The victory should have tasted like fire.
Instead, it left ash on my tongue.
Not because Selene’s exposure hadn’t been satisfying—because gods, it had. Watching her led away in chains, her crimson gown torn at the shoulder, her perfect composure cracked by the sting of my slap—it was a moment I’d savor for the rest of my life. But triumph didn’t silence the deeper truth pulsing beneath my skin, in my bones, in the very rhythm of my blood.
The curse was still there.
It hadn’t shattered. It hadn’t broken. It had only… shifted. Like a serpent coiling tighter before the strike.
I stood at the edge of the Heart Grove, the wind tugging at my hair, the scent of pine and frost sharp in my lungs. The fortress sprawled behind me, alive with the hum of sentries, the low murmur of warriors, the distant clang of steel being sharpened. Peace had returned. Order had been restored. But I could feel it—the lie beneath the surface. The Hollow Witch was still out there. And Beltane was coming.
Three weeks.
And if the bond wasn’t fully completed by then, we’d both be dead.
Kaelen said we’d won. The pack believed it. Even Riven had clapped me on the shoulder and muttered, *“You’re untouchable now.”* But I wasn’t. Not really. Because power wasn’t in titles or trials or even in the bite mark on my neck. It was in survival. And I was still running out of time.
“You’re brooding again,” Kaelen said, stepping up behind me.
I didn’t turn. Just leaned back into the warmth of his chest as his arms wrapped around me, his scent—storm and iron—wrapping around me like a vow. His hands settled on my hips, his thumbs brushing the bare skin just above my waistband, and I shivered—not from cold, but from the sheer rightness of it. Of him. Of us.
“I’m not brooding,” I said. “I’m thinking.”
“Same thing,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the fresh bite mark just below my ear. It still throbbed faintly, a pulse of heat beneath my skin, a reminder that I was claimed. Not by magic. Not by curse. But by choice. “You’ve been quiet since the Tribunal. Since Selene was exiled. I can feel it—your mind’s racing. Planning. Preparing.”
“Because I have to,” I said, turning in his arms to face him. His gold eyes searched mine, fierce, unrelenting, but there was something softer beneath the surface—concern. Care. Love. And gods, it terrified me. Because love made me vulnerable. And vulnerability was a death sentence in this world. “They’re not gone, Kaelen. My grandmother. Selene. They’re not done. They’ve been playing this game for decades. They won’t stop now.”
He didn’t argue. Just cupped my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing my cheeks. “Then we’ll be ready. We’ll expose her. We’ll make sure the Council sees the truth. And if she tries to run—”
“—we’ll hunt her,” I said, stepping into him, my hands rising to his chest. “Not just to punish her. To end her. Because if we don’t, she’ll keep coming. And next time, she won’t frame me. She’ll kill me. And then what? You’ll burn the world? You’ll die with me? I don’t want that, Kaelen. I want to live. With you. As your queen. As your mate. And I won’t let anyone take that from us.”
He didn’t answer.
Just kissed me.
Slow. Deep. A vow sealed in breath and heat. His lips met mine, hot and demanding, his tongue sliding against my lower lip, forcing it open. I moaned—soft, broken—my body arching into his, my fingers clutching his shoulders. The bond flared, not with need, not with denial, but with truth. I could feel it—his love, his relief, his surrender. And I gave it back. My fire, my fury, my need—pouring into him like a river.
When we broke apart, our foreheads pressed together, our breaths ragged, he spoke.
“Then we end it,” he said, his voice rough. “Not with blood. Not with fire. But with truth. We bring the ledger. We show the Council. We make them see what she’s done. And if they won’t act—”
“—we will,” I said. “Together.”
He nodded. “Together.”
But even as I said it, I felt it—deep in my marrow, in my blood, in the very core of me.
The curse.
Not weakening.
Not fading.
Waiting.
And Beltane was coming.
Three weeks.
And if we didn’t complete the bond—
We’d both be dead.
