Runes lit when he touched her. The Veil opened when she moaned. Now the end begins—with a kiss.

Beneath Valeblood, a god sleeps—sealed by witches, betrayed by lovers, and waiting for a woman with fire in her blood.

Vaelora was raised to bind him. Taught to kneel. But she doesn't bow.

Not to the coven that lied. Not to the vampire who tastes like sin.

And not to the god whose voice haunts her dreams.

Now the Veil is thinning, the seals are breaking, and every touch burns prophecy into her skin.

He wants her awakened.

The coven wants her dead.

But Vaelora?

She wants it all.

Magic. Power. Pleasure.

And a god on his knees.