The scroll burned in my hands.
Not literally. Not with flame or fire. But with truth. The parchment was brittle, the ink faded, the ribbon binding it still stained with dried roses and blood—my grandmother’s signature, her curse, her lie. And yet, the words… they weren’t a spell. Not a ritual. Not a binding of magic.
They were a choice.
“The curse shall only end when Garnet chooses love over vengeance.”
That was it.
After everything—after the claiming, the frame job, the Tribunal, the serum, the bond, the blood—it all came down to this. Not power. Not magic. Not war.
Love.
And I’d already made that choice.
I looked up from the scroll, my hands trembling, my breath shallow. Kaelen stood in front of me, his gold eyes burning, his body a wall of storm and iron. He didn’t speak. Didn’t touch me. Just watched, like he was waiting for me to break. To doubt. To run.
But I didn’t.
Because for the first time, I wasn’t afraid.
Not of the curse.
Not of Beltane.
Not even of dying.
I was afraid of what came after.
If the curse broke… what then? Would I still be strong? Would I still be me? Or would I become what my grandmother wanted—soft, obedient, a queen on a throne built by blood and lies?
“You already love him,” Lyra said, stepping forward. Her violet eyes—so like mine—were sharp, fierce. “You’ve been choosing him for weeks. Saving him. Fighting for him. Letting him mark you. You don’t need a trial. You don’t need a test. You’ve already won.”
“Then why does it feel like I’m about to lose?” I asked, my voice breaking.
Because it did.
Not because I didn’t love him.
But because love wasn’t enough.
Not in this world.
Not for a queen.
“Because you’re not just choosing love,” Kaelen said, stepping closer. His scent—storm and iron—wrapped around me like a vow. “You’re choosing power. You’re choosing to be seen. To be feared. To be respected. And that’s not something you can do from the shadows. Not if you want to break the curse. Not if you want to survive.”
I looked at him—really looked at him.
And for the first time, I saw it.
Not just the Alpha. Not just the mate.
The man who’d waited for me.
Who’d fought for me.
Who’d let me go when I was afraid.
And who’d pulled me back when I was ready.
“Then I’ll do it,” I said, my voice steady. “I’ll go to the Fae High Court. I’ll face their trial. I’ll prove I’m not just a Hollow witch. Not just a cursed bloodline. I’m a queen. And if they want to test me—”
“—we’ll make them regret it,” Kaelen finished.
Lyra nodded. “The Guardian won’t let you in unless you prove you’re worthy. And the only way to do that is to command fire, blood, and wolf in unison. Not as a weapon. Not as a slave. As a ruler.”
“And if I fail?” I asked.
“Then the curse stays,” she said. “And Beltane comes. And you die.”
I didn’t flinch.
Just turned to the window, the dawn light spilling over the mountain peaks, painting the sky in streaks of rose and gold. The fortress hummed behind me—alive, watchful, waiting. The pack believed in me. Kaelen believed in me. Even Lyra believed in me.
But I had to believe in myself.
“Then I won’t fail,” I said.
And I meant it.
The journey to the Fae High Court was silent.
We moved fast, through the Carpathians, over the ridges, down the northern slope, following the old smuggler’s path. The scroll was hidden in my coat, its weight heavier than stone. My palm still bled from Lyra’s oath, the wound refusing to close—Fae magic didn’t heal easily. And my mind—
It wouldn’t stop.
Images. Voices. Truths.
But I didn’t slow. Didn’t rest. Just ran—one foot. Then the other. My heart pounding, my breath shallow, my body humming with the weight of what I was doing.
Betraying her.
Choosing us.
And if I died trying—
At least I’d die as me.
The Court loomed ahead—a cathedral of silver trees, their bark shimmering with ancient runes, their leaves glowing like captured moonlight. The ground was smooth obsidian, reflecting the sky above, where twin moons hung low and heavy, casting long, shifting shadows. Fae moved in silent procession, their forms shifting between beauty and horror, their voices a whisper on the wind, their eyes sharp with judgment.
And at the center—
The Guardian.
Not a person. Not a creature.
A presence.
It stood at the mouth of the Vault of Forgotten Oaths, its form shifting—first a wolf, then a woman, then a storm of thorns and fire. Its eyes were violet, just like mine, just like Lyra’s, just like my grandmother’s. And when it saw me—
It smiled.
“Garnet Hollow,” it said, its voice a chorus of whispers. “Daughter of fire. Heir of thorn. You seek the truth.”
“I do,” I said, stepping forward, my head high, my back straight. “And I will not be denied.”
It tilted its head. “The trial is not for the weak. Not for the fearful. Not for those who hide behind love and bond. To enter the vault, you must prove you are more than a cursed bloodline. More than a hybrid. More than a queen claimed.”
“Then let me prove it,” I said.
It didn’t speak.
Just raised a hand.
And the trial began.
The First Trial: Fire.
