The summons came at dawn.
Not a message. Not a scroll. But a raven—black as night, its eyes glinting with cold magic—landing on the balcony rail outside our chamber, a silver scroll tied to its leg. It didn’t caw. Didn’t flap. Just stood there, watching, like it knew the weight of what it carried.
Garnet saw it first.
She was already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed, her knees drawn to her chest, her violet eyes fixed on the horizon where the sun had just begun to bleed gold over the mountains. She didn’t startle. Didn’t flinch. Just reached for the dagger on the nightstand and stood, her bare feet silent on the stone.
“Let me,” I said, catching her wrist before she could step forward.
She looked at me—really looked at me—and for the first time since the curse broke, I saw it.
Not fear.
Not defiance.
Trust.
She didn’t pull away. Just nodded.
I stepped onto the balcony, the morning air sharp with frost, the scent of pine and iron thick in my lungs. The raven didn’t move as I approached. Just tilted its head, its beak parting slightly, revealing a flash of silver tongue. I untied the scroll, my fingers brushing the wax seal—three interlocking rings, the mark of the Supernatural Council. Unbroken. Official.
And heavy.
Back inside, I unrolled it on the table, the parchment crackling like dry bone. Garnet stood beside me, her shoulder pressing into mine, her breath warm against my neck. She didn’t read it aloud. Just let her eyes scan the words, her body tense, her fangs aching.
“They want us,” she said, her voice low. “At the Council Chamber. Today. Before sunset.”
“Not a request,” I said, my thumb brushing the seal. “A command.”
She didn’t answer.
Just turned to me, her violet eyes sharp, her body coiled like a blade. “They’re afraid.”
“Of what?”
“Of us.”
And she was right.
Not because we were dangerous. Not because we’d broken the curse, completed the bond, claimed the throne. But because we’d done it *together*. Because I hadn’t broken her. Because she hadn’t destroyed me. Because we’d chosen each other—not out of magic, not out of curse, but out of something they couldn’t control.
Love.
And in their world—where power was seized, not given, where alliances were forged in blood, not trust—that was the most dangerous thing of all.
“We go,” I said.
She didn’t argue. Just nodded. “But not as supplicants.”
“No,” I said, stepping closer, my hands rising to her face. “As rulers.”
Her breath caught.
Not from fear.
From recognition.
Because she already knew.
And gods, I loved her for it.
We dressed in silence.
Not in war leathers. Not in ceremonial armor. But in power.
She wore a gown of deep garnet silk, the fabric clinging to her curves, the neckline plunging to reveal the sigil over her heart—the one I’d claimed in the Moonfire Hall. The bite mark below her ear throbbed faintly, a pulse of heat beneath her skin, a reminder that she was mine. Not by force. Not by magic. But by choice. Her hair was loose, wild, framing her face. Her fangs lengthened when she caught my gaze in the mirror. Her claws flexed. Her magic hummed beneath her skin, not with denial, not with resistance, but with truth.
And I—
I wore black. Not the heavy furs of an Alpha at war, but the sleek, tailored coat of a king who had nothing left to prove. Silver clasps shaped like wolves’ heads held it closed over a shirt of storm-gray silk. My boots were polished, my gloves supple leather, my dagger sheathed at my hip. Not for show. Not for threat.
For *presence*.
When we stepped into the hall, the fortress stilled.
Not because we were loud. Not because we demanded attention.
Because we *were* it.
The pack parted as we passed, their eyes wide, their breaths held. Warriors. Sentinels. Omegas. Even the young ones—they didn’t bow. Not yet. But they *watched*. And in their silence, I heard it.
Hope.
Riven was waiting at the gate, his dark eyes sharp, his posture tense. He didn’t speak. Just handed me a rolled parchment—sealed with the sigil of the Southern Pack.
“They’ve requested alliance,” he said, his voice low. “With *both* of you.”
I didn’t smile.
Just tucked it into my coat. “We’ll discuss it after the Council.”
He nodded. “They’re afraid.”
