The third time I stood before the Supernatural Council, it wasn’t as a challenger. Not as a rogue. Not even as a mate.
I stood as a lawgiver.
The air in the Fae High Court was thick with tension—sharp, electric, like the moment before a storm breaks. The grand chamber stretched before me, its marble floor veined with silver, its towering pillars carved with ancient runes that pulsed faintly in the torchlight. The chandeliers above hung like frozen constellations, their crystals casting fractured light across the faces of the assembled delegates. Fae nobles in gilded robes. Vampire elders with eyes like polished obsidian. Witch envoys whose sigils flickered at their wrists. And the wolves—Kaelen’s pack—lined the walls, silent, watchful, their loyalty a living wall of muscle and fury.
And in the center—
The Book of Bonds.
It rested on a pedestal of black stone, its silver cover glowing with a soft, steady light. The runes pulsed in time with my heartbeat, as if it knew I was its voice, its blood, its truth. I could feel it—not just in my hands, not just in the air—but in the bond between me and Kaelen, where it hummed like a second pulse, low and constant.
He stood beside me, tall and unyielding, his coat pulled tight against the cold, his golden eyes burning. His hand was at the small of my back, not possessive, not protective—just there. A presence. A promise. He hadn’t spoken since we entered. Didn’t need to. The weight of what we were about to do hung between us, heavier than any oath.
Today, we weren’t just presenting the law.
We were enforcing it.
“Blair of the Bloodline.”
The voice cut through the silence—smooth, cold, laced with venom. Lord Cassian stepped forward from the fae delegation, his robes whispering against the stone. He wasn’t exiled. Not officially. The Council had stripped him of his title, but he still had influence. Still had allies. And now, he had a purpose.
He smiled. Not warm. Not kind. A predator’s grin.
“You return,” he said. “With your little book. Your… *law*.” He spat the word like it was poison. “You think words written in blood can change centuries of order? That a rogue witch and a wolf with a leash can rewrite the natural hierarchy?”
I didn’t flinch. Didn’t step back.
Just took one step forward, my boots clicking against the marble, my voice ringing clear.
“The Contract was never natural,” I said. “It was *twisted*. By fear. By greed. By men like you who saw power as control.” I turned to the others, my gaze sweeping across the chamber. “And now, it’s been healed. Its first law is clear: No bond shall be forced. No magic shall be stolen. No life shall be bound without consent.”
The murmurs started low—whispers from the fae, sharp glances from the vampires, a few witches nodding in quiet approval. But Cassian didn’t look worried.
He looked… amused.
“And what of those who broke the law before it was written?” he asked, spreading his hands. “What of the fae lord in Provence? The vampire in Vienna? Should they be punished for crimes committed under the old rules?”
“Yes,” I said, without hesitation.
Gasps rippled through the chamber.
“The law is not retroactive,” a vampire elder hissed, stepping forward. “To punish past acts is tyranny.”
“To ignore them,” I said, turning to him, “is complicity.” I gestured to the Book. “This isn’t about punishment. It’s about justice. About setting a precedent. If we allow the past to stand unchallenged, we tell the world that cruelty has no consequence. That power is still above the law.”
“And who are *you* to decide?” Cassian sneered. “A half-breed with no lineage? No title? You have no authority here.”
“She has mine,” Kaelen said, stepping forward, his voice a low growl that vibrated through the stone. “And the pack’s. And the bond’s. And if that’s not enough—” His golden eyes blazed. “—then I’ll burn this court to ash and build a new one from its bones.”
The wolves behind him roared—low, dangerous, a chorus of fury. The vampires tensed. The fae stepped back.
But Cassian didn’t flinch.
He just smiled.
“So it’s war, then?” he asked. “You bring force to the Council? You threaten us with violence to impose your will?”
“No,” I said, stepping between them. “We bring *truth*.” I turned to the Book. “And if you doubt it—” I placed my palm on the cover—“then let it speak.”
The runes flared—white, blinding, pure. The air crackled. The torches dimmed. And then—
Memory.
Not mine.
Not Kaelen’s.
Theirs.
The chamber shifted—not in space, but in time. The marble cracked, the chandeliers flickered, the air thickened with the scent of blood and ozone. And in the center—
The Contract.
But not as parchment.
As a tree.
Its silver bark pulsed with light, its roots digging deep into the stone, its branches stretching toward the ceiling, leaves shimmering like starlight. And beneath it—
My mother.
She stood barefoot, her silver hair glowing, her hands pressed to the trunk. Her eyes were closed, her face peaceful. And then—
She spoke.
Not to me.
To the Contract.
“You were never meant to bind,” she said, her voice soft, familiar. “You were meant to *protect*. To shield the weak. To guard the forgotten. To be a sanctuary, not a prison.”
The tree pulsed.
And then—
It *answered*.
Not with words.
With light.
A pulse of silver, warm and bright, spreading through the chamber, touching every wall, every floor, every soul. And in that light—
I saw it.
The truth.
The Contract hadn’t been corrupted by Cassian.