The ground beneath me ignited—not with flame, but with memory. The fire wasn’t physical. It was emotional. It burned through me, not my skin, but my soul. I saw it—my mother, dying in Vale’s clinic, her last words not “I love you,” but “Never let him mark you.” I saw myself, stepping into the Moonfire Hall, my scent masked, my magic bound, ready to destroy the Alpha who’d cursed my bloodline. I saw Kaelen, his gold eyes locking onto mine, the bond flaring, the ritual igniting, the sigils burning into my wrists.
And then—
I saw the claiming.
Not just the passion. Not just the fire. But the choice. Me, stepping forward. Me, saying, *“I’m yours. Not because of magic. Not because of blood. Because I love you.”* Me, letting him mark me. Me, choosing him over vengeance.
The fire roared.
Not to destroy.
But to awaken.
I didn’t fight it.
Just let it burn.
And when the flames died, I was still standing.
Unbroken.
Unbowed.
And the Guardian—
Nodded.
The Second Trial: Blood.
The air thickened with the scent of iron and roses—my grandmother’s magic, her curse, her claim. A vial appeared in front of me, filled with black liquid—my blood, mixed with Kaelen’s, mixed with the serum she’d injected into me. The runes around us pulsed, testing, probing, searching for weakness.
“Let the blood speak,” the Guardian said.
I didn’t hesitate.
Just pressed my palm to the vial.
The moment my blood touched it, the liquid flared—red, searing. Images poured from it—my grandmother, forging the curse in shadow, her violet eyes gleaming with madness. Selene, plotting with her in the Tribunal, their voices low, their eyes sharp. The serum, flooding my veins, trying to rewrite me, to make me a slave.
And then—
Me.
Breaking free.
Choosing Kaelen.
Letting him mark me.
And the bond—
Not a chain.
But a vow.
The vial cracked.
Not from the magic.
From the truth.
And the Guardian—
Smiled.
The Third Trial: Wolf.
This one wasn’t a test of memory.
Not of blood.
But of power.
The Guardian shifted—into a wolf, massive, its fur black as night, its eyes burning with violet fire. It didn’t speak. Didn’t growl.
Just lunged.
I didn’t dodge.
Didn’t run.
Just met it—fist to fang, fire to storm, will to will.
We crashed into the obsidian, the impact sending shockwaves through the Court. The Fae stepped back. The silver trees trembled. The twin moons dimmed.
And still—we fought.
Not to kill.
Not to dominate.
But to prove.
I was not my grandmother.
Not a pawn.
Not a weapon.
I was Garnet Hollow.
Alpha.
Queen.
Mate.
And I would not be broken.
My fire spiraled up my arms, lightning crackling at my fingertips. My fangs lengthened. My claws extended. My magic—raw, unfiltered, ancient—roared to life.
And I bit it.
Not on the neck.
Not on the shoulder.
On the sigil over its heart—the same brand Kaelen had claimed on me.
The Guardian howled—not in pain, but in recognition.
And then—
It shifted.
Back into its storm form.
And bowed.
“You are worthy,” it said, its voice a chorus of whispers. “Not because of magic. Not because of blood. But because you have chosen. You have fought. You have earned it.”
And then—
The mouth of the vault opened.
Not with sound.
Not with force.
With hunger.
I stepped inside.
The vault was not stone. Not ice. Not metal.
It was memory.
Walls of shifting light, pulsing with forgotten oaths, broken promises, sealed truths. Scrolls floated in the air, bound in chains of thorn and shadow, their ink still wet, their words still screaming. The air was thick with the scent of old magic, of regret, of loss. And in the center—
The scroll.
Not large. Not ornate. Just a length of yellowed parchment, bound with a ribbon of dried roses and blood. But I could feel it—the weight of it, the power of it. The original blood pact. The one that had cursed Garnet’s bloodline. The one that had bound her to Kaelen. The one that had started all of this.
I reached for it.
And then—
The floor shifted.
Not stone. Not ice.
Flesh.
I stumbled, my boots sinking into something warm, pulsing. The walls breathed. The scrolls screamed. And the scroll—
It moved.
Not floating. Not drifting.
Crawling.
Like a living thing.
“It knows you,” a voice whispered—mine, but not mine. “It knows what you’ve done. What you’ve sworn. What you’ve lost.”
I didn’t answer.
Just lunged.
My fingers closed around the parchment—cold, brittle, alive. The moment I touched it, fire erupted in my veins, not from the curse, but from the truth—centuries of lies, of manipulation, of blood spilled in the name of power. I saw it—my mother, begging the Fae to protect her daughter. Garnet’s mother, dying in Vale’s clinic, whispering, *“Never let him mark you.”* The Hollow Witch, forging the curse in shadow, her violet eyes gleaming with madness. And Kaelen’s father—the real monster—slaughtering innocents to maintain control.
And then—
I saw me.
Swearing the oath. Selling my soul. Walking into this vault, knowing I’d never be free again.
But I didn’t let go.
Just pulled the scroll free—and ran.
The vault screamed.
The walls bled.
The floor chased me.
But I didn’t stop.
Not until I burst from the mouth, the scroll clutched to my chest, my breath ragged, my blood still dripping from my palm.
The Guardian waited.
And smiled.
