The silence after I gave her the dagger was worse than any battle.
Not the silence of the forest at dawn, when the world holds its breath before the first light. Not the silence of the hunt, when the prey knows death is near. This was deeper. Heavier. A void where sound should be, where breath should move, where heartbeats should echo.
She stood there—Birch—her fingers curled around the hilt of my father’s blade, her chest rising and falling in shallow bursts, her eyes wide, unblinking. The scroll—the Blood Concordia Key—was still in her other hand, glowing faintly, like a dying ember. The air between us crackled with magic, with tension, with something I couldn’t name. Not just the bond. Not just desire. Something older. Something that felt like fate pressing down on my spine.
I didn’t move.
I didn’t speak.
I let her decide.
Because if she couldn’t trust me—if she couldn’t believe that I meant what I said—then there was no point in fighting for her. No point in defying the Council, the king, my own pack. If she still saw me as the enemy, then let her end it. Let her drive the blade into my heart and finish what the ritual started.
I’d die knowing I chose her.
But she didn’t.
Slowly, her fingers uncurled. The dagger clattered to the stone floor. She dropped the scroll beside it. Her hands trembled. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps.
“You’re lying,” she whispered. “You can’t love me. You don’t even know me.”
“I know enough,” I said, voice rough. “I know you’d rather burn the world than let them chain you. I know you carry your mother’s death like a wound. I know you’re afraid—of me, of the bond, of what you feel when I touch you.”
Her eyes flashed. “You don’t know *anything*.”
“Then tell me.” I stepped closer. “Say my name. Look at me. Let me see you.”
She flinched. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what? Don’t want you? Don’t see you? Don’t *need* you?” I closed the distance. “Too late, Birch. You’re under my skin. In my blood. In my fucking *bones*.”
She backed up, but the wall stopped her. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. Just me, the bond, and the truth I’d just thrown at her like a weapon.
And then—
She laughed.
Not a real laugh. Not one of joy. It was broken. Bitter. The sound of someone trying to hold themselves together when everything’s already cracked.
“You want me to trust you?” she said. “After Lysara? After you threatened to chain me to your bed? After you’ve spent every second since the ritual treating me like a prisoner?”
“Because you *are* a threat,” I snapped. “You came here to destroy the pact. To kill Virellion. To burn everything down. And I’m supposed to just *believe* you won’t turn on me the second it serves your purpose?”
“Maybe I will,” she said, voice low. “Maybe I don’t care what happens to you.”
Liar.
I could smell it—her pulse spiking, her scent shifting, that faint, sweet warmth blooming between her thighs. She wanted me. Even now. Even after everything.
And that was the problem.
Not just for her. For me.
Because the heat cycle was still there—low, simmering, a fire beneath my skin. The moon was rising again tonight. Another night of fire. Another night of fighting the wolf, fighting the bond, fighting *her*. And if I didn’t get control—if I lost myself again like I did in the forest—she wouldn’t just be in danger.
I’d ruin her.
“We need to talk,” I said, stepping back. “Not here. Not like this.”
She didn’t answer. Just slid down the wall, her arms wrapped around her knees, her face hidden.
I picked up the scroll. The dagger. I didn’t lock the door behind me when I left. Let her run if she wanted to. Let her try.
She wouldn’t get far.
—
The Council chamber was empty when I returned. Virellion had gone. The others had scattered. Only Soren remained, standing by the hearth, arms crossed, eyes sharp.
“Well?” he asked.
“She’s alive,” I said, tossing the scroll onto the table. “And so am I.”
He studied me. “You told her.”
“I gave her a choice.”
“And?”
“She didn’t take the knife.”
He exhaled. “That’s something.”
“It’s not trust.”
“It’s a start.”
I poured a glass of bloodwine—thick, dark, laced with wolfsbane to dull the heat. I didn’t drink it. Just let the cold glass press against my palm, grounding me.
“Lysara’s playing us,” I said. “She wants her back. Wants to break the bond. She’ll keep pushing until she wins.”
“And Virellion?”
“He’s waiting. Letting us tear each other apart so he can claim her when we’re weak.”
Soren nodded. “Then we don’t give them the chance.”
“How?”
“You need to control her. Not with force. With truth.”
“She doesn’t believe me.”
“Then make her.”
I looked at him. “What are you suggesting?”
He held my gaze. “Interrogate her. Officially. In the sealed chamber. No witnesses. No distractions. Just you. Her. The truth.”
My jaw clenched. “That’s not—”
“It’s not about dominance,” he cut in. “It’s about breaking through. She uses magic to hide. To lie. But in that chamber, with the wards up, she can’t hide. She can’t lie. She’ll have to *feel*.”
I stared into the fire.
The sealed chamber. A room of black stone, warded against magic, where confessions were torn from traitors. Where secrets were broken open like bones. I’d used it before. Never on someone I… cared about.
But Soren was right.
She didn’t believe me.
And if she didn’t believe me, she’d never trust me.
And if she didn’t trust me, we’d both die.
“Do it,” I said.
—
She didn’t fight when the guards came.
Just stood in the study, silent, her face unreadable, her hands at her sides. She let them bind her wrists with silver cuffs—enchanted to suppress magic. Let them lead her down the torch-lit corridors, past werewolves who watched with sharp eyes and sharper teeth.
She didn’t look at me.
