The silence after Garnet spoke was worse than any battle cry.
Not because of what she said—though the words had struck me like a blade to the gut. Not because of the way her violet eyes had searched mine, wide with fear and something deeper, something like hope. Not even because of the truth in them—the truth I’d buried so deep I’d almost convinced myself it wasn’t real.
No.
The silence was worse because of what it meant.
The bond wasn’t just a tether between us.
It was a noose.
And Beltane—three weeks away—was the gallows.
I sat up slowly, the sheets slipping from my shoulders, the firelight casting long shadows across the stone walls of her chamber. The fortress was quiet, the night deep, the air thick with the scent of sex and sleep and something else—something darker. The weight of what she’d just told me pressed down on my chest like a stone. One of us had to mark the other. Or we’d both die.
And I knew—
I couldn’t let her mark me.
Not because I didn’t want her.
Not because I didn’t trust her.
But because I didn’t trust myself.
The fever was coming. Stronger than the last. The bond was already pulling at me, whispering in my blood, urging me to claim her, to sink my fangs into her throat and seal her to me forever. And if I did it in the heat of instinct, in the madness of denial, in the chaos of need—
She’d never forgive me.
She’d believe I’d taken her. That I’d broken my vow. That I was just like my father.
And she’d be right.
Garnet sat up beside me, the sheets pooling in her lap, her skin still flushed from sleep, her hair wild around her face. She didn’t touch me. Didn’t speak. Just watched, her breath shallow, her fingers tracing the sigil on her wrist like she was trying to understand it.
“You knew,” she said, voice low. “Didn’t you?”
I didn’t answer.
Because she already knew the truth.
“The High Witch didn’t just say it to us,” she said. “She said it to you. Before I came in. You already knew the bond wasn’t complete.”
I turned to her. “I suspected.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“Because I was trying to protect you,” I said. “From the truth. From the fear. From—”
“—from yourself?” she finished, her voice sharp. “You think I don’t know what you’re capable of? You think I don’t feel it every time the bond flares? Every time your scent spikes? Every time you look at me like you’re one breath away from losing control?”
I didn’t flinch. “Then you know why I didn’t tell you.”
“No,” she said, standing, the sheets falling away. “I know why you’re lying. You’re not afraid of hurting me. You’re afraid of wanting me. Of needing me. Of being weak.”
My claws extended.
“I’m not weak,” I growled.
“Then prove it,” she said, stepping closer. “Not with silence. Not with secrets. With truth.”
I looked at her—really looked at her.
And for the first time since she’d walked into the Moonfire Hall, I didn’t see a threat.
I didn’t see a weapon.
I saw a queen.
Proud. Fierce. Unbreakable.
And she was mine.
But I wasn’t hers.
Not yet.
Not until I told her the truth.
Not until I let her see the monster I’d spent my life trying to outrun.
I stood, slowly, my body tense, my breath heavy. The firelight flickered, casting shadows across my scars, my past, my guilt. I didn’t reach for her. Didn’t try to touch her. Just turned and walked to the window, staring out at the moonlit forest, the trees like sentinels in the dark.
“You want the truth?” I said, voice low. “Then you’ll get it. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
She didn’t answer.
Just waited.
“My father wasn’t just an Alpha,” I said. “He was a tyrant. He ruled through fear. Through blood. Through domination. And when he heard about the Hollow-Thorne pact—the one that would bind our bloodlines—he saw it as a threat. A weakness. A betrayal of pureblood law.”
She didn’t move. Just listened.
“He sent assassins to kill your grandmother,” I said. “To sever the bond before it could be fulfilled. But she escaped. Vanished. And when your mother was born, he sent them again. But she was hidden. Protected. Until she was twenty. Until she fell in love with a Northern warrior. A man loyal to me. A man I trusted.”
I turned to her.
“And then he found her.”
Her breath hitched.
“He didn’t kill her,” I said. “Not at first. He brought her here. To the fortress. He told her the bond would destroy her. That love was weakness. That she’d die if she didn’t sever it. And when she refused—when she said she’d rather die than betray her blood—he gave her a choice.”
“What choice?” she whispered.
“To be marked by him,” I said. “Or to watch her lover die.”
Her hands trembled.
“She chose death,” I said. “She let him slit her throat rather than let him claim her. And as she bled out, she made him promise—promise that the bond would never be fulfilled. That no Hollow witch would ever be marked by a Thorne Alpha again.”
Tears burned her eyes.
“And he kept that promise,” I said. “Until you walked into the Moonfire Hall. Until the pact reactivated. Until the bond chose you.”
She didn’t speak.
Just stood there, trembling, her face pale, her fangs aching.
“I didn’t know,” I said. “Not at first. Not until the ritual. Not until I saw the sigils flare, not until I felt the magic in my blood. And when I did—I spent every day since trying to atone. Trying to prove I wasn’t him. Trying to prove that love wasn’t weakness. That the bond wasn’t a curse.”
“And did you?” she asked, voice breaking.
“I don’t know,” I said. “But I know this—I would rather die than force you. I would rather burn than take what you don’t freely give. And if the fever comes, and I lose control—”
“—then I’ll stop you,” she said, stepping forward. “Not with force. Not with chains. With truth.”