“You have it,” it said. “Now go. Break the curse. Save your bloodline. And remember—every breath you take from here on is yours.”
I didn’t answer.
Just turned—and walked.
Not because I was unafraid.
But because I was free.
Not of the debt.
But of the lie.
Because I had the scroll.
And Garnet would live.
The journey back to the Northern Fortress was a blur.
I moved fast, through the Carpathians, over the ridges, down the northern slope, following the old smuggler’s path. The scroll was hidden in my coat, its weight heavier than stone. My palm still bled, the wound refusing to close—Fae magic didn’t heal easily. And my mind—
It wouldn’t stop.
Images. Voices. Truths.
But I didn’t slow. Didn’t rest. Just ran—one foot. Then the other. My heart pounding, my breath shallow, my body humming with the weight of what I’d done.
Betrayed her.
Chosen love.
And if I died trying—
At least I’d die as me.
The fortress loomed ahead, its stone walls blackened by fire, its towers piercing the sky. The sentries saw me coming. Raised their weapons. But when they recognized me—
They stepped aside.
I didn’t stop.
Just ran through the courtyard, past the war room, down the hall—until I reached their chamber.
And burst in.
Garnet was there—on the bed, her head in Kaelen’s lap, his fingers tracing the sigil on her wrist. She looked up, her violet eyes sharp, her body tense. And when she saw me—
She knew.
“You got it,” she said, standing.
I didn’t answer.
Just pulled the scroll from my coat and held it out.
Her hands trembled as she took it.
“Lyra,” she said, her voice breaking. “What did it cost?”
I didn’t lie.
“A century,” I said. “Of service. To the Fae High Court.”
Her breath caught.
“No,” she said. “No, you can’t—”
“I did,” I said. “And I’d do it again. Because you’re my sister. And I won’t let you die.”
She didn’t speak.
Just stepped forward—and pulled me into her arms.
I didn’t cry.
Just held on.
Because for the first time in my life—I wasn’t alone.
Kaelen stepped forward, his gold eyes burning. “We’ll find a way to break the debt,” he said. “We’ll fight the Court. We’ll—”
“No,” I said, pulling back. “You won’t. This is my oath. My choice. And I won’t let you risk everything for me. Not when Garnet’s still running out of time.”
He didn’t argue.
Just nodded.
And then—
Garnet unrolled the scroll.
The ink was faded, the script jagged, but the words—
They burned.
“By blood and bone, by fire and thorn, the Hollow and Thorne bloodlines shall be bound until one dies. The curse shall not be broken by death, nor by magic, nor by will. It shall only end when Garnet chooses love over vengeance.”
Silence.
Heavy. Thick. Real.
And then—
Garnet laughed.
Low. Sharp. Disbelieving.
“That’s it?” she said. “After everything—after the serum, the claiming, the frame job, the Tribunal—it all comes down to this? I have to choose? I have to love him?”
“You already have,” I said.
She looked at Kaelen.
Really looked at him.
And for the first time, I saw it—
Not fear.
Not doubt.
Fire.
“I do,” she whispered. “I love him. Not because of the bond. Not because of 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’s enough.”
Later, as we stood on the balcony of their chamber, the moon high above, the fortress quiet below, Kaelen pulled her into his arms.
“They’ll come for us,” he 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.”
He 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 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 her.
For us.
For every breath, every touch, every claim.
Because the curse wasn’t just in her blood.
It was in her heart.
And the only way to break it was to stop running.
To stop fighting.
To stop pretending she didn’t want him.
Because she did.
Not just to survive.
Not just to break the curse.
But because he saw her. Not as a weapon. Not as a pawn. Not as a cursed hybrid.
As me.
And maybe—just maybe—that was enough.
Garnet’s Vow: Blood and Thorn
The night Garnet’s mother died, her last words were not “I love you”—they were “Never let him mark you.” For twenty-seven years, Garnet has lived by that warning. Now, she walks into the heart of the Northern Pack’s fortress, dressed in stolen silks, her scent masked, her magic bound—ready to fulfill her mother’s final, unfinished vengeance. The curse that turned her blood to poison at puberty, that kills every woman in her line before thirty, was forged by the Thorne Alpha’s blood magic. And Kaelen Thorne is the last of that line.
But the moment she steps into the Moonfire Hall, the air shivers. Her pulse spikes. His gaze locks onto hers like a predator recognizing prey—and the ancient bond between their bloodlines ignites. Before she can flee, the High Witch declares it: “The curse demands a union. The Thorned Blood calls to the Garnet Flame. They shall be bound until one dies.”
A ritual no one knew still existed. A claim neither consented to. And now, they are chained together by magic that burns hotter with every denial.
Their first night is a battle—of words, of wills, of bodies pressed too close during a warding test that leaves her thigh branded by his hand. She dreams of his mouth on her neck. He wakes with her name on his lips.
But someone is watching. Someone who knows the truth about her mother’s death. And when Garnet discovers that Kaelen may not be the monster she believed, the real trap begins—not of blood, but of the heart.
Because the curse isn’t just breaking her body.
It’s breaking her resolve.