The morning after Elara’s return, the Northern Stronghold woke to a different kind of silence—one not of fear, but of anticipation. The wolves moved through the halls with a new purpose, their eyes sharp, their steps sure. The air hummed with loyalty, with magic, with something deeper: hope. The bond between Kaelen and me pulsed beneath my skin, steady, deep, real. The mark on my neck throbbed faintly, a constant reminder. Mine. Claimed. Bound.
But the peace didn’t last.
By midday, a messenger arrived from the Fae High Court—delivered not by fae, but by a young wolf, her eyes wide with urgency. She knelt before Kaelen in the war chamber, her voice trembling.
“Alpha. The Council has summoned you. They demand an audience in three days’ time. They say… they say the bond is unstable. That the Contract’s rewrite threatens the balance of power.”
Kaelen didn’t flinch. Didn’t look at me. Just stared at the messenger, his golden eyes blazing. “Tell them the bond is stable. The Contract is broken. And if they want balance, they can find it in the ashes of their lies.”
She swallowed. “They also… they also say that if you do not attend, they will declare war on the Northern Packs.”
A growl rumbled in Kaelen’s chest. The wolves in the chamber tensed, their claws flexing, their fangs bared.
“Then they’ll have it,” he said, voice low, final. “But they’ll lose.”
The messenger bowed and fled.
I turned to him, my voice tight. “You can’t go. It’s a trap. They’ll try to break the bond. To sever it. To—”
“I know,” he said, stepping closer. His hand cupped my jaw, his thumb brushing my cheek. “But I have to go. Not for them. For us. For the truth.”
“And if they kill you?” I whispered.
“Then they’ll have to go through every wolf in this stronghold,” he said. “And you.”
My breath caught.
“You’re not leaving me behind,” I said.
He didn’t argue. Just nodded. “Then we go together.”
And just like that, it was decided.
We would return to the Fae High Court.
We would face Cassian.
We would show them the truth.
But before we could leave, I needed to be ready.
And that meant healing.
—
The injury had started as a shallow cut—a graze from a rogue wolf during the fight in the Blood Cells. But in the chaos, in the magic, in the bond-heat, it had festered. By the time I noticed it, the skin around the wound had turned dark, the edges inflamed, the flesh hot to the touch. The bond pulsed with it, feeding the pain, amplifying the fever.
Kaelen saw it first.
“You’re hurt,” he said, his voice rough, his eyes narrowing as he pulled back the sleeve of my tunic.
“It’s nothing,” I said, pulling away. “Just a scratch.”
“It’s infected,” he said. “And it’s spreading.”
“I can handle it,” I snapped. “I don’t need—”
“You need to heal,” he interrupted, stepping into my space. “Not for me. For you. For us. If you’re weak, they’ll use it. If you’re hurt, they’ll exploit it. And I won’t let that happen.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but he didn’t give me the chance.
“The sacred baths,” he said. “They’ll cleanse the wound. Restore your magic. But you have to go. Now.”
My stomach twisted.
The sacred baths weren’t just for healing.
They were for ritual.
For purification. For renewal. For bonding.
And they were never entered alone.
“I can go myself,” I said, my voice tight.
“No,” he said. “You can’t. The magic is strong. Unstable. If you collapse, no one will be there to pull you out. And if the bond-heat flares—”
“Then I’ll handle it,” I said.
“You won’t,” he said. “Not alone. Not like this.”
He stepped closer, his presence a weight in the chamber. “I’ll go with you. Not to watch. Not to control. To protect. To heal.”
My breath caught.
Because I knew what he meant.
He wasn’t just offering to guard me.
He was offering to see me.
Naked. Vulnerable. Exposed.
And I was terrified.
Not of the baths.
Not of the magic.
Of how much I wanted him to.
—
The sacred baths were carved into the mountain’s heart, a vast chamber of smooth black stone veined with silver, lit by glowing blue crystals embedded in the walls. Steam rose from the water, thick and fragrant with herbs—wolfbane, moonflower, sacred sage. The air was warm, heavy, alive. The water itself pulsed with magic, a soft, rhythmic glow beneath the surface.
Kaelen led me inside, his hand warm on the small of my back, his presence a solid weight at my side. The bond hummed between us, steady, deep, real. But beneath it—
Something else.
Tension.
Desire.
And the unbearable weight of being seen.
“Strip,” he said, his voice low, rough.
My breath stopped.
“I can do it myself,” I said, my voice tight.
“I know,” he said. “But I’m not leaving.”
I hesitated.
Then, slowly, I reached for the hem of my tunic.
The fabric slid over my head, revealing the curve of my breasts, the flat plane of my stomach, the faint scar from a childhood fight. My boots followed, then my trousers, until I stood before him—bare, vulnerable, exposed.
And he—
He didn’t look away.
His golden eyes burned, not with hunger, but with something deeper.
Reverence.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, voice rough.
My breath caught.
Not from the words.
From the truth in them.
He stepped closer, his fingers brushing the mark on my neck. “The bond is strong. But your body is weak. The magic needs to flow. Unblocked. Unafraid.”
I nodded, stepping toward the water.
But before I could enter, he stopped me.
“Wait,” he said.
And then—
He stripped.
Slow. Deliberate.
His coat fell first, then his shirt, revealing the hard planes of his chest, the scars that crisscrossed his ribs—battles won, losses survived. His trousers followed, and then—
He stood before me.
