The tunnels beneath the Blood District reeked of iron, rot, and something older—ancient magic, sealed in stone, pulsing like a dying heart. I moved through the dark with the silence of a shadow, boots barely touching the damp stone, my senses stretched to their limit. The air was thick with the scent of blood, sweat, and fear. Not mine. Not yet. But *hers*.
River.
She was down here. Somewhere. And if Kaelen had reached her—
Then I was already too late.
But if he hadn’t—
Then I was her only chance.
I’d seen the bond shatter. Felt it in my bones. A werewolf doesn’t need magic to know when a mate is in danger. We *feel* it. In the blood. In the marrow. In the way the moon pulls at our skin. And when Kaelen’s mark had screamed—when the bond had fractured—I’d known.
Malrik had her.
And Kaelen? He’d gone feral.
I’d watched him tear through the Keep, shadows writhing around him, fangs bared, eyes crimson with rage. He hadn’t spoken. Hadn’t ordered. Hadn’t even looked at me. Just *moved*—a predator unleashed, a king broken, a man possessed.
And I’d followed.
Not because he commanded it.
But because I owed it to him.
And to her.
Because for the first time in three centuries, I’d seen something in Kaelen’s eyes that wasn’t cold. Wasn’t cruel. Wasn’t calculating.
*Hope*.
And I’d be damned if I let Malrik take it from him.
I turned a corner, the passage narrowing, the walls slick with moisture. The torchlight here was weak, flickering, casting long shadows that danced like ghosts. I pressed a hand to the hilt of my dagger—wolf-forged silver, etched with runes of protection. Not that it would do much against Malrik. But it was all I had.
And then—
A sound.
Not from ahead.
From above.
A low, guttural growl. The scrape of claws on stone. The soft thud of boots.
Guards.
Not vampire. Not Fae.
Werewolf.
And not from my pack.
I pressed myself against the wall, breath steady, pulse slow. The Ashen Pack had always answered to Kaelen. We were his enforcers. His blade in the dark. His shadow. But not all werewolves were loyal. Not all packs followed the same code. And Malrik? He’d been buying allegiance for months—promises of power, of freedom, of blood.
And now, they were here.
To stop me.
Three of them stepped into the passage—tall, broad, their eyes glowing amber in the dark. They wore the insignia of the Ironfang Clan, a splinter group that had broken from the northern packs during the war. Their scents were sharp—wolf, iron, something metallic. Hunger. Not for food. For dominance.
They didn’t speak. Just fanned out, blocking the path, fangs bared, claws extended.
I didn’t move. Just met their gaze, one by one. “You don’t want to do this,” I said, voice low.
The one in the center—a massive brute with a scar across his throat—snarled. “We want the reward. The king’s head. The mate’s blood. The Oath’s power.”
“You won’t get any of it,” I said. “Malrik’s lying. He’ll kill you the second you’re useful.”
“And you?” the one on the left sneered. “You serve a king who’s lost his mind. A vampire who thinks he can love a hybrid.”
“He’s not lost,” I said, voice steady. “He’s found something worth dying for.”
They didn’t laugh. Didn’t smirk. Just attacked.
Fast. Brutal. Coordinated.
I moved before they even lunged—dagger flashing, silver biting into flesh. The one on the right went down first, a slash across the throat, blood spraying the wall. He collapsed, gurgling, eyes wide.
The other two didn’t flinch.
The center brute came at me with a roar, claws raking toward my face. I ducked, twisted, drove the dagger into his ribs. He howled, stumbling back, but I didn’t let him recover. I kicked his legs out, dropped him to his knees, and slit his throat in one clean motion.
The last one—the one on the left—was smarter. Faster. He didn’t charge. Just circled, eyes locked on mine, fangs bared.
“You’re good,” he said, voice low. “But you’re alone.”
“I’m not,” I said.
And then—
The bond *flared*.
Not from me.
From *him*.
Kaelen.
It wasn’t pain. Not fear. Not loss.
Victory.
He’d found her.
