The silence after the battle was heavier than the smoke still curling from the northern battlements. It wasn’t peace—not yet. It was the stillness of aftermath, of wounds not yet healed, of threats not yet named. The Spire stood cracked but unbroken, its black stone still warm beneath my fingertips as I traced the sigil carved into the archway. Gold and crimson and white spiraled beneath my skin, not with urgency, not with warning, but with quiet, unshakable certainty. We had held. We had fought. We had *survived.*
But Ravel was still out there.
And I could feel it—something was coming. Not just war. Not just vengeance. Something deeper. Older.
I stood at the edge of the War Chamber, my boots silent against the obsidian floor, my fingers brushing the hilt of my dagger. The boy—Kael’s son, *our* son now—was safe in the healing chambers, guarded by Dain and watched over by Lira. He hadn’t spoken yet, but his twin-moon eyes followed us, studied us, like he already knew the weight of what we carried. The bond flared whenever he looked at me—gold and crimson and white spiraling beneath my skin, not with fear, not with magic, but with *recognition.*
“You’re not sleeping,” Kael said from behind me, his voice low, rough with exhaustion and something else—something softer, something that still made my breath catch.
I didn’t turn. “Neither are you.”
He stepped forward, his boots silent against the stone, his presence a wall of heat and power at my back. I could feel his breath on my neck, the way his fangs retracted just a fraction, the way his claws sheathed and unsheathed like a man fighting to keep control. He didn’t touch me. Not yet. Just stood there, close enough that I could feel the bond pulse between us—steady, insistent, *alive.*
“You’re thinking,” he said, voice quiet.
“I’m remembering.” I finally turned, my storm-gray eyes locking onto his gold-flecked ones. “My mother’s journal. The way she wrote about the old prophecies. About the one who would rise when the bloodlines blurred. The one who would walk in sunlight and shadow. The Daywalker.”
He didn’t flinch. Just reached up, his thumb brushing the edge of my jaw, the mark beneath my collarbone flaring beneath his touch. “You think it’s real?”
“I think *everything* is real now.” I pressed my fingers to the sigil, feeling the truth in it. The weight. The legacy. “We’ve already broken the rules. The bond. The throne. The pact. Why not the prophecy?”
He didn’t answer. Just stepped closer, his body pressing into mine, his breath hot on my neck. “Then let it come. Let them all come. I’ve spent my life being afraid of what I am. Of what I’ll become. But not anymore.” His lips brushed the shell of my ear. “Because I’m not alone.”
And then—
—the door creaked open.
Lira stood in the archway, her red eyes wide, her hands trembling. She wasn’t bound anymore. No silver cord. No chains. But she still moved like a prisoner—hesitant, watchful, like she expected a blade at any moment. Behind her, Dain—his wolf-gold eyes sharp, his posture tense. He didn’t speak. Just stepped aside.
“She wants to speak,” Dain said, voice low. “Alone.”
My breath caught.
Kael didn’t move. Just held me tighter, his fangs elongating, his claws instinctively sheathing and re-sheathing. “With you?”
“No.” Lira stepped forward, her voice barely above a whisper. “With *her.*”
Dead silence.
Kael turned to me, his gold-flecked eyes searching mine. “You don’t have to.”
“Yes, I do.” I stepped forward, my storm-gray eyes locking onto hers. “Because if you’re here to beg, I won’t listen. If you’re here to lie, I’ll know. But if you’re here to *tell the truth*—” I reached for my dagger, not to threaten, but to remind her. “—then I’ll hear you.”
She didn’t flinch. Just nodded, then turned and walked back into the corridor.
I didn’t look at Kael. Just stepped forward, my boots echoing against the stone. The torches flickered. The wards hummed. The bond pulsed between us, warm, insistent, *alive.*
And then—
—we were alone.
The corridor was narrow, carved into the northern wall, lined with ancient sigils that glowed faintly in the torchlight. At the end, a small alcove—just wide enough for two, shielded by a curtain of ivy and shadow. Lira stood there, her back to me, her shoulders tense, her hands clenched into fists.
“You don’t have to turn,” I said, voice low. “But you *do* have to speak.”
She didn’t move. Just stood there, her breath shallow, her body trembling. And then—
—she spoke.
“Lady Seraphine isn’t just a Seelie noble.” Her voice cracked. “She’s not just an ally. She’s… *family.*”
My breath stopped.