“We need answers,” I said, stepping back. “Real ones. Not just guesses. Not just hope. We need to know if the bond is enough. If what we’ve done—what we’ve chosen—is strong enough to break the curse.”
Kaelen studied me. “You want to see Vale.”
“I do,” I said. “He’s the only one who knew my mother. Who knew the curse from the beginning. If anyone can tell us if we’re on the right path—if we’re close to breaking it—it’s him.”
He didn’t hesitate. “Then we go tonight.”
The journey to Vale’s clinic was silent.
We moved fast, through the ravine, over the ridge, down the northern slope, following the old smuggler’s path I’d taken when I’d tried to escape. The forest swallowed us whole, the branches clawing at my skin, the wind howling through the pines, the ground slick with frost. I didn’t speak. Didn’t look back. Just walked—one foot. Then the other. My heart pounding, my breath shallow, my body humming with the weight of what we were doing.
Betraying her.
Choosing us.
And if I died trying—
At least I’d die as me.
The monastery was half-collapsed, its stone walls blackened by fire, its roof caved in, its windows shattered. But beneath it—the hidden entrance. A rusted iron hatch, half-buried in ivy, marked with a sigil only Vale and I knew. I dropped to my knees, my fingers scraping at the vines, my breath ragged. The sigil glowed faintly as I pressed my palm to it—warm, alive, recognizing my blood.
The hatch creaked open.
And we dropped into darkness.
The clinic was just as I remembered—cold, sterile, lit by flickering gas lamps, its walls lined with shelves of vials, jars, and ancient tomes. The air smelled of antiseptic, blood, and something deeper—magic, old and tired. Vale was at his desk, bent over a ledger, his silver cane leaning against the chair, his gray hair illuminated by the lamplight.
He didn’t look up.
“I wondered when you’d come,” he said, voice quiet.
My breath hitched. “You knew we’d come.”
“I know what she did,” he said, finally turning. His sharp eyes locked onto mine. “I know what she’s made you believe. That the bond is your death. That love is your weakness. That you must choose between survival and surrender.”
I didn’t answer.
Just stepped forward, my boots echoing on the stone. “There has to be another way. A spell. A ritual. Something to sever the curse without completing the bond.”
He didn’t move. Just studied me—really studied me—like he could see every lie I’d ever told, every scar I’d ever hidden. “And if there isn’t?”
“Then I’ll die trying,” I said. “But I won’t let her win. I won’t become what she wants me to be.”
He exhaled, slow and deep. Then stood, grabbing his cane, and limped to a shelf. He pulled down a leather-bound tome, its cover cracked, its pages yellowed with age. “This is the Hollow Grimoire. The original. Not a copy. Not a fragment. The one your grandmother thought she destroyed.”
My breath caught.
“You have it?”
“I’ve had it for thirty years,” he said, setting it on the table. “Since your mother brought it to me the night she died. She knew the curse was coming. Knew her time was short. And she begged me to keep it safe. To find a way to break it. To save you.”
Tears burned my eyes.
“And you never told me?”
“Because she made me swear not to,” he said. “She said you had to find your own path. That if I gave you the answers, you’d never be free. That you’d always be running—from her, from the curse, from yourself.”
I didn’t speak.
Just stared at the grimoire, my hands trembling. It was real. The truth. The way out.
And yet—
Something felt wrong.
“Open it,” Vale said.
I did.
The pages crackled as I turned them, the ink faded, the script jagged. Spells for bloodbinding. Rituals for resurrection. Curses older than the Thorne line. And then—
I found it.
The Severing.
A ritual to break the bond. To sever the curse. To free the Hollow witch from the Thorne Alpha’s claim. But the cost—
“The heart must be unbound. The blood must be spilled. The soul must choose death over love.”
My breath stopped.
“It’s a suicide spell,” I whispered.
“It is,” Vale said. “And it won’t work. Not on you. Not with the bond as strong as it is. Not with the curse already rewriting your blood. Even if you completed the ritual, even if you spilled your heart’s blood—you’d die. And the curse would remain. Because it’s not just in the magic. It’s in the choice.”
