The vampire chronicles:bound by blood

The heat in the Australian outback never really let up, even at midnight. It stuck to everything—clinging to the old sandstone walls of Blackwood Academy like it owned the place. The air smelled like red dust, dried eucalyptus, and tonight, that sharp, coppery bite of fresh blood. I stood in the shadows of the western gallery, gripping the hilt of my silver-plated dagger so tight my knuckles ached. On the outside, I was the picture-perfect guardian: black tactical gear, straight spine, eyes scanning the crowd below like my life depended on it. Which, honestly, it kinda did. But inside? My heart was pounding like it wanted to bust out of my chest. This was the annual Crimson Rite. Down in the open courtyard, under a sky full of desert stars, the vampire elites were gathered for their fancy feeding ceremony. Low music hummed through the stone arches, slow and heavy, syncing with the pulse of the witch donors lined up on the pavilion in their flowing white robes. Wrists out, ready. The treaty called it a "harmonious exchange." Witches give the magic-laced blood, vampires keep the borders safe from rogues. Yeah, right. It was all polished bullshit, and I was the knife hidden in the middle of it. Just three more days, I told myself, forcing my breaths to stay even while my eyes swept the crowd. Three more days playing the loyal guard dog, then the real plan kicks in. "Eyes up, Kira," the shift captain's voice crackled in my earpiece. "Royal carriage just cleared the gates. Princes are here. Stay sharp." "Copy," I whispered back, keeping my tone flat. "Western gallery's clear. Watching the pavilion." I shifted my weight, boots scraping softly on the stone. The big oak doors at the far end swung open, and the whole courtyard went dead quiet. There they were. The Salvatore princes. Walking out like they owned the night itself. Lachlan came first, the crown prince. Tall, broad-shouldered, in that tailored black coat that screamed power. Dark hair slicked back, jaw like it was carved from rock, and those eyes... cold as the desert at dawn. He moved like someone who didn't need to prove anything because everyone already knew he'd end you if he had to. Duty wrapped in muscle and ice. Trailing behind him, all lazy smirk and zero f***s, was Jace. Leather jacket beat to hell, messy dark hair falling in his face. He'd only been back at the academy a few weeks after whatever trouble got him exiled down south. Where Lachlan was all control, Jace was pure chaos—itching for a fight, daring the world to swing first. These were my targets. The two I was sent here to take out. I watched Lachlan climb the pavilion steps, his gaze cutting across the crowd. For a split second, his eyes flicked up toward my gallery. I didn't flinch. Didn't even breathe. Just melted deeper into the shadow behind the pillar. He looked away, focusing on the head witch donor waiting for him. "The Rite begins," the Chancellor called out, voice booming off the walls. Lachlan tilted his head, fangs sliding out slow and sharp as the donor offered her wrist. The crowd leaned in, hooked. Then everything changed. The air got thick, like right before a storm cracks open the sky. The perimeter wards on the west wall buzzed once and died. My gut screamed before I even saw it. A shadow dropped from the rafters above the pavilion—a rogue assassin in anti-magic gear, blade raised high, aiming straight for Lachlan's throat. Lachlan was distracted, looking down. He wouldn't catch it in time. If he died now, by some random asshole's hand, the whole academy would lock down. Interrogations, searches, my cover shredded before my coven even got their shot. No way. If anyone was ending him, it had to be me. "Assassin!" I barked into the comms, already launching over the railing. Twenty feet down, boots slamming into the dirt. Pain jolted up my legs, but I was running, shoving past stunned nobles, dagger out and catching the starlight. The assassin hit the pavilion hard, lunging. Lachlan blocked with his arm, but that blade was coated in something nasty—witch poison, glowing dark. "Get back!" I yelled, jumping the steps. I crashed into the guy shoulder-first, taking us both down in a mess of limbs and steel. He was strong, wired with desperate magic. Snarling, swinging wild. The poisoned edge whistled past my face, then caught my sleeve on the next s***h. Fabric tore. Metal bit deep into my forearm. White-hot pain exploded up my arm, but I shoved it down, drove my knee into his gut, then cracked the hilt of my dagger against his skull. He went limp, out cold on the stone. I pressed my hand over the gash, blood seeping hot between my fingers. "Threat down," I panted into the silence. "Assassin's neutralized." I turned toward Lachlan, ready with the standard "sorry for the mess" line. But the words never made it out. The second my blood hit the dry desert floor, everything went insane. A shockwave ripped out from the pavilion—not wind, not sound, but pure power. Glass shattered along the walls. People stumbled. My knees buckled as this burning heat slammed into my chest, like a brand straight to the soul. I gasped, looking up through the haze. Lachlan stood frozen, chest heaving, his usual ice-cold mask shattered. Those dark eyes burned red now, locked on me like I was the only thing in the world. Jace had lunged forward too, gripping the railing, fangs fully out, staring down with this wild, hungry intensity that made my skin prickle. Then it hit—waves of emotions that weren't mine. Icy possessive rage. Chaotic, burning hunger. Pouring straight into my head through some invisible link. The twin-tether bond. That old, cursed bloodline thing. Horror crashed over me. The texts were clear: spill compatible blood near the princes and boom—fates tied. They protect you. They own you. If they die, you die. I glanced at my bleeding arm, then back at the two princes now watching me like I belonged to them. My mission? f****d. My cover? Hanging by a thread. I'd just been bound to the exact two men I was supposed to kill. And if they went down... I'd be right there in the dirt with them.