But I felt her. Through the bond. Her fear. Her anger. The slow, steady thrum of her pulse.
The sealed chamber was at the heart of the estate—no windows, no doors except the one we entered. The walls were carved with runes, the floor inlaid with silver sigils. A single chair sat in the center, bound in iron.
“Remove the cuffs,” I said.
The guards hesitated.
“Do it.”
They obeyed. The silver fell away. She rubbed her wrists, her eyes finally meeting mine.
“So this is it?” she said. “The great Alpha breaks out the torture chamber.”
“No torture,” I said. “Just truth.”
“And you’re the judge?”
“I’m the only one who can hear it.”
I closed the door. Locked it. Activated the wards.
The air changed. Thickened. Magic couldn’t lie here. Couldn’t hide. Every word spoken would be stripped bare.
She sat in the chair. Crossed her legs. Looked at me like I was beneath her.
“Ask your questions, *Alpha*.”
I didn’t sit. I walked around her, slow, deliberate. Let her feel the weight of my presence. The heat of my body. The bond, pulsing between us.
“Why did you come here?” I asked.
“To destroy the pact,” she said. No hesitation. The wards accepted it as truth.
“And kill Virellion?”
“If I have to.”
“And what about me?”
She didn’t answer.
“Did you plan to use me?” I pressed. “To seduce me? To weaken me? To get close to the key?”
Still silence.
Then—
“Yes.”
The word hung in the air like smoke.
My chest tightened.
But I kept walking. “And when you kissed me in the forest—was that part of the plan?”
“No.”
“When you touched me in the archives—was that a lie?”
“No.”
“When you looked at me like I was the only man in the world—was that magic?”
“No.”
I stopped in front of her. Knelt. Looked up into her eyes.
“Then what *is* it?”
She didn’t answer.
“You feel it,” I said. “The bond. The need. The fire.”
“It’s not real,” she whispered.
“It’s not just magic,” I said. “It’s *us*. It’s what we are. What we’ve always been.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know it in my bones.”
She looked away. “You don’t know me.”
“Then let me.”
I reached for her.
She flinched.
But I didn’t stop. My hands framed her face, thumbs brushing her cheekbones. Her breath hitched. Her pulse jumped.
“Look at me,” I said.
Slowly, she turned back.
Her eyes were wet. Not with tears. Not yet. But close.
“You came here to burn the throne,” I said. “But you don’t have to do it alone. You don’t have to destroy everything to be free.”
“And you?” she whispered. “Do you want me free?”
“I want you *alive*,” I said. “I want you *here*. With me. Not as a weapon. Not as a pawn. As *mine*.”
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“The bond does.”
She shook her head. “You don’t know what I’ve done. What I’m capable of.”
“Then show me.”
And before she could react—
I kissed her.
Not gentle. Not soft.
Hard. Desperate. A claiming. A challenge. My lips crashed into hers, my hands fisting in her hair, pulling her closer. She gasped—then kissed me back, just as fiercely, her fingers digging into my shoulders, her body arching into mine.
The bond *exploded*.
Fire. White-hot. Pouring through my veins. My wolf howled. My cock throbbed. I could feel her—her heat, her need, her magic—rising to meet me.
She wasn’t just kissing me.
She was *stealing*.
Fae glamour. Witch magic. She was using the kiss to pull secrets from me, to break down my walls, to find the truth beneath.
I felt it—her mind brushing mine, searching, probing.
And I let her.
Because I had nothing to hide.
She broke the kiss first—panting, her lips swollen, her eyes wild.
“You were bound to her,” she said, voice shaking. “To Lysara. A blood bond. A political marriage. You bit her. You *claimed* her.”
I didn’t deny it. The wards wouldn’t let me.
“Yes.”
“And you loved her?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Duty. Pack law. The Council demanded it.”
“And the bite?”
“It was a show of power. Not love. Not desire. When it ended, the bond broke. But the scars remained.”
She stared at me. “You never dreamed of her?”
“Never.”
“You never touched her after the bond was broken?”
“Never.”
“And last night?”
“I was here. Alone. Fighting the heat. Fighting the need for *you*.”
She searched my face. My eyes. Looking for lies.
There were none.
“You really love me,” she whispered.
“I do.”
“Even though I came here to destroy you?”
“Especially because you did.”
She exhaled—shaky, broken.
And then she did something I didn’t expect.
She kissed me.
Soft this time. Slow. A surrender. A promise.
My hands slid down, pulling her into my lap, her legs straddling me, her heat pressing against my cock. I groaned. My control frayed.
But I didn’t take it further.
I broke the kiss. Panting. “Don’t use my body against me,” I growled. “Don’t turn desire into a weapon.”
She leaned her forehead against mine. “I’m not. I’m just… feeling.”
And for the first time—
I believed her.
“You don’t know what I’m capable of,” she whispered.
“I’m starting to,” I said, voice rough.
And then—
The wards flickered.
The door burst open.
Soren stood there, tense, alert. “Alpha. The Blood Trial begins at dawn. Virellion’s champion has arrived.”
I didn’t move. Didn’t let her go.
“We’ll be ready,” I said.
He nodded. Closed the door.
Birch stayed in my arms. Her breath warm against my neck.
“Then prove it,” she said. “Not with words. Not with kisses. With action.”
I held her tighter.
“I will,” I said. “Even if it destroys me.”