The night after the Council hearing, I didn’t sleep.
Not because of the accusations. Not because of Selene’s lies, not because of the truth mirror revealing my grandmother’s ghostly presence like a stain on reality. No, I lay awake because of the kiss.
The one in the library, before the door locked.
The one in the Council chamber, after the bond flared and the world saw what we were.
The one Kaelen had given me in my chamber, slow and deep and devastating, like he was sealing a vow not in blood, but in breath.
I could still feel it—his lips on mine, his hands in my hair, the way my body had melted into his, like I was coming home after a lifetime of exile.
And that terrified me.
Because home wasn’t supposed to be him.
Home was supposed to be vengeance. Justice. The end of the curse that had killed my mother, that would kill me in three years if I didn’t break it.
But now?
Now I wasn’t sure what I wanted.
The Hollow Witch’s face in the mirror haunted me. Silver hair, hollow eyes, a mouth that moved without sound. She hadn’t spoken, hadn’t reached for me. But I’d felt it—her presence, like cold fingers brushing the back of my neck. She was alive. She was watching. And she knew things—about the curse, about the bond, about why my mother had died.
And she wanted me to know too.
That’s why, when Lyra slipped a note under my door at dawn—*“Meet me at the Veil Spring. Midnight.”*—I didn’t hesitate.
The Veil Spring was deep in the northern woods, a sacred pool fed by underground rivers and guarded by ancient runes. It was said that the water could cleanse curses, reveal truths, and show visions of the past. Only witches of the Veil Coven were allowed to use it—and Lyra, though she served the Fae Court, had been trained there. If anyone could help me understand what my grandmother wanted, it was her.
I left the fortress at dusk, wrapped in a dark cloak, my dagger at my thigh, my magic bound. The forest was silent, the trees tall and ancient, their branches woven together like a canopy of bone. Mist curled around my boots, the air thick with the scent of pine and damp earth. The bond pulsed beneath my skin, quiet but restless, like it knew I was running from something.
From him.
From us.
Lyra was already there when I arrived.
She stood at the edge of the spring, dressed in a silver gown that shimmered like moonlight on water, her violet eyes reflecting the soft glow of the runes carved into the surrounding stones. The pool itself was still, the surface black as obsidian, yet deep with light—like stars trapped beneath glass.
“You came,” she said, not turning.
“You knew I would,” I said, stepping forward.
She finally looked at me. “Because you’re afraid.”
I didn’t deny it.
“The mirror showed her,” I said. “The Hollow Witch. My grandmother. She’s alive.”
Lyra nodded. “And she’s been watching you your whole life.”
“Why? What does she want?”
“To finish what she started,” Lyra said. “To complete the bond. To save the bloodline.”
My breath caught. “The curse—it was her?”
“Yes,” Lyra said. “She created it. To force the union between your blood and Kaelen’s. To ensure the Hollow Flame and Thorned Blood would never be broken.”
I stumbled back. “That’s impossible. My mother—she told me to never let him mark me. She said the Thorne Alpha had cursed us.”
“And she believed it,” Lyra said. “Because your grandmother made her believe it. She told her the bond would kill her. That Kaelen’s father would destroy her. But the truth?”
She stepped closer. “The truth is, your mother wasn’t killed by the Thorne Alpha. She was killed by the curse—because she refused the bond. Because she ran. Because she thought love was weakness.”
My chest tightened. “No. That’s not—”
“It’s true,” Lyra said. “And your grandmother? She didn’t do it to hurt you. She did it to save you. To force you into a union that would break the curse, not fulfill it.”
I wrapped my arms around myself. “Then why didn’t she tell me?”
“Because you wouldn’t have believed her,” Lyra said. “You were too angry. Too focused on vengeance. And she knew—Kaelen wasn’t the enemy. The curse was. And so was your fear.”
Tears burned my eyes.
All this time, I’d thought I was avenging my mother.
But I’d been betraying her.
Because she hadn’t died to save me from the bond.
She’d died because she’d rejected it.
“Then why did she tell me to never let him mark me?” I whispered.
“Because she was afraid,” Lyra said. “Afraid of losing control. Afraid of love. Afraid of becoming what she thought he was. But the real danger wasn’t the mark.
It was the not marking.”
I closed my eyes.
And for the first time, I let myself wonder—
What if the curse wasn’t a punishment?
What if it was a test?
“You’re not just here to break the curse,” Lyra said softly. “You’re here to become what you were meant to be. A queen. A mate. A leader. Not by destroying him—but by standing beside him.”
I looked at her. “And what about you? Why are you helping me?”
She hesitated.
Then, slowly, she reached up and pulled the silver chain from around her neck. On it hung a small, tarnished locket. She opened it, revealing two faces—one of a woman with my eyes, my hair, my defiance.
My mother.
And the other—a younger version of Lyra, but with the same violet eyes, the same sharp jawline.
“Because she was my mother too,” Lyra said. “And you’re my sister.”
I froze.
