The silence after Parker whispered *“love”* was not silence at all.
It was a roar—deep in my bones, in the pulse of the bond, in the raw, trembling truth of her blood on my lips. She had said it. Not in fury. Not in pain. Not in defiance.
In surrender.
And it shattered me.
I held her—her body limp, her breath shallow, her skin still too pale—but her heart beat. Steady. Strong. Alive. The sigil beneath her collarbone, once flickering like a dying star, now pulsed with a steady, radiant light—gold threaded with crimson and white, the colors of our bond, our blood, our truth. My fangs were still buried in the mark, her blood still mingling with mine, but I didn’t pull away. Couldn’t. The connection was too deep, too vital, too right. If I let go, I feared she would slip through my fingers like smoke.
But I also feared I had taken too much.
My body trembled—exhausted, drained, my hybrid nature straining under the weight of what I’d done. I had poured my life into her. My power. My blood. My soul. And she—weak, fading, nearly gone—had given it back, slicing her palm, pressing her blood to my chest, completing the bond in a way no ritual, no magic, no fate ever could.
Not by force.
Not by duty.
By choice.
And now—
Now the bond was unbreakable.
“Parker,” I murmured, my voice raw, broken. “You’re still here.”
Her fingers twitched against my cheek, smearing our blood together. “Wouldn’t dream of leaving… not now.”
I didn’t smile. Didn’t laugh. Just pressed my forehead to hers, my breath unsteady, my body aching with the aftermath of magic and emotion. “You scared me.”
“Good.” Her voice was weak, but there was a spark in it—familiar, fierce. “You should be scared. I’m not done with you yet.”
I exhaled—a shaky, ragged breath—and finally pulled my fangs from her mark. The wound sealed instantly, the skin knitting closed, the sigil glowing faintly beneath. I pressed my palm over it, feeling the steady pulse of her magic, of her life, of us. “You’re stronger.”
“You’re annoying.” She tried to push me away, but her hands were weak, her body still recovering. “Let me up.”
“No.” I didn’t release her. Just shifted, pulling her into my lap, cradling her against my chest. “You nearly died. You did die—just for a second. Your heart stopped. Your magic vanished. And the bond—” My voice cracked. “—went silent. I felt it. The emptiness. The nothing. And I would have followed you into it.”
She stilled. Her storm-gray eyes lifted to mine, searching, uncertain. “You would have?”
“Without hesitation.” I framed her face, my thumbs brushing her cheekbones. “You think I could live in a world where you don’t exist? Where your voice isn’t there to challenge me? Where your fire doesn’t burn beside mine? Where your hands don’t touch me like I’m something worth saving?”
Her breath caught.
“You came here to destroy me,” I said, voice low, rough. “But you’re not going to. Because you can’t. Not when every part of you knows the truth.”
“And what truth is that?” she whispered, though I could see it in her eyes—she already knew.
“That you’re not just my bondmate.” My lips brushed the shell of her ear. “You’re my queen. And I’m not letting go.”
She didn’t shove me.
Didn’t slap me.
Didn’t run.
Just closed her eyes.
And for the first time in ten years—
She let herself believe it.
But the moment didn’t last.
A knock came at the door—sharp, urgent. Not Dain. Not Lira.
Someone official.
I didn’t move. Just held her tighter, my fangs elongating, my claws instinctively sheathing and re-sheathing. “Enter,” I called, voice cold, dangerous.
The door opened.
A vampire elder stepped inside—tall, ancient, his red eyes wide with something between fear and defiance. Behind him, two more elders, a werewolf Alpha, and the Seelie envoy from the Council Hall. Their scents clashed—blood-wine, pine, frost, and the cloying sweetness of Fae glamour.
“High Arbiter,” the elder said, his voice trembling. “The Council demands an audience. We felt the surge of magic. We saw the light. We know something happened. And we—”
“You know nothing,” I said, cutting him off. My voice was a whip. “You know only what you fear. And you fear her.” I tightened my hold on Parker, my thumb brushing the sigil beneath her collarbone. “She is not a threat. She is not unstable. She is not compromised. She is my queen. And if you have a problem with that—” I leaned forward, my fangs bared, my eyes blazing gold. “—you can take it up with the Storm.”
The elder paled. The others stepped back.
