The fortress had never looked more alive.
Not when I first arrived, cloaked in lies and vengeance, my scent masked, my magic bound, my heart a weapon aimed at Kaelen’s throat. Not during the Tribunal, when the air had been thick with accusation and betrayal. Not even after the curse broke, when the silence that followed was so heavy it felt like the world was holding its breath.
Now—
Now, it breathed.
Torches blazed along the battlements, their flames licking at the night sky like fingers of fire. Banners of garnet and storm hung from the towers, rippling in the mountain wind. The scent of roasted meat, spiced wine, and wild thyme drifted from the great hall, where the pack feasted in celebration. Music swelled—drums, pipes, the deep, resonant hum of werewolf voices raised in song. Warriors danced with omegas. Sentinels laughed with healers. Even the young ones spun in circles, their fangs bared in joy, their eyes bright with wonder.
It wasn’t just a celebration.
It was a rebirth.
And at the center of it all—
Us.
Kaelen stood at the edge of the balcony, his back straight, his gold eyes scanning the courtyard below. He wore black again—tailored coat, silver clasps shaped like wolves’ heads, storm-gray silk beneath—but tonight, there was no mask of cold authority. No wall of silence. Just a man who had fought his way out of the shadows and finally stepped into the light. His hand rested on the hilt of his dagger, not in threat, but in presence. Power. Ownership.
And when he turned to me—
His eyes softened.
“You’re quiet,” he said, stepping closer.
“I’m thinking,” I said, leaning into the warmth of his chest as he wrapped his arms around me. His scent—storm and iron—wrapped 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.
“About what?”
“How fast everything changed,” I said, my voice low. “A month ago, I was planning your murder. Now—”
“Now you’re about to be crowned Queen-Mate of the Northern Pack,” he finished, 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. “And you don’t want it.”
It wasn’t a question.
It was a challenge.
And gods, I loved him for it.
I turned in his arms, my hands rising to his chest, my fingers spreading over the old scar that ran from his collarbone to his sternum. “I didn’t come here to be a queen,” I said. “I came here to destroy you. To break the curse. To survive.”
“And now?”
“Now,” I said, stepping closer, my body pressing into his, “I want to live. With you. As your mate. As your equal. But not because the world demands it. Not because the Council recognizes it. Because I choose it.”
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 let them see it,” he said, his voice rough. “Let them see that you’re not a pawn. Not a weapon. Not a cursed bloodline waiting to die. Let them see that you’re mine. And I’m yours. And no title, no crown, no curse can ever change that.”
I didn’t argue.
Just nodded.
And then—
The drums changed.
Not a warbeat. Not a mourning call.
A procession.
The great doors of the fortress swung open, and the pack fell silent. Warriors formed a line down the central path, their weapons raised in salute, their eyes sharp with pride. Sentinels stood at attention. Omegas held torches high. And at the end of the path—
The dais.
Not stone. Not obsidian.
Carved from a single slab of blackthorn wood, its surface etched with runes of fire and storm, of blood and bone, of fire and thorn. At its center stood two thrones—twisted roots forming the backs, garnet crystals embedded in the arms, their glow pulsing in time with the heartbeat of the fortress.
And beside it—
Riven.
He held a velvet cushion, and on it—
The crown.
Not gold. Not silver.
Forged from blackthorn and storm-iron, its spikes shaped like fangs, its center a single, glowing garnet the size of my palm. It pulsed with magic—not the cold, controlled power of the Council, but something wilder. Fiercer. Alive.
Kaelen took my hand.
“Ready?” he asked.
“For what?” I said, my voice steady. “To be yours? I’ve already done that.”
He didn’t smile.
Just squeezed my hand.
And we stepped forward.
The path was long. The silence heavier than any battle. Every eye was on us—werewolves, witches, hybrids, even a few Fae observers who had come to witness the impossible. They didn’t cheer. Didn’t shout. Just watched, their breaths held, their hearts pounding in time with the drums.
And then—
We reached the dais.
Riven stepped forward, his dark eyes sharp, his voice clear. “Kaelen Thorne, Alpha of the Northern Pack, ruler of storm and iron, protector of the weak, breaker of chains—do you stand before this pack to claim your mate as Queen-Mate, equal in rule, equal in power, equal in blood?”
Kaelen didn’t hesitate.