It had been *twisted*.
By fear. By greed. By the need to control.
But its heart—its *core*—was still pure. Still good. Still *ours*.
And then—
The vision shifted.
Not memory.
Not past.
Future.
The Court was whole. The pack stood at the front, their eyes sharp, their loyalty unshaken. The wolves. The witches. The vampires. Even the fae—some with their masks off, their faces open, their eyes filled with something I hadn’t seen in decades: *hope*.
And in the center—
Kaelen and me.
Hand in hand. Marked. Claimed. Bound.
But not by force.
By choice.
And beneath us—
The tree.
Stronger now. Brighter. Its roots deeper, its branches wider. And from its trunk—
A new clause.
Etched in silver, glowing with power.
“No bond shall be forced. No magic shall be stolen. No life shall be bound without consent.”
The vision faded.
The chamber was silent.
But not the same silence as before.
This one wasn’t heavy with lies.
It was open.
Like a door had been unlocked.
Like a breath had been released.
And then—
The Council Elder stepped forward.
Her silver hair gleamed, her eyes sharp. She looked at me. At Kaelen. At Cassian.
“The Contract,” she said, her voice echoing through the chamber, “has been healed. Its true purpose revealed. And its new law—” she turned to the others—“shall be enforced. Not as vengeance. Not as power. As *justice*.”
Cassian staggered back, his face pale. “You can’t—”
“We can,” she said, cutting him off. “And we will. The old rules are void. The new law—” she turned to me—“is binding. And those who broke it—” her gaze swept the chamber—“will answer.”
My breath caught.
Because I hadn’t expected this.
I’d come to defend the law.
But now—
I was being asked to *enforce* it.
“You’re giving her the power to judge us?” Cassian hissed, his voice sharp. “A half-breed witch? A rogue? She’ll tear us apart!”
“No,” I said, stepping forward. “I’ll *heal* us. Just like I healed the bond. Just like I healed the truth. And if you can’t accept that—” I turned to the Elder—“then exile me too. But I won’t let fear rule this world any longer.”
The Elder didn’t speak.
Just nodded.
And then—
Cassian turned and fled.
Not with a roar.
Not with a threat.
With silence.
And as the doors slammed behind him—
The chamber erupted.
Not in anger.
Not in protest.
In cheers.
The wolves roared. The witches raised their hands. The vampires bowed. Even the fae—some with their masks off, their faces open, their eyes filled with something I hadn’t seen in decades: *hope*.
And I—
I stood there, my hand in Kaelen’s, the bond humming between us.
Because the Contract was broken.
But our bond?
That was just beginning.
—
The journey back to the Northern Stronghold was silent.
No words. No celebration. No declarations.
Just the rhythmic clop of the shadow wolves’ hooves against the stone road, the cold wind cutting through the carriage, the Book of Bonds resting between us like a sleeping child. Its cover pulsed faintly, a slow, steady rhythm, like a heartbeat. I kept my hand on it, not because I was afraid it would disappear—but because I was afraid it wouldn’t.
Because now, it was real.
The law was not just written.
It was recognized.
And the world would test it.
Kaelen sat across from me, his face unreadable, his golden eyes dark. Riven and Elara were beside him, their silence heavier than any speech. I wanted to reach for him. To touch him. To say something—anything—that would make this feel like a beginning, not an ending.
But I couldn’t.
Because the truth was—
I wasn’t sure I was ready.
I’d come to destroy the Contract.
And instead—
I’d become its judge.
And that changed everything.
By the time we reached the stronghold, the sun had set, the torches along the walls flickering like dying stars. The wolves stood at attention, their eyes sharp, their loyalty a quiet promise in the air. But they didn’t cheer. Didn’t roar. They just watched. As if they could feel it too.
The bond was real.
But it was evolving.
Kaelen didn’t speak as we walked through the corridors, his hand warm on the small of my back, his presence a wall of heat and muscle. But it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t the man who had kissed me in the Council Chamber. The man who had claimed me in front of his pack. This was someone else.
Someone… steady.
We reached his chambers, the runes on the walls pulsing faintly, the fire crackling low in the hearth. He stepped inside, then stopped, his back to me.
“You don’t have to stay,” he said, his voice rough.
My breath caught.
“After everything,” I said, stepping forward, “you’re pushing me away?”
He didn’t turn. “I’m not pushing you away. I’m giving you space. You’ve been given a law. A legacy. And you need to decide what kind of justice you want to be.”
“I don’t want to be a judge,” I whispered.
“Too late,” he said, turning, his golden eyes blazing. “You already are. Not because of me. Not because of the bond. Because of *this*.” He gestured to the Book. “You rewrote the rules. That makes you more than a mate. It makes you a *founder*.”
My chest tightened.
Because he was right.
I hadn’t just healed the bond.
I hadn’t just exposed the truth.
I’d changed something.
And now—
It was mine to uphold.
—
I didn’t sleep that night.
Not because I was afraid.
Because I was thinking.
