The air in the Tribunal Hall was thick with the scent of old blood and older magic.
Not fresh. Not spilled. But the kind that seeped into stone over centuries—the residue of oaths broken, lives taken, power claimed. The Supernatural Tribunal wasn’t a court. It was a reckoning. A place where truth didn’t win. Only power did.
And today, I was on trial for love.
Garnet stood beside me, her hand in mine, her violet eyes sharp, her body tense. She wore a dress of deep garnet silk, the fabric clinging to her curves, the neckline low, revealing the fresh bite mark just below her ear—the one I’d placed there in the Heart Grove. The one that declared to the world she was mine. Not by force. Not by magic. But by choice.
And still, they doubted her.
The Tribunal chamber was carved from black stone, its walls lined with sigils that pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat. The ceiling arched high above, lost in shadow, the only light coming from torches that burned with cold, blue flame. At the center of the room stood the Judgment Circle—a raised dais of obsidian, etched with runes that could amplify magic, expose lies, or break a mind if the wielder was cruel enough.
And seated around it—judges.
Not one species. Not one faction. But five.
A werewolf elder from the Iron Clan, his face scarred, his eyes like flint. A vampire lord from the Pale Court, pale as moonlight, his gaze calculating. A Fae representative from the Seelie Court, draped in silver mist, her beauty so sharp it hurt to look at. A witch from the Circle of Ash, her hands bound in ritual chains, her voice said to carry the weight of prophecy. And the High Enforcer of the Supernatural Council, the one who had accused Garnet of murder.
They watched us enter—me, the Alpha of the Northern Pack, and her, the hybrid witch they wanted to destroy.
And I didn’t care.
Let them try.
“Kaelen Thorne,” the High Enforcer said, his voice echoing through the chamber. “You stand before the Tribunal not as an Alpha, but as a defendant. You have defied Council orders. You have threatened the stability of the supernatural balance. And you have declared that if Garnet Hollow is executed, you will die with her.”
I didn’t flinch.
Just stepped forward, pulling Garnet with me into the Judgment Circle. The runes flared beneath our feet, humming with ancient power. I felt it—pressure against my skin, a pull in my chest, like the magic was testing me, probing for weakness.
“I said I’d burn the world before I let them take her,” I said, my voice low, steady. “And I meant it.”
The Tribunal stirred.
“You would sacrifice peace for one woman?” the Iron Clan elder asked, his voice rough.
“She’s not just a woman,” I said, turning to him. “She’s my mate. My queen. And she’s innocent.”
“Innocent?” the vampire lord echoed, his pale lips curling. “Her dagger was found at the scene. Her scent was on the body. And she had motive—Torin opposed her rise to power.”
“And so did half the Council,” I said. “But you’re not accusing them, are you? You’re accusing her. Because she’s different. Because she’s a hybrid. Because she’s a Hollow witch. Because she’s strong enough to stand beside me—not beneath me.”
“You defend her,” the Fae representative said, her voice like wind through glass. “But love clouds judgment. It makes even the strongest Alpha weak. Tell us, Kaelen Thorne—would you still stand by her if she *was* guilty?”
Garnet’s fingers tightened in mine.
I didn’t look at her.
Just answered.
“No,” I said. “I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t stand by anyone who murdered an elder. But Garnet didn’t do this. And I will prove it.”
“How?” the witch asked, her voice like dry leaves. “With words? With loyalty? With the bond?”
“With truth,” I said. “And if that’s not enough, then with fire.”
The Tribunal fell silent.
And then—the High Enforcer nodded.
“Then let the Trial begin,” he said. “By fire. By blood. By magic.”
The runes beneath us flared, brighter now, searing hot. The air thickened. The torches dimmed. And the first test began.
The Trial of Scent.
A vial was brought forward—Torin’s blood, still fresh, still pulsing with the echo of his life. It was placed in the center of the dais, the liquid black in the blue light. The runes responded, swirling, reaching out like tendrils.