“We only seek the truth,” the Seelie envoy said, her silver gown shimmering, her voice like honey laced with poison. “The bond is powerful. Unpredictable. And if it has been—”
“It has been proven,” Parker said, her voice weak but sharp. She pushed herself up, her hands braced against my chest, her storm-gray eyes locking onto the envoy. “Proven in blood. In fire. In truth. And if you doubt it—” She raised her hand, and crimson and white magic spiraled around her fingers, bright, wild, alive. “—I’ll show you what happens when you challenge a queen who has already burned her way through hell to get here.”
Dead silence.
And then—
—the werewolf Alpha stepped forward. Not in challenge. In recognition. “The Storm answered,” he said, his voice low, rough. “It doesn’t answer to liars. It doesn’t answer to cowards. It answers to truth.” He bowed his head—not to me. To her. “My queen.”
One by one, the others followed.
The vampire elders. The Seelie envoy. Even the ancient elder who had spoken first.
They didn’t kneel. Didn’t grovel.
But they bowed.
And when they left, the door closing softly behind them—
—Parker exhaled, her body sagging against mine.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I murmured, pressing my lips to her temple. “I would have handled them.”
“I know.” She tilted her head, her eyes meeting mine. “But I’m not your weapon. I’m not your pawn. I’m not even just your bondmate.” Her hand lifted, brushing the mark beneath my collarbone. “I’m your equal. And I’ll face them on my own terms.”
My chest tightened.
She was right. And that terrified me.
Because I’d spent thirty-four years mastering control. Thirty-four years burying the wolf, silencing the vampire, locking away the man. I’d ruled the Council with cold precision, with iron will, with the belief that power was the only truth.
And then she walked in.
A storm in human form. A queen in exile. A woman who had come to destroy me—and instead, had become the only thing keeping me from falling apart.
And now—
Now she was stronger than I’d ever been.
“You’re trembling,” I said, my voice low.
“So are you.”
“I thought I’d lost you.”
“You didn’t.”
“I almost did.” My arms tightened around her. “When your heart stopped. When the bond went silent. When you were gone—”
“I’m not gone.” She cupped my face, forcing me to look at her. “I’m here. And I’m not leaving. Not for the Council. Not for Ravel. Not for anyone.”
“Then promise me something,” I said, my voice breaking.
“What?”
“Promise me you won’t die for me again.”
She didn’t answer.
Just leaned in and kissed me.
Not soft. Not gentle. Not a thank you.
A claim.
Her lips crashed into mine, hard and hungry, her fangs grazing my lower lip just enough to draw blood. My magic flared—crimson and gold spiraling around us, binding us, claiming us. The bond roared, heat flooding my veins, light exploding behind my eyes.
And then—
—a voice.
“Kael.”
Dain stood in the doorway, his wolf-gold eyes wide, his posture tense. “We have a problem.”
I broke the kiss, but didn’t let her go. My forehead rested against hers, my breath hot on her skin, her blood on my lips. “What is it?”
“Ravel.” His voice was low, urgent. “He’s not gone. He’s not dead. He’s not even exiled.”
My blood ran cold.
Parker stiffened in my arms. “What do you mean?”
“He’s in the Chamber of Echoes,” Dain said. “With a dozen Council members. He’s claiming the bond is a flaw. That it needs to be severed. That you’re both compromised. And he’s—” He hesitated. “—he’s saying he has proof.”
“Proof of what?” I growled.
“That the bond was forged in lies. That it was never fated. That it was manipulated.”
“By who?” Parker demanded.
“By your mother,” Dain said, his voice quiet. “He says she used blood magic to bind you before you were born. That the bond isn’t real. That it’s a curse.”
The room went still.
And then—
—Parker laughed.
Not a bitter laugh. Not a broken one.
A storm.
She pushed herself up, her storm-gray eyes blazing, her magic flaring—crimson and white spiraling around her like a living thing. “Let him say it,” she said, her voice low, dangerous. “Let him stand in the Chamber of Echoes and say my mother’s name like he has the right. Let him call the bond a curse.” She turned to me, her hand lifting to the sigil beneath her collarbone. “And then let him watch me prove him wrong.”
I didn’t argue.
Just stood, lifting her into my arms, carrying her toward the door. “Then let’s give him a show he’ll never forget.”
We didn’t walk to the Chamber of Echoes.
