The storm had passed. The lies had cracked. The truth had burned through like fire through rot.
And yet, I still dreamed of teeth on my neck.
Not Kaelen’s. Not Selene’s. Just… teeth. Sharp. Possessive. A claiming I both craved and feared. I’d wake gasping, my hand flying to my throat, my core aching with a need I couldn’t name. The bond hummed beneath my skin, quiet now, but restless—like it knew something was coming. Like it was waiting.
Three days had passed since the Council hearing. Three days since I’d kissed Kaelen in front of the entire supernatural world and silenced Selene’s lies. Three days since I’d whispered, *“I’m sorry,”* into his neck and let him hold me like I was something worth saving.
And still, I didn’t know what I was.
Not a weapon. Not a pawn. Not a curse.
But not his, either.
Not yet.
The bite mark was gone. The dream-illusion shattered. Selene had vanished from the fortress, though her presence still slithered at the edge of my mind—like a shadow I couldn’t quite step out of. She was still watching. Still waiting. And I knew, with a cold certainty, that she wouldn’t stop until she’d broken us.
But she’d made one mistake.
She’d shown me the truth: that the real battle wasn’t against Kaelen.
It was for him.
And I wasn’t going to lose.
Which is why I was in the library at midnight, crouched behind a shelf of ancient tomes, my fingers tracing the spine of a book titled Blood Pacts of the Northern Clans: Origins and Abolition. The library was silent, the only light coming from a single oil lamp on the central reading table, its flame flickering like a dying star. The air smelled of dust, parchment, and something faintly metallic—old magic, seeping from the stones.
I’d been searching for hours.
Not for power. Not for revenge. But for the original Hollow-Thorne blood pact—the cursed scroll that had bound our bloodlines centuries ago, the one that could break the curse killing every woman in my family before thirty. Dr. Vale had confirmed it existed. Lyra had hinted it was hidden here, in the Northern Pack’s restricted archives. And now, with Selene circling like a vulture, I couldn’t wait any longer.
I needed proof.
Proof that the curse could be broken.
Proof that I didn’t have to kill Kaelen to survive.
Proof that I could save myself—and him—without losing who I was.
The book in my hands was heavy, the leather binding cracked with age. I opened it carefully, flipping through pages filled with cramped script and faded ink. Names. Dates. Alliances. Betrayals. And then—
There.
Hollow-Thorne Union, 1782. Pact sealed by blood and fire. Purpose: To unite the Hollow Flame and Thorned Blood against the Fae invasion. Terms: Eternal bond between firstborn heirs. Consequences of refusal: Death by bloodfire.
My breath caught.
It was real.
The pact. The curse. The bond.
And it hadn’t been created to enslave. It had been created to protect.
But something was missing.
“Looking for this?”
I froze.
The voice was low. Rough. Familiar.
I didn’t turn.
“I wasn’t aware the restricted archives had visiting hours,” I said, closing the book slowly.
Kaelen stepped into the lamplight, dressed in dark trousers and a fitted black shirt, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, the sigil on his wrist glowing faintly. He held a thin scroll case in one hand—black oak, sealed with crimson wax. The same design as the one I’d stolen from the caravan.
My pulse jumped.
“You took it,” I said.
“I protected it,” he corrected, stepping closer. “This isn’t just a blood pact. It’s a weapon. And you’re not ready to wield it.”
“I’m not a child,” I snapped, standing. “I’m not some pawn you can control.”
“No,” he said, his gold eyes locking onto mine. “You’re the woman who walked into my fortress to destroy me. And instead, you’re the only one who might save me.”
I stilled.
He’d used Lyra’s words. The ones that had haunted me since the night Selene wore his shirt. The ones that had burned through my denial like fire.
“And what if I don’t want to save you?” I asked, voice low.
“Then you’ll die,” he said simply. “The curse won’t wait. It’s already in your blood. And the only blood that can break it is mine.”
“And what do you get?” I whispered. “My submission? My loyalty? My body?”
