The northern watchtower stood like a sentinel carved from storm and shadow, its ancient stones slick with mist, its narrow windows glowing faintly with the blue pulse of warding runes. I leaned against the parapet, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the ruins below where Kael had pinned Parker against the crumbling altar—where he’d kissed her like a man starved, like a man claiming what was his. I’d seen it all. From the shadows. As I always did.
They hadn’t noticed me. Not then. Not when Kael had murmured, *“Run all you want. The bond always finds you.”* Not when Parker had fled into the night, her boots pounding against the wet stone, her breath ragged, her magic flickering like dying embers in her wake. Not when Kael had stayed behind, head bowed, one hand pressed to the altar where she’d been, as if he could still feel the heat of her skin.
But I’d seen.
And I knew.
Something had shifted tonight. Not just between them. *In* him.
Kael had always been control. Precision. Ice wrapped in fire. He ruled the Council with a hand so firm it had cracked bones before. He’d survived the scorn of the werewolf packs, the venom of the vampire Houses, the silent judgment of the Fae—all because he never wavered. Never showed weakness. Never let anyone close.
Until her.
Parker Voss.
She’d walked into the Spire like a storm given form, and in less than a week, she’d cracked him open.
I turned from the parapet, boots echoing on the stone as I descended the spiral staircase. The air grew colder the deeper I went, the scent of damp earth and old magic thick in my lungs. The lower levels of the Spire were rarely used—reserved for storage, for forgotten relics, for secrets the Council wanted buried. But one room still had light.
Maeve’s chamber.
The door was ajar, a sliver of golden candlelight cutting through the darkness. I hesitated. I wasn’t supposed to be here. She wasn’t supposed to be meeting anyone. Not after curfew. Not with the Spire on high alert. But I’d seen her slip down the corridor an hour ago, her hood pulled low, her steps silent. And I’d followed.
I pushed the door open.
She sat at a small wooden table, a stack of scrolls before her, a quill in hand. Her face was lined with age, but her eyes—sharp, storm-gray, just like Parker’s—flicked to me the second I entered.
“Dain,” she said, voice low. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“You shouldn’t be either,” I said, closing the door behind me. “Not with Ravel’s spies in every shadow.”
She didn’t argue. Just set down the quill and folded her hands. “You saw it, then.”
“Saw what?”
“Don’t play the loyal wolf with me,” she said, a faint smile touching her lips. “You’ve been watching them since the beginning. Kael and Parker. You see everything.”
I didn’t answer. Just stepped closer, my gaze dropping to the scrolls. Names. Dates. Bloodline records. Council decrees. And one, half-unrolled, bearing the seal of the Northern Covens—Parker’s forged identity.
“You helped her,” I said.
“I saved her.” Maeve’s voice was quiet, but firm. “Ten years ago, when they came for Elara, I smuggled her daughter out. Hid her in the human world. Gave her a new name. A new life. And now—”
“Now she’s back,” I finished. “And she’s tearing Kael apart.”
Maeve’s smile deepened. “No. She’s *fixing* him.”
“He doesn’t need fixing,” I snapped. “He needs to stay focused. Ravel’s moving. The Council’s fracturing. And now Kael’s distracted—by *her.* By a bond no one believed in until it flared to life in the middle of the Hall.”
“And yet it did.” Maeve leaned forward, her eyes sharp. “You felt it, didn’t you? In the Chamber of Veins. When their marks glowed. When their magic harmonized.”
I did.
It had hit me like a physical force—a pulse of energy so raw, so *alive*, it had made my wolf whine in submission. I’d seen the way Kael’s hands had tightened on her, the way her body had arched into his, the way the silver veins in the walls had flared like lightning. It wasn’t just a bond.
It was a *merging.*
“It’s dangerous,” I said. “If the Council thinks Kael’s compromised—”
“He is,” Maeve said simply. “But not in the way they think. He’s not weaker. He’s *stronger.* The bond stabilizes his hybrid nature. Without her, he’d have turned feral years ago.”
“And if she leaves?”
“She won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.” Maeve reached into her sleeve and pulled out a small, leather-bound journal—aged, brittle, the cover scorched at one corner. “This belonged to Elara. Her final words. Her truth.”
I didn’t touch it. Just stared. “Why show me this?”
“Because you’re the only one who can protect them,” she said. “Kael trusts you. Parker respects you. And when the storm breaks—”
“The storm’s already here,” I said. “Ravel’s got the Council whispering. The werewolf packs are restless. The vampires are circling. And now Lira’s spreading lies about the bond, about Kael’s loyalty—”
“Lira’s a pawn,” Maeve said. “She always has been. Ravel used her to get close to Kael, to test his control. And now he’s using her to turn Parker against him.”
“It’s working.”
“No.” Maeve shook her head. “It’s not. Parker’s angry. She’s hurt. But she’s not blind. She felt the kiss. She felt the bond. And she *felt* Kael’s truth in it.”
I exhaled, running a hand through my hair. “He’s never looked at anyone like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like she’s the only truth in a world of lies.”
Maeve smiled. “Then you understand.”
“I understand that he’s risking everything,” I said. “His power. His rule. His *life.* For a woman who still wants to kill him.”
“And yet,” Maeve said, “he’d die for her.”
Silence.
The candlelight flickered, casting long shadows across the stone walls. Outside, the wind howled through the ruins, carrying the scent of rain and old magic.
“You’re afraid,” Maeve said, her voice softer now. “Not for Kael. For yourself.”
I didn’t deny it.
I’d spent my life in the shadows, loyal, obedient, *necessary.* But never close. Never seen. And now—
Now there was Parker.