We arrived.
The doors burst open before we reached them, the wards shattering like glass. The Council members inside—twelve seats filled, Ravel standing at the center dais, his crimson robes immaculate, his red eyes gleaming with triumph—froze.
And then—
—they saw us.
Kael, carrying Parker in his arms, her storm-gray eyes blazing, her magic flaring, her blood still on his lips.
And the bond—
It pulsed.
Not with warning.
Not with fear.
With power.
“You’re too late,” Ravel said, his voice cutting through the silence. “The bond is already fractured. The Council will fall. And you—” His gaze locked onto Parker. “—will die like your mother.”
My blood ran cold.
But Parker didn’t flinch.
Just smiled.
Slow. Dangerous. Alive.
“You don’t get to speak her name,” she said, her voice low, deadly calm. “Not after what you did. Not after how you lied. Not after how you burned her.”
“She was a traitor,” Ravel spat. “She conspired with the Fae. She—”
“She was framed,” I said, stepping forward, caging Parker beside me, my voice a blade. “By you. By House Druun. By the Council itself. And if you doubt it—” I reached into my coat and pulled out the journal—aged, brittle, the cover scorched at one corner. “—read her final words.”
The chamber stilled.
And then—
—Parker stepped forward, her hand lifting, her magic flaring. “But I don’t need words.” Her voice dropped, rough, dangerous. “I have truth.”
And she raised her blade.
Not at Ravel.
At herself.
With one clean motion, she sliced her palm, blood welling thick and dark, and pressed it to the sigil beneath her collarbone.
And the bond—
It ignited.
Gold and crimson and white spiraled around us, binding us, claiming us. The sigils on our skin flared—twin marks, twin souls, twin power. The chamber trembled. The wards shrieked. The Council members staggered back, their eyes wide, their fangs bared.
And then—
—the vision.
Not mine. Not hers.
Ours.
A shared memory—my mother’s execution. The flames. The crowd. The Council watching in silence. And in the shadows—Kael. A boy. No more than sixteen. His gold-flecked eyes wide with horror, his hands clenched into fists, his voice whispering, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
And then—
Another.
Maeve’s death. The shadow. The blade. The vial hidden in her sleeve. And Ravel—standing in the corridor, his red eyes gleaming, his lips curled in a smile.
And then—
Another.
My mother, not burning—but rising. From the pyre, wreathed in stormfire, her arms outstretched, her voice thundering: “I pass the throne to you. Not in ceremony. Not in blood ritual. But in truth. In fire. In memory. You are Stormborn, Parker. 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.”
The chamber was silent.
No one moved. No one spoke.
Until Ravel.
“Enough.” His voice was a whip. “The bond is unstable. Dangerous. It must be severed.”
“Try,” I said, stepping forward, my body caging Parker’s. “Sever it. And watch us both die. Watch the Council fall. Watch the packs fracture. Watch the Houses rise. And watch the Fae—”
“Take everything,” Parker finished, stepping beside me. “And you’ll be the one who let them.”
Ravel’s eyes narrowed. “Then exile her.”
“No,” I said. “She stays. With me.”
“Then the Council demands a trial.”
“For what?”
“For treason.” Ravel’s gaze locked onto Parker. “For conspiring with the Fae. For stealing Council secrets. For destabilizing the bond.”
“And the punishment?”
“Death.”
The word hung in the air like a blade.
But Parker didn’t flinch.
Just smiled.
“Then let the trial begin,” she said. “And let the bond be the judge.”
Ravel didn’t answer.
Just turned and walked out, his crimson robes swirling like blood in water.
The chamber emptied behind him, the Council members whispering, their eyes wide with fear, with doubt, with hope.
And then—
—it was just us.
I turned to her, my hand lifting, my thumb brushing the edge of her jaw. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do.” She stepped into me, her hands on my chest, her forehead resting against mine. “I came to burn the Council to the ground. But I’m not going to. Not like this. Not alone. I’m going to burn him. And I’m going to do it with you.”
I didn’t answer.
Just pulled her into a fierce embrace, my mouth on her neck, my fangs grazing her skin, not to claim, not to mark—but to promise.
And the bond—
It pulsed.
Not with warning.
With power.
The war wasn’t over.
But I wasn’t fighting it alone anymore.
And that was enough.