“And if I don’t listen?”
“Then I’ll make you,” she said. “By holding you. By touching you. By reminding you of what’s real. And if that’s not enough?”
She leaned in, her breath hot against my ear. “Then I’ll kiss you until you remember.”
Tears burned my eyes.
She reached out, just once, and brushed her thumb over my cheek. The sigil on her wrist flared, warm and bright. “You’re not alone, Kaelen. Not in your guilt. Not in your fear. Not in your blood. I’m here. And I’m not letting go.”
And then she did it.
She pulled me into her arms, holding me like I was something fragile, something precious. I didn’t fight. Didn’t pull away. Just leaned into her, my face buried in her neck, my breath fogging the collar of her shirt.
And for the first time since I’d become Alpha, I let myself believe it.
That I wasn’t a monster.
I was a man.
A man who had spent his life trying to outrun his father’s shadow.
A man who had waited for her.
Not because he had to.
Because he wanted to.
And maybe—just maybe—he was worth saving too.
We stayed like that for a long time—wrapped in each other, the fire crackling, the bond humming between us, warm and steady. The weight of the truth still pressed on my chest, but it was different now. Lighter. Not because it was gone, but because she carried it with me.
And then—
She spoke.
“The High Witch said one of us has to mark the other,” she said, voice quiet. “But she didn’t say who.”
I pulled back, just enough to look at her. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying,” she said, stepping back, her eyes fierce, “that maybe it doesn’t have to be you. Maybe it doesn’t have to be forced. Maybe—just maybe—I can choose to mark you.”
My breath stilled.
“You’d do that?” I asked. “You’d claim me?”
“Not because I have to,” she said. “Not because the bond demands it. But because I want to. Because I choose you. Every time. In every way.”
My chest tightened.
“And if the fever comes?” I asked. “If I can’t stop myself? If I hurt you?”
“Then you won’t,” she said. “Because I’ll be there. I’ll hold you. I’ll remind you who you are. And if you try to take me—”
She stepped closer, her hand rising to my chest, her fingers brushing the old scar across my heart. “Then I’ll make you ask.”
I didn’t speak.
Just reached out, slow, deliberate, and cupped her face in my hands. The calluses on my fingers scraped her skin, sending a jolt of heat straight to my core. Her breath hitched. Her body arched, just slightly, toward me—traitorous, instinctive.
“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” I said. “You don’t have to mark me to prove you trust me. You don’t have to sacrifice yourself to save me.”
“It’s not a sacrifice,” she said. “It’s a choice. And I’m making it.”
And then she did it.
She leaned in—and kissed me.
Not desperate. Not angry. Not a surrender.
A vow.
Her lips met mine, soft at first, then deeper, hungrier, as if she was sealing a promise not in blood, but in breath. I kissed her back, my hands tangling in her hair, my body pulling her against me. The bond roared to life, a wildfire racing through my veins, burning away every lie, every fear, every wall we’d built between us.
When we broke apart, our breaths were ragged, our foreheads pressed together, our hearts pounding in unison. The sigil on her wrist flared, not with denial, but with something deeper.
Belonging.
“Say it,” she whispered.
“Say what?”
“That you’ll let me,” she said. “That you’ll let me mark you. That you’ll trust me enough to let me claim you.”
I looked into her eyes—violet, fierce, unrelenting—and for the first time, I didn’t see a threat.
I saw a future.
“I’ll let you,” I said. “Not because I’m weak. Not because I’m afraid. But because I trust you. Because I love you. And because you’re the only one who’s ever made me believe I’m worth saving.”
Tears burned her eyes.
And for the first time, I didn’t fight them.
Because I knew—
She wasn’t just my mate.
She wasn’t just my queen.
She was my redemption.
And I was hers.
Not because of magic.
Not because of blood.
But because, at last, we had chosen each other.
And no lie could ever break that.
Later, as we lay tangled in her sheets, her head on my chest, my fingers tracing the sigil on her wrist, she spoke.
“The fever is coming,” she said, voice quiet.
“I know,” I said.
“And when it does,” she said, lifting her head, “I want you to promise me something.”
“Anything,” I said.
She looked into my eyes—really looked at me—and for the first time, I saw it.
Not doubt.
Not fear.
Trust.
“Promise me,” she said, “that no matter what happens, no matter how much the bond screams, no matter how much you want to take me—you’ll wait. You’ll let me come to you. You’ll let me choose you. Every time.”
I didn’t hesitate.
“I promise,” I said. “On my life. On my soul. On my blood. I’ll wait. I’ll let you choose me. Every time.”
She smiled—just once, faint, fleeting—and it was like the sun breaking through storm clouds.
And then she did it.
She leaned in—and kissed me.
Slow. Deep. A vow sealed in breath and heat.
The bond flared, not with need, but with something deeper.
Peace.
Finally.
And for the first time since I’d become Alpha, I let myself believe it.
That I wasn’t a monster.
That I wasn’t my father.
That I was worthy.
Not of power.
Not of fear.
But of love.
And she was mine.
And I was hers.
Not because of magic.
Not because of blood.
But because, at last, we had chosen each other.
And no lie could ever break that.