“Place your hand over the vial,” the witch said. “And let the magic reveal the truth. If your scent is truly on the blood—not planted, not forged—then the runes will burn.”
Garnet stepped forward.
I wanted to stop her. Wanted to go first. But she wouldn’t let me. She looked at me—really looked at me—and I saw it.
Trust.
She believed in me.
And gods, I would make it worth it.
She placed her hand over the vial.
The runes flared—silver, hot, blinding.
And then—
They dimmed.
Not burned. Not screamed. Just… faded.
“The scent is present,” the witch said, her voice flat. “But it is not violent. Not fresh. It carries warmth. Affection. Like a farewell, not a fight.”
“She hugged him,” I said. “She thanked him. For supporting us. For believing in the bond.”
“And yet,” the vampire lord said, “her scent is still there.”
“Because kindness leaves a mark,” I said. “But so does lies. And someone used her kindness to frame her.”
The Tribunal didn’t speak.
Just moved to the next test.
The Trial of the Blade.
My dagger was brought forward—no, *her* dagger. The one she’d used in the battle with the Southern Alpha. The one found at the scene. It was laid across the dais, the silver glinting in the torchlight.
“Let the magic reveal who wielded it,” the Fae representative said. “Let it show the last hand that held it in violence.”
Garnet stepped forward again.
This time, I didn’t let her stand alone.
I stepped beside her, my hand on the hilt.
The runes flared—red, searing.
And then—
Images.
Not clear. Not sharp. But enough.
Garnet, fighting in the Heart Grove. Her dagger slicing through air. Blood on the blade—Southern Alpha’s blood. Then—darkness. A hand, gloved, reaching into her chamber. Taking the dagger. Smearing it with Torin’s blood. Placing it at the scene.
And the scent—
Selene.
Not Garnet.
Not me.
Selene.
The Tribunal stirred.
“The blade was not used by Garnet Hollow,” the witch said. “It was taken. Used by another. And the scent on the hilt—”
“—is not hers,” the vampire lord finished, his pale eyes narrowing. “It’s Selene’s.”
“Lies,” the Iron Clan elder growled. “This magic can be manipulated.”
“Then let’s test the bond,” I said, stepping forward. “Let’s see if I’m lying. Let’s see if my love for her is real.”
The Tribunal hesitated.
And then—the Fae representative nodded.
The Trial of the Bond.
This was the most dangerous.
Not because it could hurt me.
But because it could hurt *her*.
The runes shifted, forming a circle around us. The air thickened. The torches flickered. And then—
Fire.
Not physical. Not burning. But magical—searing through my chest, through my mind, through the very core of the bond. It wasn’t pain. It was *exposure*. Like every lie, every fear, every secret was being ripped from me and laid bare.
And I let it.
Because I had nothing to hide.
The fire reached the bond—and flared.
Not with denial. Not with resistance.
With *truth*.
Images poured from me—uncontrolled, unstoppable.
Garnet, stepping in front of the blade meant for me. Her body arching, her blood hot on my hands. Her whisper—*“I choose you.”* As the darkness took her.
Garnet, standing beside me in the Heart Grove, her head high, her heart open, letting me mark her in front of the pack.
Garnet, fighting beside me against the Southern Alpha, fire and storm spiraling from her hands, her body a weapon, her will unbroken.
Garnet, in my arms after the claiming, her breath warm against my neck, her voice soft—*“I’m yours. Not because of magic. Not because of blood. Because I love you.”*
The Tribunal was silent.
Even the Iron Clan elder didn’t speak.
And then—
The fire reached deeper.
And showed them the one thing I’d never said aloud.
The one truth I’d buried even from myself.
That I would die for her.
That I would burn the world for her.
That I would give up my throne, my power, my life—just to keep her safe.
And that—
That was love.
Not weakness.
Not flaw.
Power.
The fire died.
The runes dimmed.
And the Tribunal—
Was silent.
Then—the witch spoke.