“I do.”
“And Garnet Hollow, heir of fire and thorn, breaker of curses, wielder of storm and flame—do you stand before this pack to accept the crown, to rule beside your mate, to lead as queen, not by force, not by magic, but by choice?”
I looked at him—really looked at him.
And for the first time, I didn’t see a threat.
I saw a future.
“I do,” I said.
Riven nodded.
And then—
Kaelen stepped forward.
Not to the throne.
Not to the crown.
To me.
He didn’t kneel.
Didn’t bow.
Just reached for my hand—and pulled me down.
Not onto the throne.
Onto my knees.
The gasp from the crowd was audible—a ripple of shock, of disbelief, of something deeper. I didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. Just looked up at him, my violet eyes locked onto his gold ones.
And then—
He 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,” I said, my voice breaking. “You’re not my subject. You’re my king.”
“And you’re my queen,” he said, staying on one knee, his gold eyes burning into mine. “Not because of magic. Not because of blood. But because you earned it. Because you fought. Because you chose. Because you love.”
Tears burned my eyes.
Not from pride.
Not from power.
But from something deeper.
Belonging.
He didn’t move.
Just reached for the crown.
And placed it on my head.
The moment it touched my hair, fire erupted—not from me, not from the crown, but from the truth. Lightning crackled at my fingertips. My fangs lengthened. My claws extended. The bond flared, not with need, not with desperation, but with completion. The runes on the dais glowed—garnet and storm, fire and iron, blood and bone—and the fortress roared.
Not in anger.
Not in defiance.
In approval.
And then—
Kaelen stood.
Pulled me to my feet.
And 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—deep, broken—as his body arched into mine, my hands clutching his shoulders. The bond roared to life, a wildfire racing through my veins, burning away every lie, every fear, every wall we’d built between us.
But it wasn’t just a kiss.
It was a transfer.
My power flowed into him—storm and fire, lightning and heat, the raw, unfiltered truth of what I was. And his into me—strength and control, dominance and surrender, the quiet, steady weight of a man who had waited for me.
The runes on the dais cracked. The torches flared. The sky above split with lightning.
And then—
It was over.
The crown settled.
The bond hummed.
And the world—
Changed.
The pack didn’t disperse.
They stayed.
And then—
One by one.
They knelt.
Not to me.
Not to the Alpha.
But to us.
The warriors. The sentinels. The omegas. Even the young ones. They bowed their heads, their hands over their hearts, their voices rising in a single, unified chant.
“Queen. King. Queen. King.”
Tears burned my eyes.
Not from pride.
Not from power.
But from something deeper.
Belonging.
I looked at Kaelen.
And for the first time, I didn’t see a threat.
I saw a future.
And I knew—
We weren’t just mates.
We were partners.
And no lie could ever break that.
Later, as the feast raged on and the music swelled, we slipped away.
Not to hide.
Not to escape.
But to breathe.
The private chamber was quiet, the fire crackling in the hearth, the scent of pine and frost sharp in the air. I stood at the window, the crown still on my head, its weight heavier than stone. Kaelen came up behind me, his arms wrapping around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder.
“You’re thinking again,” he murmured.
“I’m not done thinking,” I said. “They’re going to come for us. My grandmother. The remnants of the Crimson Court. The Iron Clan, if they think we’re weak. They’ll try to break us. To divide us. To take this from us.”
He didn’t argue.
Just pressed a kiss to my neck, his fangs grazing my skin. “Let them try.”
“And if they succeed?”
“Then we burn the world,” he said, his voice low, rough. “But not before I tear them apart with my bare hands.”
I didn’t flinch.
Just leaned back into him, my body pressing into his. “I don’t want to rule through fear,” I said. “I don’t want to be another monster. I want to be better. For them. For us. For every hybrid who’s ever been told they don’t belong.”
He turned me gently, his gold eyes searching mine. “Then be better. Not because you have to. Not because the world demands it. But because you want to. Because you’re strong enough to.”
I didn’t answer.
Just stepped into him, my hands rising to his chest. “I love you,” I whispered. “Not because of the bond. Not because of the curse. But because you saw me. Not as a weapon. Not as a pawn. Not as a cursed hybrid. As me. And maybe—just maybe—that’s enough.”
He didn’t smile.
Just 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.