“Good,” Garnet said, stepping forward. “Let them be.”
The journey to Edinburgh was silent.
Not tense. Not strained. But *charged*. Like the air before a storm. The carriage moved fast, pulled by two black wolves—shifted sentinels, their eyes gold, their bodies sleek with power. The roads were clear, the checkpoints manned by Council guards who stepped aside the moment they saw our sigils. No questions. No challenges. Just silence.
And fear.
Garnet sat across from me, her leg pressed to mine, her hand resting on the hilt of her dagger. She didn’t speak. Didn’t look out the window. Just watched me—really watched me—like she was memorizing the shape of my face, the way my fingers tapped against my knee, the way my gold eyes burned in the dim light.
“What?” I asked, after the third time she caught me staring.
“You’re different,” she said.
“So are you.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I mean… before, you were always holding back. Like you were afraid of what would happen if you let go. But now—”
“Now?”
“Now, you’re not afraid.”
I didn’t answer.
Just reached across the space between us, my fingers brushing hers. “I was never afraid of power. I was afraid of *love*.”
Her breath caught.
Not from shock.
From recognition.
“And now?” she asked.
“Now,” I said, lacing my fingers with hers, “I’m not afraid of anything.”
She didn’t smile.
Just leaned forward—and kissed me.
Slow. Deep. A vow sealed in breath and heat. Her lips met mine, hot and demanding, her tongue sliding against my lower lip, forcing it open. I groaned—low, broken—my body arching into hers, my hand rising to her neck, my thumb brushing the fresh bite mark just below her ear. The bond flared, not with need, not with desperation, but with truth. I could feel it—her love, her relief, her surrender. And I gave it back. My trust, my fear, my truth—pouring into her like a river.
When we broke apart, our foreheads pressed together, our breaths ragged, she spoke.
“They’ll try to divide us,” she said, her voice soft. “To pit us against each other. To make you choose between me and the pack. Between duty and love.”
“They don’t understand,” I said, my thumb tracing her jaw. “You’re not a choice. You’re not a threat. You’re not a weakness.”
“And?”
“You’re my *queen*,” I said. “My mate. My equal. And if they can’t see that—”
“—then they’re already obsolete,” she finished.
I didn’t argue.
Just kissed her again.
The Council Chamber was a cathedral of stone and shadow, its vaulted ceiling lost in darkness, its walls lined with torches that flickered like dying stars. The Supernatural Council sat in a half-circle of carved thrones—werewolves, vampires, a single Fae representative, their faces unreadable, their eyes sharp with judgment. At the center of the dais, the Judgment Circle pulsed faintly, its runes still scarred from our last trial.
And in the center—
Us.
We didn’t walk in alone.
We walked in *together*.
Hand in hand. Head high. Back straight. Not as defendants. Not as suspects. Not as pawns.
As rulers.
The silence was immediate. Not a breath. Not a whisper. Not a flicker of flame.
And then—
The High Enforcer stood.
“Kaelen Thorne. Garnet Hollow,” he said, his voice echoing through the chamber. “You stand before the Council not as individuals, but as a union. The Hollow Curse has been broken. The bond is complete. And the balance of power has shifted. We have summoned you to determine the future of this alliance—and the fate of your rule.”
Garnet didn’t flinch.
Just stepped forward, her head high, her back straight, her dress of garnet silk clinging to her curves. Her fangs ached. Her claws itched. Her magic hummed beneath her skin, not with fear, not with denial, but with defiance.
“You didn’t summon us,” she said, her voice clear, steady. “You *called*. Because you’re afraid. Afraid of what we’ve done. Afraid of what we are. Afraid of what comes next.”
A murmur rose from the Council.
“And what comes next?” the vampire lord asked, his pale eyes cold.
“Peace,” I said, stepping beside her. “Not forced. Not bought. But *earned*. The Southern Pack has requested alliance. The Iron Clan is silent. The Fae Court watches. And the people—werewolves, witches, hybrids—they’re no longer afraid. They see us. Not as monsters. Not as tyrants. As *leaders*.”
