The silence after the claiming was worse than any battle cry.
Not because of what had happened—though the memory of it still burned through me like fire in my veins. Not because of the way Kaelen had filled me, claimed me, bitten me on the sigil over my heart, sealing me to him in blood and breath and heat. Not even because of the way my magic had flared, not with denial, but with completion, like every lie I’d ever told had finally been burned away.
No.
The silence was worse because of what hadn’t happened.
Because he hadn’t marked me.
Not truly.
Not on the neck. Not with the full force of the bond. Not in the way that would have sealed us forever.
He’d bitten the sigil. He’d sealed it with his blood. He’d claimed me in every way but one.
And I knew—
He’d stopped himself.
I lay in his arms, my head on his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear, his fingers tracing the fresh bite on my breast, where the sigil of fire and thorn now pulsed with his blood. The chamber was quiet, the torches flickering low, the air thick with the scent of sex and storm and something deeper—something like peace. The fever had broken. The heat had passed. The bond hummed between us, warm and steady, no longer a curse, but a vow.
And yet—
I could feel it.
The hesitation. The restraint. The quiet, aching not quite.
“You didn’t do it,” I said, voice low.
He didn’t answer. Just held me tighter, his breath warm against my hair.
“You stopped,” I said. “At the end. You bit the sigil. But you didn’t mark me. You didn’t complete the bond.”
He exhaled, slow and deep. “I couldn’t.”
“Why?” I asked, lifting my head, my violet eyes searching his. “Because you were afraid? Because you thought I’d hate you? Because you still don’t trust me?”
He turned to me, his gold eyes burning. “I didn’t stop because I didn’t want to. I stopped because I do trust you. Because I love you. Because I couldn’t take what you didn’t freely give.”
My breath caught.
“You were begging me,” I said. “You felt it. You felt how much I wanted you. How much I needed you. How much I chose you.”
“And I believed you,” he said. “But I also know what the fever does. How it twists need into desperation. How it makes you say things you don’t mean. How it makes you beg for things you’d never ask for in your right mind.”
“This wasn’t the fever,” I said, my voice breaking. “This was me. This was my choice. My surrender. My love. And you—”
“—I wanted it,” he growled, cutting me off. “Gods help me, Garnet, I wanted to sink my fangs into your neck and claim you in front of the world. I wanted to make you scream my name as I marked you. I wanted to feel your blood on my tongue, your pulse in my teeth, your body locked around mine as I made you mine in every way possible.”
My core ached.
“Then why didn’t you?”
He didn’t answer.
Just reached up and brushed his thumb over my cheek, the calluses on his fingers scraping my skin, sending a jolt of heat straight to my core. “Because I’ve spent my life being the monster everyone thinks I am. Because my father ruled through fear, through blood, through domination. And when he claimed his mate, he did it in front of the court, with her screaming, with her fighting, with her hating him. And I swore I’d never do that. I swore I’d never take what wasn’t freely given.”
My chest tightened.
“And you think I didn’t give it freely?”
“I think,” he said, voice low, “that if I’d marked you tonight, if I’d claimed you in the heat of the fever, you’d wake up tomorrow and wonder if it was real. If it was you. If it was love. Or if it was just the bond, the magic, the desperation. And I couldn’t live with that. I couldn’t live with you looking at me and wondering if I’d taken something from you.”
Tears burned my eyes.
Not from anger.
Not from betrayal.
But from something deeper.
Love.
He hadn’t marked me.
Not because he didn’t want to.
Not because he didn’t trust me.
But because he loved me enough to let me go.
Even when I was begging him to stay.
Even when I was arching into him, screaming his name, coming apart in his arms.
He’d still let me choose.
And gods, I loved him for it.
“You think I don’t know the difference?” I whispered. “You think I don’t know what’s real? What’s me? What’s love?”
He didn’t answer.
Just pulled me closer, his body shielding me from the world. “I know you do. But I also know the curse. I know how it twists things. How it makes you doubt. How it makes you run. And I couldn’t risk it. I couldn’t risk you hating me. I couldn’t risk you leaving.”
“I’m not going to leave,” I said, my voice breaking. “Not because of the bond. Not because of the curse. But because I love you. Because I choose you. Every time. In every way.”
He stilled.
And then—
He kissed me.
Not desperate. Not angry. Not a surrender.
Affirmation.His lips met mine, soft at first, then deeper, hungrier, as if he was reclaiming what had been stolen from him. I kissed him back, my hands tangling in his hair, my body pressing into his. The bond flared, not with need, but with something deeper.
Belonging.
When we broke apart, our breaths were ragged, our foreheads pressed together, our hearts pounding in unison. The sigil on my chest glowed, warm and bright, a brand of fire and thorn sealed with his blood.
“Say it,” he whispered.
“Say what?”
“That you’re mine,” he said. “Not because of magic. Not because of blood. Because you choose to be.”
I looked into his eyes—gold, fierce, unrelenting—and for the first time, I didn’t see a threat.
I saw a future.
“I’m yours,” I whispered. “Not because of the bond. Not because of the curse. Because I want to be. Because I love you.”
He didn’t smile.
