The silence of the ruins pressed in around me, thick and heavy, broken only by the wind howling through the broken arches and the distant cry of a lone wolf on the moors. My boots crunched on shattered stone as I walked, my breath visible in the cold night air, my fingers clenched around the journal Maeve had given me—her last gift, her final truth.
Elara Voss.
My mother.
Her name burned in my chest, not with grief, not with rage, but with something deeper. Something older. A recognition, like a sigil finally aligning, like a spell finding its true target. I had spent ten years believing she died for nothing. That her execution was justice. That I was alone.
But she wasn’t alone.
And neither was I.
I found a slab of fallen masonry beneath a crumbling arch and sat, the stone biting into my thighs through my trousers. The journal was small, bound in black leather, the edges scorched as if it had been pulled from a fire. I traced the initials carved into the cover—E.V.—with my thumb, then opened it.
The first page was blank, save for a single line, written in a hand so like my own it made my breath catch:
“Protect her. No matter what.”
I closed my eyes.
She had known. From the beginning. She had known they would come for me. That I would return. That the bond would find me. And she had trusted him—Kael—to keep me safe.
I turned the page.
And then I read.
Not quickly. Not with the urgency of a spy gathering intelligence. But slowly. Reverently. Like a prayer.
Her words spilled across the pages—her voice, sharp and clear, cutting through the years. Not a victim. Not a martyr. But a warrior. A queen. A mother.
“They will come for you,” she wrote. “They will tell you I betrayed them. That I conspired with the Fae. That I was weak. That I was mad. But none of it is true. I was framed. By Ravel. By House Druun. By the Council itself. They wanted my bloodline’s magic. They wanted the Unseelie Storm Throne. And they were willing to burn me to get it.”
My hands trembled.
“But they failed,” she continued. “Because I passed the throne to you. Not in ceremony. Not in blood ritual. But in truth. In fire. In memory. You are Stormborn, Parker. Heir to the Unseelie. And the bond—it is not a curse. It is a key. A weapon. A shield. Kael is not your enemy. He is your protector. Your equal. Your fated.”
I stopped.
The wind howled. The ruins groaned. The mark beneath my collarbone pulsed, warm and alive, as if responding to her words.
And then—
—the dam broke.
Tears spilled down my cheeks, hot and unchecked. Not just for her. Not just for what they had done. But for the years I had wasted. The hatred I had nurtured. The mission I had built on a lie.
I hadn’t come to burn the Council to the ground.
I had come to burn him.
Kael.
The man who had stood in the shadows as they sentenced her. The hybrid who had risen to power while I vanished into the human world. The one whose name I had spat like poison every night before I slept.
And all this time—
He had been protecting me.
“You’re not just his bondmate,” Maeve had whispered with her dying breath.
“You’re his *queen.*”
I pressed the journal to my chest, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The truth wasn’t just in the words. It was in the bond. In the way my magic answered to his. In the way my body arched into his touch. In the way my pulse jumped when he said my name.
It wasn’t just fate.
It was design.
And I had spent ten years fighting it.
“Parker.”
His voice.
Low. Rough. Familiar.
I didn’t look up. Didn’t move. Just kept my eyes on the journal, on her words, on the truth that was rewriting everything.
Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. Then the shift of fabric as he knelt beside me, close enough that I could feel the heat of him, the power in his stillness, the way his scent—smoke, frost, storm—filled my lungs.
“You read it,” he said.
Not a question.
A statement.
I nodded, still unable to speak.
“She knew,” he said, voice quiet. “From the beginning. She gave me the locket the night before they took her. She said, *‘Protect her. No matter what.’* And I swore I would.”
“Why?” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Why would she trust you? You were just a boy. You couldn’t stop them.”
“No,” he said. “But I never stopped trying. I fought for her. I fought for you. I spent years gathering proof, building power, waiting for the day you’d come back. And when you did—”
“You let me hate you.”
“Because you needed to.” He reached out, his fingers brushing the edge of the journal. “You needed to believe in your mission. To be strong. To survive. And if I had told you the truth the moment you walked in, you would have run. Or worse—you would have trusted me too soon. And Ravel would have used it against you.”
I looked at him then.
His gold-flecked eyes—wolf-bright, vampire-sharp—held mine, not with hunger, not with possession, but with something worse.
With grief.
“You think I didn’t feel it?” he asked, voice low. “The way you looked at me like I was the monster who let your mother die? The way you spat my name like it was filth? I let you. Because you needed to hate me. To fight me. To prove you were strong enough to survive this world.”
“And now?”
“Now you know the truth.” He leaned in, his breath warm on my skin. “And you have a choice.”
“What choice?”