“And you believe they will follow you?” the Fae representative asked, her voice like wind through glass.
“They already have,” Garnet said. “The Northern Pack knelt. Not to me. Not to Kaelen. To *us*. To the bond. To the truth. And if you think you can break that—”
“—you’re already dead,” I said, stepping forward, my voice low, rough. “We’re not here to beg. We’re not here to prove ourselves. We’re here to *govern*. To rule. To protect. And if you stand in our way—”
“—you’ll have to go through both of us,” Garnet finished.
Silence.
Heavy. Thick. Real.
And then—
The Iron Clan elder stood.
“You speak of peace,” he said, his voice rough. “But peace requires strength. Unity. And right now, the Northern Pack is strong. The Southern is fractured. The Iron Clan is watching. And the vampires—”
“—are silent,” the vampire lord said, cutting him off. “Because we see the truth. The bond is real. The curse is broken. And the power you wield—”
“—is not just magic,” the Fae representative said. “It’s *love*. And love is the most dangerous weapon of all.”
Garnet didn’t flinch.
Just stepped forward, her violet eyes burning. “Then let it be dangerous. Let it burn. Let it destroy every lie, every fear, every wall you’ve built between species, between packs, between hearts. Because we’re not stopping. We’re not hiding. We’re not *afraid*.”
She turned to me.
And I knew.
What came next.
My hand rose to her face, my thumb brushing her cheek. The bond flared—warm, steady, a current of fire and storm that needed no words. And then—
I knelt.
Not in submission.
Not in surrender.
But in *acknowledgment*.
The chamber stilled.
Not a breath. Not a whisper. Not a flicker of flame.
And then—
“Rise,” Garnet said, her voice breaking. “You’re not my subject. You’re my *king*.”
“And you’re my queen,” I said, staying on one knee, my gold eyes locked onto hers. “Not because of magic. Not because of blood. But because you *earned* it. Because you fought. Because you chose. Because you *love*.”
She didn’t cry.
Just stepped forward—and pulled me to my feet.
And then—
She kissed me.
Slow. Deep. A vow sealed in breath and heat. Her lips met mine, hot and demanding, her tongue sliding against my lower lip, forcing it open. I groaned—low, broken—my body arching into hers, my hands tightening on her hips. The bond flared, not with need, not with desperation, but with truth. I could feel it—her love, her relief, her surrender. And I gave it back. My trust, my fear, my truth—pouring into her like a river.
When we broke apart, our foreheads pressed together, our breaths ragged, the Council spoke.
“The bond is recognized,” the High Enforcer said. “The curse is broken. And the Northern Pack has declared its loyalty. By order of the Supernatural Council, Kaelen Thorne and Garnet Hollow are hereby acknowledged as co-rulers of the Northern Pack, with full authority over internal governance, military command, and interspecies diplomacy.”
“And the Southern Pack?” I asked.
“Their request for alliance is accepted,” the vampire lord said. “On the condition that both of you lead the negotiations.”
“And the Iron Clan?” Garnet asked.
“They will observe,” the elder said. “But they will not interfere. Not unless you fail.”
“We won’t,” I said.
“And the Fae?” Garnet asked, turning to the representative.
“We will watch,” she said, her voice like wind through glass. “And we will remember. Because you’ve done what no one thought possible. You’ve turned a curse into a crown. And that—”
She paused.
And then—
“—is power.”
We left the chamber in silence.
Not because we had nothing to say.
But because we didn’t need to.
The bond hummed between us, warm and steady, a current of fire and storm that needed no words. But as we stepped into the courtyard, I felt it—
A hand on my arm.
I turned.
Riven.
His dark eyes were sharp, his breath shallow, his hand clutching the rolled parchment from the Southern Pack. “They’re ready,” he said. “To sign. To pledge. To stand with you.”
Garnet didn’t hesitate.
Just stepped forward, her head high, her back straight. “Then let them kneel.”
He didn’t flinch.
Just nodded. “It’s already done.”
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.