Kaelen lay beside me, his arm draped over my waist, his breath steady against my neck. The bond hummed between us—hot, heavy, alive—but even that couldn’t quiet the storm in my mind.
I kept seeing my mother.
Not in the visions. Not in the memories.
In the silence.
On her knees, blood on her hands, telling me the Contract was meant to protect. That love was the only magic strong enough to break a curse.
And now—
I’d done it.
I’d broken the curse.
Not with fire.
Not with vengeance.
With a single sentence, written in blood.
“No bond shall be forced. No magic shall be stolen. No life shall be bound without consent.”
And it had worked.
But would it last?
The world was still full of Cassians. Of Miras. Of fae lords who saw power as control. Of witches who hoarded their magic. Of vampires who fed on fear.
And now—
I’d drawn a line.
And they would come to test it.
I turned in Kaelen’s arms, facing him. His eyes were closed, his face relaxed in sleep, but even then, I could see the tension in his jaw, the faint lines of strain. He carried the pack. The bond. Me. And now, the law.
And he never complained.
“You’re not alone,” I whispered, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.
His hand tightened around me, just slightly. A reflex. A promise.
And I knew—
I didn’t have to be fearless.
I just had to be *real*.
—
The next morning, I went to the archives.
The Fae Archives were deep beneath the stronghold, carved from black stone, lit by torches that flickered with blue flame. The air hummed with ancient magic, thick and heavy, like the breath of something buried. Rows of stone shelves held scrolls, tomes, vials of preserved memories—centuries of secrets, locked away.
And in the center—
The pedestal.
And on it—
The Book of Bonds.
I stepped forward, my fingers trembling as I reached for it.
The moment I touched it, the runes flared.
And the voice—
Not mine.
Not Kaelen’s.
My mother’s.
“You’ve returned,” she said, her voice soft, familiar. “And you’ve chosen to judge.”
My breath caught.
“How did you know?” I whispered.
“Because I felt it,” she said. “In the bond. In the truth. In your heart.”
“And now?” I asked.
“Now,” she said, “you must decide. Not just who is guilty. But what justice means. Not just for them. For *you*.”
I didn’t speak.
Just opened the book.
And waited.
Because the law wasn’t just words.
It was a living thing.
And it would find its first test soon enough.
—
It came that evening.
A messenger from the Carpathian border—hooded, cloaked, her scent sharp with fear and iron. She was brought to the Council Chamber, where Kaelen and I stood with Riven and Elara, the Book resting on the pedestal between us.
“She claims to have a case,” the guard said. “A violation of the new law.”
My spine went rigid.
“Let her speak,” I said.
The woman stepped forward, lowering her hood. She was young—barely more than a girl—with dark eyes and a scar across her cheek. Her hands trembled as she spoke.
“My name is Lira,” she said, voice shaking. “I’m from the Eastern Coven. My sister—she’s a hybrid. Half-witch, half-fae. They took her. Bound her to a fae lord. Used a blood-oath to force her magic. She didn’t consent. She *fought*.”
My blood turned to ice.
“When?” I asked.
“Two days ago,” she said. “Before the law was announced. But the bond is still active. The oath is still in place. And she’s… she’s breaking.”
I looked at Kaelen.
He didn’t hesitate. “We go tonight.”
“No,” Elara said, stepping forward. “You can’t. The law hasn’t been sealed. The Council hasn’t ratified it. If you act now, they’ll call it vigilante justice. They’ll say you’re abusing your power.”
“And if we do nothing,” I said, my voice low, “we’re no better than Cassian.”
Elara met my gaze. “Then go as Blair. Not as mate. Not as founder. As a woman who remembers what it’s like to be powerless.”
I nodded.
And then—
I turned to the girl. “Take me to her.”
Blair’s Contract
The first time Blair sees Kaelen Vire, he’s pinning a traitor to the marble floor with one hand around his throat, his golden wolf eyes glowing under the chandeliers of the Fae High Court. She watches from the shadows, her pulse hammering not with fear — but recognition. He’s the key. The final signatory of the Ancient Contract of Subjugation, the document that branded her mother a bonded servant and erased her bloodline from history. Blair has trained for this moment: infiltrate, expose, dismantle. But before she can act, a hidden ward flares — and the contract reacts. A silver chain erupts from the floor, wrapping around her wrist… and his. Their blood drips onto the parchment. The ink moves. A new clause forms: “Until truth is judged, the signatory and the challenger shall remain bound in proximity, power, and purpose.”
Now, Blair is shackled to the most dangerous man in the supernormal world — a man whose scent makes her skin burn, whose voice triggers a primal pull she can’t name. He wants control. She wants freedom. But when a rival claims Kaelen spent the night in her bed — and bears his bite mark — Blair’s fury ignites a bond-fire neither can suppress. One desperate kiss in a moonlit archive leaves her half-undressed, gasping, her magic spiraling out of control. And when she wakes with his mark on her collarbone — a mark he swears he didn’t give — she realizes: the contract isn’t just political. It’s alive. And it’s trying to make them mates.
She came to destroy him.
Now, she might have to love him — to survive.