“To keep fighting me,” he said. “Or to fight *with* me.”
My breath caught.
“You came here to burn the Council,” he said. “And you can. But not alone. Not as a weapon. As a queen. As my equal. As my *partner.*”
“I don’t need you,” I whispered.
“Liar.” His thumb brushed the edge of my jaw. “You don’t need me to survive. But you need me to *win.* The bond isn’t just magic. It’s power. Unity. And without it, Ravel wins. The Council falls. The packs fracture. And the Fae—”
“Will take everything,” I finished, remembering Maeve’s last words.
He nodded. “And you’ll die trying to stop it alone.”
“Then I’ll die.”
“No.” His hand slid to the back of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair. “You won’t. Because I won’t let you. Not after everything. Not after she trusted me with you.”
My pulse jumped.
“You came here to destroy me,” he said, voice a velvet threat. “But you’re not going to. Because you can’t. Not when every part of you *knows* the truth.”
“And what truth is that?”
He didn’t answer with words.
He answered with touch.
His lips met mine—soft at first. A question. A plea.
And then—
—the bond *roared.*
Heat. Light. Memory.
Flashes—my mother’s face, whispering, *“Protect her.”* The Chamber of Veins, her body arching into mine. The archives, her magic dancing beneath her skin as she held the truth in her hands.
And then—
Feeling.
His mouth, warm and insistent, parting beneath mine. His hands, no longer pushing, but *pulling,* gripping my coat, dragging me closer. His breath, hot and shallow, mingling with mine. The way his body pressed into mine, desperate, hungry, *needing.*
I deepened the kiss, my fangs grazing his lower lip, just enough to draw a bead of blood. His magic flared—crimson light spiraling around us, binding us, *claiming* us.
And then—
—a voice.
“Kael.”
Dain stood in the archway, his expression unreadable. The battle was over. The rogues were dead. The hall was quiet, save for the crackle of dying flames and the distant echo of footsteps.
I broke the kiss, but didn’t let him go. My hand stayed at the back of his neck, my thumb brushing his pulse.
Kael didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stared at me, his lips swollen, his eyes wide, his chest heaving.
“The Council wants you,” Dain said. “They’re calling an emergency session. Now.”
I nodded, slowly releasing him. “Tell them I’ll be there.”
Dain hesitated. Then turned and left.
Silence.
Kael finally pulled back, his hands trembling as he wiped the blood from his lip. “That shouldn’t have happened.”
“No,” I agreed. “It should’ve happened ten years ago.”
She stood, unsteady, but refusing my help. “You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to *touch* me and then pretend this means something.”
“I’m not pretending.” I rose to my feet, towering over her. “You felt it. The bond. The magic. The way our power *harmonizes* when we fight. When we kiss. When we *breathe.*”
“It’s not real.”
“It’s more real than anything you’ve ever known.” I stepped closer, caging her against the pillar. “You came here to burn me, Parker. But fire doesn’t destroy the storm. It becomes part of it.”
She looked up at me, her eyes blazing. “Then let me burn.”
“I already have.” My voice dropped to a growl. “And I’ll keep burning until you stop fighting it.”
She shoved me—hard—but I didn’t budge.
“You don’t own me,” she hissed.
“No.” I leaned in, my lips brushing her ear. “But I *want* you. And I’m not letting go.”
She didn’t answer.
Just turned and walked away, her boots echoing against the stone.
I watched her go.
The emergency session was coming.
The truth would be exposed.
And Ravel would fall.
But as I turned to follow, one thought echoed in my mind—
She kissed me back.
And that changed everything.
I stood, my legs unsteady, my heart pounding. The journal was still in my hands, her words still burning in my skull. The truth wasn’t just in the pages.
It was in the bond.
In the way my body still ached for his touch. In the way my magic hummed beneath my skin, restless, *waiting.* In the way my breath caught when he looked at me.
“You’re not going to run,” he said, standing with me.
“No,” I said. “I’m not.”
“Then what?”
I looked at him, my storm-gray eyes meeting his gold-flecked ones. “Now I fight *with* you.”
His breath caught.
“Not for you,” I said. “Not because of the bond. But because it’s the right thing to do. Because my mother didn’t die for nothing. Because Maeve didn’t die for nothing. And because Ravel?” I smiled, slow and dangerous. “He’s going to burn.”
Kael didn’t smile. Didn’t gloat. Just reached out, his thumb brushing the edge of my jaw. “Welcome home, Queen.”
And for the first time in ten years—
I believed it.
The wind howled. The ruins groaned. The bond pulsed between us, warm, insistent, *alive.*
And I knew—
The war wasn’t over.
But I wasn’t fighting it alone anymore.
And that was enough.