Bare. Powerful. Mine.
And I—
I couldn’t look away.
Not at the strength in his shoulders. Not at the power in his thighs. Not at the way his cock—thick, heavy, half-hard—rested against his stomach.
My mouth went dry.
My pulse roared.
And the bond—
It burned.
“Get in,” he said, his voice rough. “Before I change my mind.”
I stepped into the water.
It was hot—almost too hot—but it soothed the fever, eased the pain. I sank in slowly, the water rising over my hips, my waist, my chest. The magic pulsed against my skin, a soft, rhythmic hum. The wound on my arm stung, then tingled, then—
Healed.
But the fever didn’t leave.
Because it wasn’t just in my body.
It was in my blood.
In my bones.
In the way my skin burned where he looked at me.
He stepped in beside me, the water rising to his waist. His presence was a weight in the chamber, his scent—pine, smoke, wild earth—wrapping around me, thick, intoxicating.
“Turn,” he said.
I did.
And then—
He touched me.
His hands—calloused, warm—glided over my back, slow, deliberate. He poured a vial of oil into his palm—sacred sage, moonflower, something deeper—and began to wash me.
Not gently.
Not carefully.
With purpose.
His fingers traced the curve of my spine, the dip of my waist, the swell of my hips. The oil soaked into my skin, carrying the magic with it. The wound on my arm pulsed, then faded, the dark veins retreating, the flesh knitting closed.
But the heat didn’t leave.
Because it wasn’t just in the wound.
It was in the way his hands moved.
Slow.
Sure.
Unhurried.
And the way his breath hitched when my skin shivered beneath his touch.
“You’re trembling,” he said, voice rough.
“It’s the magic,” I said, my voice breaking.
“No,” he said. “It’s not.”
His hands moved lower, gliding over the curve of my ass, his thumbs brushing the sensitive skin where thigh met hip. I gasped, my body arching into his touch.
“Blair,” he growled.
“Don’t stop,” I whispered.
And he didn’t.
His hands moved back up, tracing the line of my shoulders, the slope of my neck, the mark he’d left at the base of my throat. His fingers lingered there, pressing just enough to make me gasp.
“This is mine,” he said, voice low, rough. “Not the Contract. Not Cassian. Not Mira. Mine.”
My breath caught.
“Say it,” he said.
“It’s yours,” I whispered.
“Say it like you mean it,” he growled.
“It’s yours,” I said, louder, fiercer. “All of me. My body. My magic. My heart.”
He didn’t speak.
Just pulled me back against him, his chest to my back, his arms wrapping around me, his cock pressing against my ass, hard, insistent.
And the bond—
It screamed.
A pulse of heat, of magic, of something deeper—something primal.
“You feel that?” he whispered, his breath hot on my neck. “That’s not the baths. That’s not the magic. That’s us.”
I nodded, my body arching into his.
“And you want it,” he said.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Say it,” he growled.
“I want you,” I said, my voice breaking. “I want your hands on me. Your mouth on me. Your cock inside me. I want—”
And then—
A sound.
Footsteps.
We broke apart just in time.
Riven stepped into the chamber, his dark eyes sharp, his voice low. “Kaelen. The pack scouts have returned. They’ve seen movement near the eastern border. Rogues. Possibly sent by Cassian.”
Kaelen didn’t move. Didn’t look at him. Just kept his arms around me, his chest to my back, his cock still pressed against my ass.
“Then send a patrol,” he said, voice rough.
“They’re already moving,” Riven said. “But we need you. The pack needs its Alpha.”
Kaelen exhaled, long and slow.
Then, slowly, he released me.
“Go,” he said to Riven. “I’ll be there soon.”
Riven nodded and left.
Kaelen turned to me, his golden eyes blazing. “We’re not done.”
“No,” I said, stepping out of the water, my skin glistening, my body trembling. “We’re just beginning.”
He didn’t smile.
Just watched me, his gaze burning.
And I knew—
The real battle wasn’t against Cassian.
It wasn’t against the Council.
It wasn’t even against Mira.
It was against this.
Against the truth.
Against the desire.
Against the love I was trying so hard to deny.
And I wasn’t sure I could win.
Because the worst part?
I didn’t want to.
—
Later, when the fever had faded and the wound had healed and the magic had settled, I stood at the edge of the baths, the water lapping at my feet, the steam rising around me like a shroud.
Kaelen stood beside me, dressed now, his coat pulled tight, his eyes gold in the dim light.
“You’re stronger,” he said.
“I am,” I said.
“But not healed,” he said.
“Not yet,” I said.
He stepped closer, his hand cupping my jaw. “Then let me heal you.”
“How?” I whispered.
“By staying,” he said. “By being yours. By letting you be mine.”
I looked at him—really looked at him. The man who had signed the Contract under duress. The Alpha who had saved his enforcer. The predator who had kissed me like I was the only thing worth hunting.
And I realized—
I didn’t just want to save him.
I wanted to see him.
Not just as my mate.
But as my equal.
“Then do it,” I said. “Heal me. Not with magic. Not with force. With truth.”
He didn’t speak.
Just pulled me into his arms, holding me like I was the only thing keeping him alive.
And maybe I was.
Because as the steam rose and the bond pulsed between us—
I knew.
The Contract was broken.
But our story?
That was just beginning.