Page 44 of Frozen Star (Star Touched: Fae Bound #7)

“Let’s not keep them waiting,” I say, my voice deceptively calm as we move to the pile of our clothes and put them back on.

Because each step away from our secluded alcove makes my jaw tighten and my muscles coil with barely contained resentment.

Every fiber of my being demands I pull her back into the darkness, beyond the reach of anyone other than me.

But reluctantly, I walk with her and Nyx down a winding path through the forest, toward the Blood Coven’s new headquarters.

The Victorian mansion looms against the night sky, its spires and turrets reaching like skeletal fingers toward the stars. Once, this place was forgotten, a crumbling relic of a time long past. Now, it’s transformed into something powerful, worthy of the creatures who dwell within.

Together, Zoey and I enter the mansion’s grand foyer, its polished wood floors and silver chandeliers casting light across velvet-draped walls.

Dozens of black candles flicker throughout the space, and at the center, an obsidian altar looms, reflective and cold, like a twisted mirror of the darkness inside me.

Every head turns, every gaze locking on us.

My arm slides around Zoey’s waist, pulling her against me as I survey the gathering.

Benjamin stands near a table of ancient texts.

Tristan and Willow converse in low voices near the fireplace.

Morgan stands near the altar with her boyfriend Blaze, wearing the cloak she never seems to take off, making her look every inch the mysterious witch she is.

Zara arranges ceremonial daggers on a silver tray, and Evelyn, Amber’s grandmother, watches everyone with calculating eyes that tend to go unnoticed against her aging skin.

But it’s the two figures flanking the far wall that draw my attention. The Nightmare Weaver and Night Keeper, fellow night fae who have survived centuries in hiding. They’re the ones who connected the Blood Coven to the Night Court, who started to forge the alliance that would never grow to exist.

“Prince Aerix,” the Nightmare Weaver says, his voice like silk sliding over steel. “Princess Zoey.” His eyes linger on her swollen belly, fascination glittering openly within them. “The child grows strong. I can sense its power even from here, as it dreams inside your womb.”

Ice crackles beneath my skin at the thought of this man sensing something as intimate as my soulmate’s womb, my instincts roaring at me to reach for my dagger and drive it into the space between his eyes before he has time to speak another word.

Instead, I tighten my grip around Zoey, a silent warning that everyone present understands.

No one touches her. No one approaches without permission. These rules have been made clear from the day we arrived, and every member of the Blood Coven has respected my command.

Still, I watch carefully, alert for even the faintest threat of disrespect, prepared to eliminate anyone who so much as thinks to harm the woman who carries my child and anchors my sanity.

The Revenant Mother, they call her in whispers. The one who will help us claim the world.

“They all adore you,” I murmur against her ear, the pride swelling in my chest mixing with the urge to gouge out their eyes for simply looking at her.

Her hand drifts to her stomach. “They worship what I carry.”

“As they should.” I lean closer, my lips grazing her temple. “But always remember that their devotion pales to mine.”

“Would you ever let me forget?” she asks with the coy smile that always takes my breath away.

“Not even if the gods demanded it,” I confess quietly. “I wouldn’t be capable.”

Her eyes blaze with intensity, and I brace myself for the possibility that maybe, someday, she’ll change her mind and want to forget. That she’ll try to run as far away from me as she can.

In case that does happen, I should have preparations in place to keep her safely contained. Maybe not forever, but long enough to remind her that I can supply her with everything she needs to be happy with me, where she belongs.

Desire pulses through me at the memory of her locked in the suite connected to my quarters, where only I could reach her. However, it’s quelled when two figures enter from the shadowed corridor, and everyone in the room hushes.

Ambrogio strides forward first, the original vampire radiating power that ripples outward.

He’s no longer the fragile corpse the Blood Coven resurrected a year ago.

Where his skin was once translucent and webbed with dark veins, it now gleams like polished marble.

His red-gold eyes, deep as the void and just as ancient, sweep over the assembled coven with cold assessment.

Behind him walks Gwen, her violet eyes blazing with devotion so intense it borders on madness.

Her dark hair falls in waves past her shoulders, and she’s draped in a crimson gown that seems to flow like liquid around her body.