And he was coming.
The werewolf saw it in my eyes. Felt it in the air. And for the first time, he hesitated.
That was all I needed.
I lunged, dagger flashing, but he was fast—twisted, avoiding the kill strike, slashing across my ribs. Pain lanced through me, hot and deep. Blood soaked my tunic. I staggered, but didn’t fall.
He came at me again, fangs bared, claws out.
I didn’t dodge.
I *charged*.
Shoulder first, I slammed into him, driving him back against the wall. He snarled, clawing at my face, but I held on, one hand gripping his throat, the other driving the dagger into his chest. He thrashed, teeth snapping, but I didn’t let go. I twisted the blade, felt it tear through muscle, through bone, through heart.
He gasped. Eyes wide. Then still.
I let him drop.
Breathing hard, I pressed a hand to my ribs. Blood seeped between my fingers, warm, sticky. The wound was deep. Not fatal. Not yet. But it would slow me down. Weaken me.
And I didn’t have time to heal.
I wiped the dagger on my sleeve, sheathed it, and moved forward—limping, but not stopping. The passage sloped down, the air growing colder, the scent of blood stronger. Somewhere ahead, a drip echoed like a heartbeat.
And then—
A flicker.
Not from the torches.
From the bond.
It pulsed—weak, flickering, like a thread about to snap. But still there. Still *alive*.
Kaelen and River.
They were close.
I pushed forward, boots crunching on stone, breath ragged. The passage opened into a vast chamber—the Bloodforge. Ancient. Cursed. A place of torture, of blood rituals, of screams that never stopped.
And at the center—
Chaos.
Kaelen stood like a storm, shadows writhing around him, fangs bared, eyes crimson. He held River in his arms, her body trembling, her face buried in his chest. Blood streaked his coat. His hands were burned from tearing the silver chains. But he didn’t let go.
And behind them—
Malrik.
He stood at the edge of the chamber, silver eyes gleaming, a dagger in his hand. Not aimed at Kaelen.
At *me*.
He’d been waiting.
“Took you long enough,” he said, voice smooth, dangerous.
I didn’t answer. Just stepped forward, hand on my dagger, blood soaking my side.
“You’re wounded,” he said, smiling. “How noble. Dying for your king.”
“Better than living for you,” I said.
He laughed—low, dark. “You’re loyal. I’ll give you that. But loyalty is a weakness. And weakness gets you killed.”
“So does greed,” I said.
He didn’t flinch. Just tilted his head. “You think I want power? I want *justice*. The Oath was never meant to enslave. It was meant to *balance*. But Kaelen’s father twisted it. Used it. And now?” He stepped closer, voice dropping. “Now I’ll take it. Rewrite it. Make it *right*.”
“By killing his mate?” I said. “By torturing a woman?”
“She’s not his mate,” he said. “She’s a weapon. A tool. And when he realizes it—when he sees her for what she is—he’ll destroy her himself.”
“He won’t,” I said. “Because he *sees* her. Really sees her. And that’s something you’ll never understand.”
His smile faltered—just for a second. Then it returned, sharper. “Then you’ll die for nothing.”
And then—
He moved.
Faster than I expected. A blur of motion. The dagger flashed—silver, enchanted, meant to sever bonds, to kill werewolves.
I dodged—just barely. The blade grazed my arm, burning like fire. I stumbled back, but didn’t fall.
He came at me again, fast, brutal, relentless. I blocked with my dagger, but he was stronger, faster. He knocked it from my hand, sent it skittering across the stone.
I was unarmed.
And he knew it.
He lunged, dagger aimed at my heart.
I didn’t dodge.
I *charged*.
Shoulder first, I slammed into him, driving him back. He snarled, slashing, but I held on, one hand gripping his wrist, the other driving my elbow into his throat. He gagged, staggering, but I didn’t let go. I twisted, using his momentum, throwing him over my shoulder.
He hit the ground hard. The dagger skittered away.
I didn’t go for it.
I went for *him*.