“Half-sister,” she said. “Same mother. Different fathers. She gave me to the Fae Court when I was a child. Said it was the only way to keep me safe. From the curse. From the Hollow Bloodline. From you.”
My breath came fast. “You’ve known this whole time?”
“Since you arrived,” she said. “I recognized you the moment you stepped into the Moonfire Hall. But I couldn’t tell you. Not until you were ready. Not until you stopped seeing Kaelen as the enemy.”
I didn’t speak.
Because the truth was—
I already had.
And it terrified me.
“The spring can show you the truth,” Lyra said. “If you’re ready to see it.”
I looked at the water—black, still, endless.
“What if I’m not?”
“Then you’ll die,” she said simply. “The curse won’t wait. And the next fever is coming. Stronger. Darker. And if you’re not ready—”
“—it will break me,” I finished.
She nodded.
I swallowed.
And then, slowly, I began to undress.
Not because I wanted to. Not because I wasn’t afraid.
But because I was done running.
The fabric of my tunic slid over my shoulders, the leather of my trousers falling to the moss. My dagger clattered to the ground. My boots followed. And then I was bare, the cold night air raising gooseblesh on my skin, the bond pulsing beneath my flesh like a second heartbeat.
Lyra didn’t look. Just turned and stepped back, giving me space.
I took a breath.
And stepped into the water.
It was colder than I expected—like ice and fire at once, seeping into my bones, my blood, my magic. The runes around the spring flared, glowing silver, humming with ancient power. The water rose to my waist, then my chest, then my neck. I could feel it—pulling at me, peeling back layers, stripping away lies.
And then—
The vision came.
Not a dream. Not an illusion.
Memory.
My mother, younger than I’d ever seen her, standing in this very spring, her body bare, her eyes closed, her hands pressed to her stomach. She was pregnant. With me.
And across from her—my grandmother, the Hollow Witch, her silver hair long, her face sharp with power, her hands raised in ritual.
“The bond must be fulfilled,” she said, voice echoing. “Or the bloodline dies.”
“I won’t let him have her,” my mother said, voice raw. “I won’t let her be trapped like I was.”
“You misunderstand,” the Hollow Witch said. “The trap isn’t the bond. It’s the refusal. The curse kills those who run. It kills those who deny love. It kills those who fear what they are.”
“Then let me die,” my mother said. “I’d rather die than be claimed.”
“And so you shall,” the Hollow Witch said. “But your daughter will live. And she will finish what you began.”
The vision shifted.
My mother, on her deathbed, her skin gray, her breath shallow. I was a child, kneeling beside her, clutching her hand.
“Never let him mark you,” she whispered. “Promise me.”
And I had.
I’d promised.
And now I knew—
She hadn’t been warning me about Kaelen.
She’d been warning me about herself.
About the mistake she’d made.
About the love she’d been too afraid to accept.
The water broke.
I gasped, stumbling back, my legs weak, my breath ragged. Lyra was there in an instant, wrapping a cloak around my shoulders, pulling me from the pool.
“You saw,” she said.
I nodded, tears streaming down my face. “She didn’t die because of him. She died because of me.”
“No,” Lyra said. “She died because of fear. And now, you have a choice. You can let it destroy you too.
Or you can break it.”
I looked at the spring.
And for the first time, I understood.
The curse wasn’t just in my blood.
It was in my heart.
And the only way to break it was to stop running.
To stop fighting.
To stop pretending I didn’t want him.
Because I did.
Not just to survive.
Not just to break the curse.
But because he saw me. Not as a weapon. Not as a pawn. Not as a cursed hybrid.
As me.
And maybe—just maybe—that was enough.
I didn’t go back to the fortress.
Not yet.
Instead, I walked.
Through the forest, barefoot, cloak wrapped tight, the bond humming beneath my skin, quiet now, but steady. The moon hung high, full and silver, casting long shadows across the moss. I didn’t think. Didn’t plan. Just moved, like my body knew where it needed to go.
And then I saw it.
The bathhouse.
A low stone structure built into the side of the mountain, steam rising from its vents, the scent of herbs and hot stone drifting on the wind. It was private. Sacred. Reserved for the Alpha and his mate.
And there, in the mist, stood Kaelen.
He was naked, his back to me, water streaming down the hard planes of his shoulders, the scars that crisscrossed his spine, the power in his arms. His hair was damp, his head bowed, his breath slow and deep. He hadn’t heard me. Hadn’t sensed me.
But the bond had.
It flared—just once, a pulse of heat, of recognition.
He turned.
And when he saw me—barefoot, cloaked, trembling—he didn’t speak.
Just stepped aside.
“Come in,” he said, voice rough. “The water’s warm.”
I hesitated.
“I saw the truth,” I said. “About my mother. About the curse. About… us.”
He didn’t move. Just watched me. “And what truth is that?”
“That I’ve been wrong,” I whispered. “That the real enemy wasn’t you.
It was me.”
He stepped forward, slow, deliberate. “Then come in. Let the water decide.”
I didn’t argue.
Just let the cloak fall.
And stepped into the mist.