“The bond is true,” she said. “Not forged by magic. Not forced by curse. But chosen. And the love—”
She looked at me, her eyes sharp. “—is real. Deeper than blood. Stronger than death.”
The Fae representative nodded. “The bond cannot lie. And it has spoken.”
“Then she is innocent,” the vampire lord said.
“And you,” the Iron Clan elder said, turning to me, “are either the strongest Alpha I’ve ever seen—or the most foolish.”
“Love isn’t foolish,” I said. “It’s the only thing that makes me strong.”
He didn’t argue.
Just nodded.
And then—
The High Enforcer stood.
“Garnet Hollow,” he said. “You are cleared of all charges. The evidence was planted. The scent was forged. The blade was stolen. And the true killer—”
“—is Selene,” I said. “And she’s not working alone. She’s allied with the Hollow Witch. They’re trying to break the bond. To control the curse. To make Garnet their weapon.”
The Tribunal stirred.
“And what do you propose?” the Fae representative asked.
I looked at Garnet.
And she looked back.
And in her eyes, I saw it.
Not fear.
Not doubt.
Fire.
“We expose them,” I said. “We show the truth. And if they want war—”
“—we’ll give it to them,” Garnet said, stepping forward. “But not as victims. Not as prey. As queens. As Alphas. As *mates*.”
The Tribunal didn’t speak.
Just nodded.
And then—
Lyra stepped into the chamber.
Her violet eyes were sharp, her breath shallow, her hand clutching a ledger bound in black leather.
“I have proof,” she said, her voice steady. “Ledger entries. Payments. Orders. Selene paid the assassin. The Hollow Witch orchestrated it. They wanted Garnet discredited. They wanted the bond broken. They wanted *control*.”
She handed the ledger to the High Enforcer.
He opened it.
And then—
He looked up.
“This changes everything,” he said.
“Then act on it,” I said. “Don’t wait. Don’t hesitate. Because if you do—”
“—they’ll strike again,” Garnet said. “And next time, they won’t frame me. They’ll kill me.”
The Tribunal was silent.
And then—the vampire lord spoke.
“Selene will be summoned,” he said. “She will answer for this. And if she refuses—”
“—the Crimson Court will disavow her,” the Fae representative added. “She will be exiled.”
“And the Hollow Witch?” the Iron Clan elder asked.
“She’s mine,” Garnet said, her voice low, dangerous. “She’s not just a traitor. She’s my grandmother. And she’s going to answer for what she’s done—to me, to my mother, to every Hollow witch she cursed to die.”
The Tribunal didn’t argue.
Just nodded.
And then—
It was over.
We stepped out of the Judgment Circle, the runes fading beneath our feet. The torches brightened. The air cleared. And for the first time since this nightmare began—
We were free.
Not just from the accusation.
But from the lie.
Outside the chamber, the fortress waited. The pack. The sentries. The sky, just beginning to lighten with dawn.
And in the courtyard—
Selene.
She stood alone, her crimson gown like blood in the morning light, her dark hair cascading over one shoulder, her lips painted the same shade. She didn’t look at us. Just sipped from a crystal goblet, her eyes half-lidded, her smile faint.
Like she already knew she’d lost.
Garnet didn’t hesitate.
She walked to her.
I followed.
And when we reached her—
Garnet spoke.
“You thought you could break us,” she said, her voice low, steady. “You thought you could control the curse. You thought you could make me your weapon. But you were wrong.”
Selene didn’t flinch.
Just smiled. “I’m not afraid of you.”
“No,” Garnet said. “You’re afraid of what I’ll do when I find you.”
And then—
She turned.
And walked away.
Later, as we stood on the balcony of our chamber, the moon high above, the fortress quiet below, I pulled her into my arms.
“They’ll come for us,” I said.
“Let them,” she said. “We’ve already won.”
“How?”
“Because we chose each other,” she said. “Not because of magic. Not because of blood. But because we love each other. And that’s something they can’t control. Can’t curse. Can’t break.”
I didn’t answer.
Just leaned in—and kissed her.
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.