“I get you,” he said. “Alive. Here. Mine.”
My breath hitched.
He wasn’t asking for surrender.
He was offering salvation.
And it was the most dangerous thing of all.
“Give me the scroll,” I said, holding out my hand.
He didn’t move. “Why? So you can destroy it? So you can sever the bond and walk away?”
“So I can understand it,” I shot back. “So I can break the curse on my own terms. Not yours. Not the bond’s. Mine.”
He studied me—really studied me—like he was peeling back every layer, every lie, every defense. “You think you can outsmart the magic. But it doesn’t care about your pride. It only cares about blood. And yours—”
He stepped closer.
“—sings for mine.”
I backed up—right into the shelf. Books trembled. Dust rained down. My breath came fast. My pulse roared. The sigil on my wrist flared, warm and insistent.
“You don’t get to decide what I do,” I said, voice shaking. “You don’t get to control me.”
“I’m not trying to control you,” he said, stepping closer. “I’m trying to protect you. From the curse. From Selene. From yourself.”
“I don’t need your protection,” I spat.
“Yes, you do,” he growled. “Because every time you push me away, you get closer to death. And I’m done watching you die a little more every day.”
His hand rose, slow, deliberate, and brushed my cheek. The calluses on his fingers scraped my skin, sending a jolt of heat straight to my core. I gasped. My body arched, just slightly, toward him—traitorous, instinctive.
“You think this is control?” I whispered. “Forcing me—”
“This isn’t force,” he said, his voice rough. “This is truth. The bond sees through every lie. Every denial. Every mask you wear.”
His other hand came up, fingers tangling in my hair, tilting my head back. His eyes burned into mine—gold, fierce, unrelenting.
“You hate me,” he said. “Fine. Hate me. But don’t pretend you don’t want me.”
My skin was on fire. My thighs clenched. The heat in my core was unbearable, a slow, molten ache that pulsed with every beat of my heart. I wanted to shove him. To knee him. To draw my blade and make him pay for the way my body betrayed me.
But I didn’t.
Because he was right.
And the worst part?
I didn’t want him to stop.
His hand slid lower, beneath my tunic, his palm flat against my bare stomach, just above my hip. The fabric was thin, the heat of his touch searing through. I whimpered—soft, involuntary.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “Let me feel you.”
“No,” I breathed, even as my hips shifted, pressing into him. “I won’t—”
“You already are,” he said, his voice rough with need. “Your body’s already mine. You just haven’t admitted it yet.”
His thumb circled my nipple through the fabric, slow, deliberate. I gasped. My back arched. My fingers dug into his arms, not to push him away, but to hold on.
“You think this is a game?” I panted. “Using desire to control me?”
“This isn’t a game,” he said, leaning in, his breath hot against my ear. “This is survival. Yours. Mine. Ours.”
His teeth grazed my neck. My fangs ached. My breath hitched.
“You’re wet for me,” he murmured. “I can smell it.”
Shame flooded me. Hot. Searing. I turned my head, trying to pull away, but his grip in my hair held me in place.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
I did.
And in his eyes, I didn’t see cruelty.
I didn’t see triumph.
I saw hunger. Raw. Unfiltered. And something else—something that looked dangerously like need.
“You came here to destroy me,” he said, voice low. “But you’re the one being destroyed. Piece by piece. By the bond. By your own body. By the way you feel me.”
“I don’t—”
“You do,” he said. “And you know what the worst part is?”
He leaned in, his lips brushing mine—just a whisper of contact, so light it could have been accidental.
But it wasn’t.
“The worst part,” he whispered, “is that you don’t hate me for it.”
And then he kissed me.
Not gentle. Not tentative.
Claiming.His mouth crashed over mine, hot and demanding, his tongue sliding against my lips, forcing them open. I moaned—deep, broken—my body arching into him, my hands clutching his shoulders. His taste flooded me—storm and salt and something darkly male. His beard scraped my skin, rough and real. His hand slid up, cupping my breast, his thumb circling my nipple through the fabric, sending sparks of pleasure straight to my core.