Just pulled me into his arms, holding me like I was something fragile, something precious. I didn’t fight. Didn’t pull away. Just buried my face in his neck, my breath warm against his skin.
And for the first time since I’d walked into this fortress, I let myself believe it.
That I wasn’t here to destroy him.
I was here to save him.
From her.
From the lie.
From me.
And maybe—just maybe—I was saving myself 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 fever had passed. The heat had broken. And the curse—
It was still there.
But it was weaker.
And I knew—
We were closer to breaking it than ever before.
Because the bond wasn’t a curse.
It was a vow.
And we had just sealed it in blood, breath, and fire.
And no lie could ever break that.
Later, as we lay tangled in the sheets, my head on his chest, his fingers tracing the sigil on my wrist, he spoke.
“The Southern Alpha challenged me,” he said, voice quiet. “At dawn.”
I lifted my head, my violet eyes searching his. “And?”
“And I’ll answer him,” he said. “But not alone.”
My breath caught.
“You want me there?”
“I need you there,” he said. “Not to fight. Not to prove a point. But because I can’t do this without you. Because you’re not just my mate. You’re my queen.”
Tears burned my eyes.
Not from fear.
Not from doubt.
But from something deeper.
Trust.
He wasn’t just letting me stand beside him.
He was letting me lead with him.
And gods, I loved him for it.
“Then I’ll be there,” I said. “Not because the bond demands it. Not because the curse forces me. But because I choose you. Every time.”
He didn’t smile.
Just 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 who I was meant to be, I let myself believe it.
That I wasn’t just surviving.
I was alive.
And I would fight—
For him.
For us.
For every breath, every touch, every claim.
Because 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.
The dawn came like a blade.
Sharp. Cold. Unforgiving.
I stood at the edge of the border field, dressed in leather and steel, my hair bound in a braid, my dagger at my thigh. The sky was pale, the air crisp with the scent of frost and blood, the earth still damp from last night’s storm. Kaelen stood beside me, tall and lethal, his gold eyes scanning the horizon, his presence a wall between me and the world.
Behind us, the Northern Pack waited—silent, still, watching.
Before us, the Southern Alpha approached, flanked by his warriors, his steps slow, deliberate, his smile cruel. He was older than I expected—gray hair, scarred face, eyes like ice. But there was something else there. Something I hadn’t seen before.
Fear.
Not of Kaelen.
But of me.
He stopped ten paces away, his gaze locking onto mine. “So this is the hybrid witch who rules you,” he said, voice low. “The cursed bloodline who claims to be your queen.”
Kaelen didn’t react. Just stood there, his body tense, his scent—storm and iron—spiking with arousal. “She’s not my queen because of magic. Not because of blood. But because she chooses to stand beside me.”
The Southern Alpha laughed—low, rough, mocking. “And what happens when the curse takes her? When she dies screaming, her blood turning to fire? Will you still call her queen then?”
I stepped forward, my voice calm, steady. “You think I’m weak because I’m cursed? You think I’m less because I’m hybrid? You’re wrong.”
He turned to me, his eyes narrowing. “And what are you, little witch, to challenge me?”
“I’m not challenging you,” I said, stepping even closer. “I’m warning you. Kaelen isn’t weak. He’s not soft. He’s not broken. He’s stronger than you’ll ever be. And if you think you can take what’s his—”
“—you’ll have to go through me,” I finished, my voice rising. “And I’ll make you regret the day you ever doubted us.”
The Southern Alpha snarled, his claws extending. “Then prove it.”
Kaelen stepped forward, his body a wall between us. “The fight is mine,” he said, voice low. “But the victory will be ours.”
And then—
They moved.
Not with words. Not with threats.
With blood.
The Southern Alpha lunged, fast and brutal, his claws slashing through the air. Kaelen dodged, his body a blur of motion, his fist slamming into the other Alpha’s ribs. Bones cracked. The Southern Alpha roared, swinging again, his fangs bared. Kaelen blocked, twisted, and drove his knee into the man’s gut. He staggered back, blood dripping from his lip, his eyes wild with rage.
And then he did it.
He called for his warriors.
“Take them!” he snarled. “Kill the hybrid! Claim the Alpha!”
Chaos erupted.
The Southern warriors charged, snarling, fangs bared, claws out. The Northern Pack met them, a wall of muscle and fury, the clash of bodies echoing across the field. I didn’t hesitate. I drew my dagger, my magic flaring, fire spiraling up my arms, my skin glowing garnet-red. I moved—fast, precise, deadly—cutting through the chaos, protecting Kaelen’s back, striking down any who came too close.
And then—
I saw it.
The Southern Alpha, behind Kaelen, dagger in hand, raising it high.
“Kaelen!” I screamed.
He turned.
But not fast enough.
I didn’t think.
Didn’t reason.
I just moved.
One step. Then another. My body a shield. The dagger plunged into my side, searing through flesh, bone, magic. I gasped, my body arching, my vision whiting out. The world tilted. The bond screamed. And then—
Darkness.
The last thing I heard was Kaelen’s roar—raw, broken, devastated.
And then—
Nothing.