I dropped on top of him, fists flying, teeth bared. He fought back—claws raking my face, fangs biting my shoulder—but I didn’t stop. I hit him—again and again—my knuckles splitting, blood streaking his face.
“You don’t get to do this!” I roared, voice cracking. “You don’t get to take her! You don’t get to break him!”
He didn’t answer. Just fought, eyes wild, fangs bared.
And then—
A presence.
Dark. Quiet. Inevitable.
I didn’t turn. Just felt him—the bond flaring, heat rushing through me, my pulse jumping in my throat.
Kaelen.
He stood at the edge of the chamber, River in his arms, her face pale, her breath uneven. His eyes—crimson, knowing—locked onto mine. He didn’t look at Malrik. Didn’t speak to him. Just watched me, like I was something *precious*, not prey.
“Torin,” he said, voice low.
I didn’t answer. Just kept fighting, fists flying, blood on my hands.
Malrik twisted, breaking free, scrambling back. He reached for the dagger.
I lunged.
But not for him.
For *River*.
I moved fast—faster than I thought possible—throwing myself between her and the blade. The dagger struck true—silver biting into my chest, just above the heart.
Pain exploded.
White-hot. Blinding.
I gasped, stumbling back, blood soaking my tunic. My vision blurred. My legs trembled.
But I didn’t fall.
I stayed on my feet.
And I *smiled*.
Malrik stared at me, eyes wide, the dagger still in my chest. “You… you *idiot*.”
I didn’t answer. Just looked past him, at Kaelen. At River.
They were safe.
That was all that mattered.
Kaelen moved then—fast, silent, deadly. He dropped River gently to the ground, then *charged*, shadows writhing around him, fangs bared. Malrik turned, tried to fight, but it was over before it began.
A blur of motion.
A snarl.
A scream.
And then—
Silence.
Malrik’s body hit the stone, throat torn, eyes wide, blood pooling beneath him.
Kaelen didn’t look at him.
He looked at *me*.
And for the first time in three centuries, I saw something in his eyes that wasn’t cold. Wasn’t cruel. Wasn’t calculating.
*Grief*.
He crossed the chamber in three strides, catching me as I fell. I hit the ground hard, but he held me, one arm under my shoulders, the other pressing against the wound. Blood seeped between his fingers, warm, sticky.
“Torin,” he said, voice raw. “No. *No*.”
I tried to speak, but blood filled my mouth. I coughed, wincing, but managed a weak smile. “Told you… I’d never seen you hesitate… until her.”
His breath caught.
River was beside us then, on her knees, her hands pressing against the wound, her face pale, her eyes wide. “Hold on,” she whispered. “Please, hold on.”
I didn’t answer. Just looked at Kaelen. “She’s… the one,” I said, voice weak. “Worth… it.”
“Don’t,” he said, voice breaking. “Don’t you *dare*.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “For doubting… for not seeing… sooner.”
“You didn’t,” he said. “You saw it first. You always did.”
I smiled. Felt the warmth leave my body. Felt the bond—faint, flickering—start to fade.
And then—
I saw her.
The Fae spy.
She stood at the edge of the chamber, golden eyes sharp, lips parted. I’d never told anyone. Never admitted it. But I’d loved her. From the first moment I’d seen her, standing in the shadows of the Council Spire, her scent—jasmine, moonlight, something wild—filling the air.
And now?
She was here.
For me.
“Tell her,” I whispered, voice fading. “Tell her… I loved her.”
Kaelen didn’t look. Just held me tighter. “I will,” he said. “I promise.”
“And you,” I said, looking at River. “You fight… for both of us.”
She didn’t answer. Just pressed her hands harder, tears falling. “Don’t leave,” she whispered. “Please.”
I didn’t answer.
Just closed my eyes.
And let go.
The last thing I heard was Kaelen’s voice—raw, broken, *human*.
“He died for us,” he whispered. “Then we’ll live for him.”
And the bond—
It pulsed, steady, strong.
Like a heartbeat not my own.
Like a promise.
Like a vow.