I should have fought.
I should have bitten him. Elbowed him. Kneed him in the gut.
But I didn’t.
I kissed him back.
Hard. Desperate. Like I was drowning and he was the only air.
The bond roared to life, a wildfire racing through my veins, burning away every thought, every fear, every lie. I could feel him—his desire, his hunger, his need for me—pouring into me like a river. And I gave it back. My hands tore at his shirt, my nails scraping his skin, my body grinding against his, seeking friction, seeking release.
He growled—low, possessive—and lifted me, pressing me harder into the shelf. My legs wrapped around his waist, my core grinding against the hard ridge of his cock. He was thick. Heavy. Ready. And gods, I wanted him inside me.
“Kaelen—” I gasped, breaking the kiss, my breath ragged. “I—”
“Say it,” he demanded, his mouth moving to my neck, teeth scraping my pulse point. “Say you want me.”
“I—”
“Say it,” he growled, biting down—just enough to sting, not enough to mark. “Or I stop.”
My body screamed. My core throbbed. The bond pulsed, a live wire between us, feeding on every touch, every breath.
“I want you,” I whispered, the words torn from me. “Gods, I want you.”
He stilled.
Then he laughed—low, rough, triumphant.
“Finally,” he murmured. “The truth.”
And then he kissed me again.
His hand slid beneath my tunic, his palm hot against my bare back, pulling me impossibly closer. My fingers tangled in his hair, my hips grinding against him, seeking more, needing more. The library faded. The books. The lamp. The world.
There was only him.
His heat. His taste. His hands on my skin.
And then—
A click.
Sharp. Final.
The door.
We froze.
The lock had engaged.
Someone had sealed us in.
Kaelen pulled back slowly, his breath ragged, his eyes dark with need. “The door—”
“Wasn’t locked when I came in,” I said, sliding down from his grip, my legs unsteady.
He stepped to the door, tested the handle. It didn’t budge. “Magically sealed,” he said. “Fae work. Strong.”
My breath came fast. My skin still burned. My core still throbbed. “Selene,” I whispered.
He turned, his expression unreadable. “She’s testing us.”
“Or trying to trap us,” I said, backing toward the table. “Make us… give in.”
“And if we do?” he asked, stepping closer. “If the bond flares? If the fever starts? If we can’t stop ourselves?”
My heart pounded. “Then we lose.”
“Or we win,” he said, voice low. “Because the only way out of this curse is through fire. And you’re already burning for me.”
I didn’t answer.
Because he was right.
The door rattled.
Then a voice—smooth, mocking—echoed through the wood.
“Enjoying your research, Garnet?” Selene purred. “Don’t worry. I’ll give you plenty of time to… study.”
Footsteps faded.
Silence.
And then—
Kaelen stepped toward me, slow, deliberate. “She wants us to break. To surrender. To let the bond take us.”
“And if we do?” I whispered.
“Then we prove her right,” he said. “That we’re just animals. Just magic. Just lust.”
“But what if it’s not?” I asked. “What if it’s real?”
He stopped, inches from me. His hand rose, just once, and brushed my cheek. The sigil on his wrist flared, warm and bright.
“Then it won’t matter if the door’s locked,” he said. “Because we’ll already be free.”
I looked up at him—really looked at him.
And for the first time, I didn’t see the Alpha.
I didn’t see the enemy.
I saw the man who’d carried me through a storm.
Who’d held me through fever.
Who’d let me accuse him of betrayal and still called me mine.
And I knew—
That if I didn’t stop this now, I’d never want to.
So I turned.
And walked to the far shelf.
“We’re not giving her what she wants,” I said, my voice steady. “We’re finding that scroll. And we’re breaking this curse—on our terms.”
He didn’t argue.
Just followed.
But as I reached for the next book, I felt it—his heat at my back, his breath on my neck, the way my body still burned for him.
The door was locked.
The world was watching.
And the fire between us?
It wasn’t going out.
It was just getting started.