Not just because of the bond. Not just because she was Kael’s fated mate.
But because she *saw* me.
In the archives, when I’d warned her about the sealed file. In the Hall, when I’d caught her gaze after the kiss. She didn’t look at me like I was just another soldier. She looked at me like I was *real.*
And that terrified me.
“I don’t want to lose him,” I said, voice rough. “But I don’t know how to protect him from this.”
“You don’t have to,” Maeve said. “Just be there. Watch. Listen. And when the time comes—”
“What time?”
“When Kael has to choose between the Council and her.” Her eyes locked onto mine. “He’ll choose her. And when he does, the Spire will burn.”
“Then we’ll burn with him.”
She nodded. “Yes. And it will be worth it.”
I didn’t answer.
Just turned and left, the weight of her words pressing down on me like stone.
The corridors were silent as I made my way back to the upper levels. The Spire had settled into uneasy quiet, the aftermath of the attack still lingering in the scent of blood and smoke. I passed a pair of vampire sentries—Lira’s men, by the look of their crimson insignias—and they didn’t challenge me. They knew better.
But one of them—tall, pale, with eyes too sharp—watched me as I passed. And I knew.
Ravel was watching.
I reached my quarters—a small, austere room with a narrow bed, a weapons rack, and a single window that overlooked the training yard. I stripped off my coat, hung it on the hook, and sat on the edge of the bed, head in my hands.
What the hell was I doing?
I wasn’t supposed to care. I wasn’t supposed to *feel.* I was supposed to be the loyal Beta. The silent enforcer. The one who followed orders without question.
And yet—
—I’d stood in the Chamber of Veins and seen Kael’s hands on Parker’s bare skin. I’d watched him carry her from the battlefield, her body limp in his arms. I’d heard the raw, broken sound in his voice when he’d whispered, *“I’ll always come back.”*
And I’d *felt* it.
The bond. Not just between them. But in the air. In the stone. In the very pulse of the Spire.
It wasn’t just a connection.
It was a *rebirth.*
I stood, pacing to the window. The training yard was empty, the dummies still bearing the scars of yesterday’s drills. My claws itched. My wolf paced beneath my skin, restless, *aware.*
And then—
—a knock.
Soft. Deliberate.
I turned.
The door opened before I could answer.
Parker stood in the archway, her hair damp from the rain, her black tunic clinging to her frame. Her storm-gray eyes locked onto mine, sharp, searching, *alive.*
“Dain,” she said. “We need to talk.”
My breath caught.
Not from fear.
From the way she looked at me—like I was the only one who could give her the truth.
“Come in,” I said.
She stepped inside, closing the door behind her. The room felt smaller suddenly, tighter, charged with something I couldn’t name.
“You saw us,” she said. “In the Chamber of Veins.”
I nodded. “I didn’t mean to.”
“But you stayed.”
“I didn’t know what to do.”
She studied me, her gaze piercing. “You’re not like the others. You don’t flinch. You don’t lie. You just… *watch.*”
“Someone has to.”
“And what did you see?”
“I saw Kael touch you,” I said, voice low. “And I saw you *want* him to.”
Her breath hitched.
“You don’t have to deny it,” I said. “I felt the bond. I saw the way your magic answered to his. The way your body arched into his touch. It wasn’t just the ritual. It was *you.*”
“I hate him,” she whispered.
“No,” I said. “You hate that you *need* him. That your mission means nothing compared to the way he makes you feel.”
She flinched.
“And you’re afraid,” I continued. “Afraid that if you let yourself want him, you’ll lose yourself. That you’ll forget why you came here.”
“I came to destroy him,” she said, voice breaking. “To burn the Council to the ground.”
“And now?”
She didn’t answer.
Just looked at me, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
“Kael’s not your enemy,” I said. “Ravel is. The Council is. But Kael?” I stepped closer. “He’s the only one who’s been fighting for you since the beginning.”
“He let them burn her,” she said, voice raw.
“He was *seventeen.*” I reached out, not touching her, but my hand hovering near her arm. “He couldn’t stop it. But he never stopped trying to fix it. He’s been dismantling Ravel’s power for years. Waiting for you to come back.”
“Why?”
“Because your mother asked him to.” I took the journal from my coat—the one Maeve had given me—and handed it to her. “She knew you’d return. She knew the bond would find you. And she knew—”
“That he’d save me,” she finished, voice trembling.
I nodded. “And he will. Every day. For the rest of your lives.”
She took the journal, her fingers trembling as she opened it. The first page bore a single line, written in a hand that matched hers:
“Protect her. No matter what.”
Her breath caught.
And then—
—she cried.
Not loud. Not dramatic.
Just a single tear, tracing a path down her cheek before she wiped it away, fierce, defiant.
“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered.
“You don’t have to know,” I said. “Just be honest. With yourself. With him. The bond isn’t a chain. It’s a *choice.* And you’re not alone in it.”
She looked up at me, her eyes searching mine. “Do you think he loves me?”
“I know he does,” I said. “And I know he’d die for you.”
“And if I asked him to?”
“He’d do it without hesitation.”
She closed her eyes. “Then I’m the monster.”
“No.” I stepped closer, my voice low. “You’re the storm. And he’s the only one who can stand in it.”
She didn’t answer.
Just tucked the journal into her coat and turned to leave.
At the door, she paused.
“Thank you, Dain.”
And then she was gone.
I stood there, in the silence, the scent of her still in the air—iron, rosemary, storm. My wolf stilled. My heart, for the first time in years, didn’t feel like stone.
She’d trusted me.
And that changed everything.
Because as I turned back to the window, one thought echoed in my mind—
She’s not just his queen.
She’s ours.