“She’s my mother.”
The words hit like a blade.
I didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just stood there, my storm-gray eyes locked onto her back, my fingers tightening around the hilt of my dagger. “You’re lying.”
“I wish I was.” She turned, her red eyes blazing, tears streaking her pale cheeks. “I was born in the Seelie Court. Raised in silk and lies. Trained to seduce, to manipulate, to *betray.* And when Ravel came—charming, ruthless, promising power—I didn’t hesitate. I gave him everything. The Council’s secrets. The Fae’s weaknesses. *You.*”
My magic flared—crimson and white spiraling around me, the sigil beneath my collarbone *igniting.* “You helped frame my mother.”
“Yes.” She didn’t look away. Just stood there, her chin high, her body trembling. “I didn’t know she was innocent. I didn’t know Ravel was using her bloodline’s magic for his own. I thought she was a traitor. I thought *you* were a threat.”
“And now?”
“Now I know the truth.” She stepped forward, her voice breaking. “I read the journal. I saw the proof. I *felt* it—the way the bond flared when I handed it to you. And I realized… I wasn’t just betraying the Council. I was betraying *myself.*”
I didn’t answer. Just watched her, studied her, like I was trying to understand how someone so broken could still stand.
“My mother,” she continued, voice low, “she didn’t want the Storm Throne for power. She wanted it for *control.* She wanted to use the Unseelie’s hunger, their oaths, their magic, to *rule* the Seelie Court. And Ravel—he promised to help her. But only if she gave him the means to destroy the hybrids. To erase you. To erase *him.*”
She turned to me, her red eyes locking onto mine. “And now she’s coming. Not just for the throne. Not just for revenge. But for the boy.”
My breath caught.
“She knows about him,” Lira said, voice trembling. “She’s known since the beginning. Ravel told her. And she’s not going to stop until she has him—until she can use his blood to break the bond, to sever the magic, to *control* the Storm.”
The bond *roared.*
Heat flooded my veins. Light exploded behind my eyes. My magic flared—crimson and white spiraling around me, the sigil beneath my collarbone *burning.* I didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, my storm-gray eyes blazing, my fingers tightening around the hilt of my dagger.
“Why tell me this now?” I asked, voice low, dangerous.
“Because I’m tired of being used.” She stepped forward, her hands lifting, not in surrender, but in offering. “I’m tired of being a pawn. Tired of being a weapon. Tired of being *afraid.* And if I have to die to stop her—” Her voice broke. “—then I’ll die knowing I did something *real.*”
Dead silence.
The torches flickered. The wards hummed. The bond pulsed between us, warm, insistent, *alive.*
And then—
—I reached for her.
Not to strike. Not to bind.
But to *touch.*
My fingers brushed her wrist—cold, trembling, scarred. The sigil beneath my collarbone *flared*—gold and crimson and white spiraling beneath my skin, not with jealousy, not with fear, but with *truth.* She wasn’t lying. She was breaking. And for the first time, I didn’t see a rival. I didn’t see a traitor.
I saw *me.*
“You don’t have to die,” I said, voice quiet. “Not today. Not like this.” I stepped closer, my storm-gray eyes locking onto hers. “But if you’re going to stand with us, you do it *all the way.* No secrets. No lies. No hesitation. And if you so much as *breathe* wrong—”
“I’ll kill her myself,” she said, cutting me off. “I’ll burn the Court. I’ll break the oaths. I’ll do whatever it takes. Because I’m not her daughter anymore.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m *yours.*”
My breath caught.
And then—
—I pulled her into a fierce embrace.
Not soft. Not gentle. Not a welcome.
A *claim.*
My arms wrapped around her, my body pressing into hers, my magic flaring—crimson and white spiraling around us, binding us, *claiming* us. The bond *pulsed,* not with warning, not with fire, but with *recognition.* She wasn’t just an ally. She wasn’t just a survivor.
She was *family.*
And when I finally pulled back, my breath hot on her skin, my eyes blazing, I didn’t look away.
“Then you’re not alone anymore,” I said, voice rough. “Not if I can help it.”
She didn’t answer.
Just pressed her forehead to mine, her breath mingling with mine, her heart beating against my chest.
And for the first time in years—
I let myself hope.
