from its center—glyphs of severance…reversal…sacrifice.
The air hums with restrained power—thick enough to taste—coppery and sharp at the back of my tongue.
Whistler stands beside me, hands clasped behind his back, boots carefully placed just outside the outermost ward.
“You’re sure about this, my Lord?” he asks quietly, eyes flicking from the sigils to my face. “You’re really going to give up your Curvy Queen after you went to so much time and effort and expense to get her here in the first place?”
“I have no choice,” I say. “You know as well as I that there must be a sacrifice to call a reverse portal.”
My voice echoes more than it should—my blood magic has awakened it in a way it hasn’t been in centuries.
“True, true…” Whistler nods slowly, rubbing his chin. “But this is a big one—giving up your Fated Mate. That’s something no man should have to do.”
“Enough!” I growl. The chandeliers tremble, crystal chiming softly as my temper leaks into the wards. My heart is sore enough already—I don’t want to discuss it.
Whistler falls silent at once, wisely so, and I turn my gaze back to the sigil at my feet before my expression can betray me.
Fated Mate.
The words scrape raw places inside me I did not know still existed.
Last night bound me to Julia in ways no ritual could undo. The partial bond—born of blood, desire, and shared need—has already taken root. I can feel it like a thread pulled taut beneath my skin, humming with her presence even now. When she leaves, that thread will not break cleanly.
It will fray…it may even pull me apart.
I know the cost. I have known it since the moment I resolved to let her go.
I may fade—slowly, imperceptibly at first but then faster until I am gone altogether. Or my Blood Lust may return unchecked, turning me into a raving monster. My strength may wane. Or I may simply end myself one night, when the silence grows too loud and the bond aches too deeply.
But none of that can be helped. Julia would never forgive me if I allowed her friend to be taken. And I would never forgive myself.
Honor is not a luxury—it is the core of who I am. Without it, a Don is nothing but a monster with territory.
I straighten, clasping my hands behind my back, forcing steadiness into my posture.
At least I can give her a future.
She will return to the Human Realm untouched by the politics of the Shadow Courts and her friend will be safe from Don Malthus. Julia will be free to live, free to laugh, free to grow old surrounded by those who love her. I cannot walk beside her there, but I am not powerless.
I cannot cross the barrier between our worlds but there are watchers I can set—guardians who will never reveal themselves. Accounts seeded quietly and wealth that will appear when she needs it.
She will never know how closely she is guarded—that is as it should be.
Still—Gods help me, I want to hold her one last time.
I want to breathe her in…to memorize the warmth of her body…to hear the sound of her voice saying my name. I want to press my forehead to hers and beg her to stay, even though I know I must never speak that word.
The pentagram awaits…the sacrifice must happen.
I lift my head, drawing in a steadying breath.
“Make ready,” I tell Whistler quietly. “When they arrive, we will not delay.”
Because if I wait any longer…
I may not have the strength to let her go.