An ancient amulet gleams around her neck—one of the countless relics she collected over centuries in pursuit of her obsession to resurrect Ambrogio.

Ambrogio gazes around the room, locking eyes with each of us, and everyone stills.

“Tonight, we’ll witness an evolution the world has never seen before,” he says, his voice carrying to every corner of the room. “It’s time for us to make history.”

With those simple words, Zara, Morgan, and Willow take their positions around the altar at the center of the room.

Zara stands at the head of it, her tall figure imposing in black robes.

Morgan takes her place at the right side, fire dancing at her fingertips, while Willow positions herself at the left, her eyes wide and slightly scared.

“On this night of the new moon,” Zara begins, “when darkness reigns and magic waits patiently in the shadows...”

“We stand at the threshold of transformation,” Morgan continues, raising her hands as flames spiral from her palms and up her arms.

“From magic, we bring strength and life,” Willow adds, her voice softer yet no less confident.

Together, their voices blend in perfect harmony: “From darkness, power will rise.”

Zoey shivers against me, sending a primal satisfaction through my body at the fact that she seeks shelter in my touch, depends on me, and trusts me enough to remain by my side.

My fingertips trace circles against her back, reinforcing my claim with every small, insistent movement. But as we watch the ceremony unfold, my thoughts drift to Riven, the brother I almost had and so quickly lost.

Despite everything, a part of me wishes he were here. That he could stand beside me, so we could witness this historical moment together. That he, Sapphire, Zoey, and I could be a family, united in power and purpose.

Such thoughts are useless fantasies now.

Riven made his choice. And though the bitterness of his rejection burns cold in my chest, I push it aside.

After all, tonight isn’t about what I’ve lost. It’s about what we’re gaining.

Zoey and our child represent everything Riven threw away—strength, destiny, and dominion over all.

And so, I return my attention to the ceremony, watching Ambrogio take Gwen’s hand, leading her to the altar with a gentleness that seems at odds with the power radiating from him.

Her eyes shine with devotion as he guides her onto the surface, her gown spilling across the black stone like blood on midnight as he lays her down and kneels before her.

“Do you remember,” Ambrogio asks her, his voice intimate yet carrying to every ear in the room, “the night I found you and our sons?”

Gwen’s smile is radiant. “The winter feast in Corinth. You appeared like a dark angel at the end of the celebration.”

“And you were never afraid,” he says, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

“Not of you,” she replies. “Never of you.”

His fingertips linger on her skin, and with a single nod to Zara, Morgan, and Willow, he silently commands the ritual to continue.

The sisters begin another chant, ancient words that pull at reality itself. The air thickens, charged with power, as they spill their blood and weave their spell around Ambrogio and Gwen.

When they finish, Ambrogio leans over Gwen, cupping her face in his hands.

“Are you ready, my love?” he asks her.

“I’ve been ready for centuries,” she breathes, her voice trembling with anticipation.

His eyes soften, an expression so human it’s jarring on his ancient face. “Then come into the darkness and rise from my power.”

Tilting Gwen’s head back, he exposes the pale column of her throat. His fangs extend, longer and sharper than any vampire’s I’ve ever seen, and the room collectively holds its breath as his teeth pierce her skin.

A soft gasp escapes Gwen’s lips, her back arching as Ambrogio begins to drink. Her eyes widen—first with pain, then with something deeper, darker, and more profound.

Finally, when her heart stops, Ambrogio pulls away, venom glistening on his fangs as he observes Gwen’s body.

Her skin is pale, her eyes closed. The only sign of life is the lingering power crackling in the air around her.

Any hint of the love shining in Ambrogio’s eyes when he was speaking to Gwen earlier is gone. He studies her now with the cold scrutiny of a scientist observing the results of an experiment, analyzing and evaluating, no hint of emotion left in the marble planes of his face.

A chill creeps into my chest, whispering fears that claw at my soul.

Because what if one day Zoey looks at me that way?

If she knew the dark thoughts lurking beneath my carefully constructed exterior, would her warmth toward me fade into cold horror?

Would she withdraw, leaving me to spiral into isolation?