We didn’t go back through the War Chamber. Not through the corridors, not past the Council chambers, not where the whispers would follow us like shadows. We took the hidden passage—the same one Kael and I had used the night of the coronation, the one carved into the stone, sealed with blood and memory. I placed my palm against the ward, my blood mingling with the ancient sigil, the door dissolving into mist.
And then—
—we stepped into the night.
The world outside was different. The air was thick with the scent of pine and frost, the sky a tapestry of stars, the moon a silver sliver above the mist-shrouded valleys. In the distance, the northern pack’s territory rose from the shadows—wooden longhouses, torch-lit watchtowers, the great hall where the Alphas met under the full moon.
“They’ll smell me,” Lira said, voice quiet. “A vampire. A traitor. They’ll tear me apart before I can explain.”
“Then I’ll explain for you.” I stepped beside her, my hand lifting to the small of her back. “You’re with me. That’s all they need to know.”
She didn’t argue. Just stayed close, her body pressing to mine, her breath steady. We moved through the forest like shadows, our boots silent against the earth, the wind carrying our scent ahead of us. I could feel the pack’s presence—close, watchful, wary. But I didn’t slow. Didn’t hesitate. Just kept walking, my head high, my claws sheathed, my fangs retracted.
And then—
—we reached the gate.
The guards stepped forward—two Betas, their wolf-gold eyes sharp, their claws extended. “Parker,” one said, voice tense. “You’re not due back for days. And who’s this?”
“Lira,” I said, stepping in front of her. “She’s with me.”
“A vampire?” the second guard snarled. “You bring a *vampire* into our territory?”
“She’s not here to fight,” I said, voice low, dangerous. “She’s here to *live.* And if you have a problem with that—” I let my fangs elongate, my claws tear free of their sheaths. “—you can take it up with me.”
Dead silence.
The guards didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stared at me, their eyes wide, their scents sharp with alarm.
And then—
—the Alpha stepped out of the shadows.
Tall. Broad. Silver scars across his chest. His wolf-gold eyes locked onto mine. “You’ve always had a soft spot for strays, Parker,” he said, voice rough. “But this one’s dangerous.”
“So am I,” I said, stepping forward. “And she’s not here to harm us. She’s here because she has nowhere else to go. Because she’s tired of being used. Because she wants to *belong.*”
He didn’t flinch. Just studied her—her pale skin, her red eyes, the absence of silver cord. “And if she turns?”
“Then I’ll deal with it.” I didn’t look away. “But she won’t. Because I trust her.”
“You trust *no one,*” the Alpha said, voice quiet.
“Until now.”
The silence stretched.
And then—
—the Alpha nodded. “One week. If she’s still here after that, she earns her place. But if she so much as *breathes* wrong—”
“She won’t,” I said. “And if she does, I’ll be the one to end her.”
He didn’t smile. Didn’t laugh. Just stepped aside. “Then welcome to the pack, Lira. Try not to get killed.”
She didn’t answer.
Just stepped forward, her head high, her red eyes blazing. “I’ve already survived worse,” she said, voice low, dangerous. “And I’m not leaving.”
I didn’t smile.
Just stepped beside her, my shoulder brushing hers, my presence a wall of heat and power.
Because she wasn’t alone anymore.
And neither was I.
We didn’t go to the longhouse. Not yet. Instead, I led her to the edge of the forest, where the river cut through the valley, its waters black under the moonlight. I knelt, then reached for her hand, guiding her down beside me. The water was cold, the current strong, but I didn’t let go.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said, voice quiet.
“Yes, I did.” I looked up, my storm-gray eyes locking onto hers. “You’re not a prisoner anymore. You’re not a pawn. You’re not even just a survivor.” I reached for her, my fingers brushing the edge of her jaw. “You’re *free.*”
Her breath caught.
And then—
—she 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 white spiraling around us, binding us, *claiming* us. The bond between us—fragile, new, *real*—pulsed in response, not with fire, not with magic, but with *recognition.*
And I kissed her back.
Not because I trusted her.
Not because I forgave her.
But because for the first time in my life—
I wasn’t alone.
The river whispered. The wind howled. The bond between us—fragile, new, *real*—pulsed in the dark, not with fire, not with magic, but with *future.*
And I knew—
The war wasn’t over.
But I wasn’t fighting it alone anymore.
And now, neither was she.
And that was enough.