“Then what do I do?” I asked, my voice breaking. “Let her win? Let Kaelen mark me? Let the bond complete so I can live another ten years, only to die when the next curse rises?”
He didn’t answer.
Just placed a hand on my shoulder. “You already know the answer. You’ve known it since the moment you stepped into the Moonfire Hall. Since the moment you saved him. Since the moment you chose him over vengeance.”
“I don’t want to be forced,” I said. “I don’t want to complete the bond because I’m afraid of dying. I want to do it because I love him.”
“And you do,” he said. “But love isn’t always free of fear. It isn’t always clean. Sometimes, it’s messy. Sometimes, it’s born in fire. And sometimes—”
He paused.
And then—
The lamps flickered.
The air stilled.
And the scent hit me—dried roses and blood.
My breath caught.
“Too late,” Vale whispered.
The door burst open.
Not with force.
With presence.
She stepped inside, cloaked in black, her violet eyes gleaming, her silver hair cascading like a river of moonlight. Behind her—four figures, masked, cloaked, their hands glowing with binding sigils.
“Hello, daughter,” she said, her voice a whisper, yet it filled the room. “Did you really think you could run from me?”
I didn’t move. Just stood there, my hand on the grimoire, my dagger at my thigh. “I wasn’t running from you. I was running toward the truth.”
She smiled—thin, cold. “And did you find it? Did you learn how to break the curse? Or did you only learn how to die for nothing?”
“Let her go,” Vale said, stepping in front of me. “This isn’t your fight.”
“It was my fight the moment she was born,” she said. “And now, it ends.”
She raised her hand.
The masked figures moved.
I lunged—but too late. One of them slammed a sigil into my chest, and fire erupted—not from me, but into me. My magic flared, then died. My legs gave out. I hit the stone, gasping, my vision whiting out.
“No!” Vale shouted.
I heard the crack of bone. A cry. Then silence.
And then—
Her hands on my face.
“You could have been so much more,” she whispered. “But you chose weakness. You chose love. And now, you’ll learn what it truly means to be a Hollow witch.”
I tried to fight. Tried to speak. But the sigil burned, sealing my magic, my voice, my will.
And then—
She injected me.
A needle to the neck. Cold. Sharp. The serum—thick, black, pulsing with magic—flooded my veins.
My body arched.
My vision exploded.
And then—
Darkness.
But not silence.
Her voice, humming in my blood.
“Let’s awaken what you truly are.”
I woke in a cell.
Not stone. Not iron.
Glass.
Transparent walls, glowing with containment runes, the floor slick with frost, the air thick with the scent of ozone and something darker—my own fear. I was on a slab, strapped down, my arms and legs bound with silver chains, my magic still sealed, my body weak. The serum burned in my veins, not with pain, but with pressure—like something was rising, fighting to break free.
And then I saw them.
On the other side of the glass—observers. Cloaked. Silent. Watching.
And in the center—her.
My grandmother.
She stood with Selene, their heads close, their voices low. I couldn’t hear the words. But I didn’t need to.
I knew.
This wasn’t just about the curse.
This was about control.
They wanted me broken. Remade. A weapon. A queen—but on their terms.
And the serum?
It wasn’t just to suppress me.
It was to awaken me.
Not as an Alpha.
But as a slave.
I closed my eyes.
And then—
I dreamed.
Kaelen.
His hands on my skin. His mouth on my neck. His voice, rough, whispering, *“I love you.”*
The bond flared—faint, distant, but there.
And in that moment, I knew—
I wasn’t fighting for survival.
I was fighting for love.
And if I had to die to keep it—
Then I would.
But not like this.
Not as her puppet.
And not without a fight.
I opened my eyes.
And smiled.
Because even if they had taken my magic, my freedom, my voice—
They hadn’t taken my will.
And that?
That was enough.
Outside the glass, my grandmother turned, her violet eyes locking onto mine.
And for the first time—
I saw fear.
Not of me.
But for me.
Because she knew—
Some fires couldn’t be controlled.
And mine?
Mine was just beginning.