Is this ceremony already planting seeds of regret within her, reminding her what I truly am beneath the seductive facade I’ve cultivated for her?

The intrusive thoughts refuse to release.

Because while Zoey was gifted to me by the gods, the gods can take as swiftly as they give.

They showed me as much when they delivered my brother at my feet and gave me no choice but to fly away from the possibility that someday, we’d stand together instead of remaining kingdoms apart.

Who’s to say they won’t do the same with Zoey and our child?

Thankfully, feet shuffling around the room stop my thoughts from spiraling deeper into the abyss they tend to get lost in, drawing my attention back to the scene unfolding before us.

Gwen should be moving by now. Typically, vampire venom works relatively quickly. But her chest doesn’t rise, and her fingers don’t twitch.

Zara exchanges a quick, wary glance with Morgan, their earlier triumph fading into doubt. Willow’s breathing slows, betraying her anxiety.

Ambrogio’s expression, on the other hand, remains unchanged. Impenetrable, patient, and confident.

My entire body tenses, my wings straining behind me.

Then, abruptly, Gwen’s body jerks once, a violent, unnatural spasm breaking the unbearable stillness. Another follows immediately after. Her limbs contort, the dark veins beneath her pale skin coming alive, twisting and writhing before settling back into her body.

Calmly, Ambrogio slides an arm beneath Gwen’s shoulders, guiding her upright with detached precision.

“Rise,” he commands, and just like that, her eyes snap open, revealing irises that burn with the same red-gold fire as Ambrogio’s.

She blinks slowly, awareness returning to her expression as she turns toward him.

The moment their eyes meet, something shifts in Ambrogio’s demeanor. Like a mask sliding back into place, warmth floods his features, and his detachment is replaced by devoted love—or at least, a simulation of one.

“My love,” he murmurs. “How magnificent you are.”

I narrow my eyes, watching the performance unfold. The transition was too perfect and calculated—a skilled actor stepping back into character. I’ve seen this kind of manipulation many times in the Night Court, the disguise of affection used to control and direct.

Ambrogio’s devotion is nothing more than a carefully crafted illusion.

Gwen, on the other hand, gazes at Ambrogio like he’s her entire world. It’s a madness born of centuries of singular focus. I recognize it clearly, because I’ve seen glimpses of it in myself when I look at Zoey.

Zoey’s hand remains tight in mine, and I pull her closer, the curve of her belly a reminder of the miracle we’ve created.

But suddenly, it’s more than that. Because now, standing here with her witnessing the first Revenant being created, I know for certain that I’ll be able to give her everything I’ve promised.

The power I’ll gain when Ambrogio turns me will allow me to keep her safer than ever.

And as I gaze down at her, something fractures inside me, a crack in the armor I’ve worn for centuries.

“I love you,” I say before I can stop myself.

The moment the words escape my lips, my body tenses, bracing for the possibility that she won’t say them back. And as her eyes widen and silence stretches between us, my blood rushes faster, ice-cold panic filling every vein.

Did the ceremony we just witnessed make her see the monster lurking beneath the surface? Is the love she thought she had for me gone? Does she no longer want everything I’m offering her—does she no longer want me? Will she try to run and take our child with her?

Just when I don’t think I can take the pain of waiting for a second longer, she shifts. It’s the faintest movement, but it’s enough to send my pulse racing faster.

“I love you too, Aerix,” she finally says. “And I will never stop loving you.”

She rises onto her toes, pressing her lips to mine in a kiss that burns her words into my soul.

My entire body shudders with relief, every bone buzzing with a certainty I’ve never felt before.

Because Zoey’s mine. She’s really, truly mine.

And as my arms tighten around her, my impulses surge, desperate to hide her from the covetous eyes around us and lock her somewhere unreachable.

Somewhere safe. Somewhere she could never escape, even if she tried.

But I can’t tell her that. Not yet. Not until she’s ready.

“Soon, we’ll rise as Revenants, and we’ll have a family of our own,” I say instead, steadying my breathing and forcing my dark desires as far down as I can manage. “And I promise you that nothing—not fate, not kings, not even the gods themselves—will ever stop me from protecting you.”