The first sign wasn’t a cramp. Not a sickness. Not even a missed moon cycle.
It was the fire.
It came at dawn, just as the sun bled gold over the mountain peaks, painting the sky in streaks of rose and amber. I stood on the balcony of our chamber, wrapped in a robe of storm-gray silk, my bare feet silent on the stone. The fortress hummed below—sentries changing shift, omegas stoking the hearths, warriors sharpening steel—but I wasn’t listening. Wasn’t watching. Just breathing. Just feeling.
And then—
It flared.
Not from my hands. Not from my magic. Not from the sigil on my thigh or the bite mark below my ear.
From inside.
Deep. Low. Warm.
Like a spark buried in the dark, waiting to bloom.
I gasped, my hand flying to my lower abdomen, my fingers pressing into the soft skin just above my hip. My fangs lengthened. My claws extended. My magic—usually a storm beneath my skin—settled, not with resistance, not with denial, but with recognition.
And then—
It pulsed.
Once.
Twice.
Like a heartbeat.
Not mine.
But hers.
I didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, my breath caught in my throat, my heart pounding like a war drum. The wind slipped through the mountain pass, cool against my skin, but I didn’t feel it. Didn’t hear the fortress. Didn’t smell the pine or the frost.
All I felt was her.
Our daughter.
Because I already knew.
Not from logic. Not from science. Not from some whispered prophecy or ancient omen.
From the bond.
From the fire.
From the way my body—my magic—my soul—had shifted in the night, like it had made room for something new. Something sacred.
I turned from the balcony, my steps slow, deliberate, my hand still pressed to my stomach. The chamber was quiet, the fire crackling in the hearth, the scent of Kaelen’s storm-iron lingering on the sheets. I didn’t call for him. Didn’t send a message. Just moved to the vanity, my fingers brushing the silver mirror, my violet eyes searching my reflection.
And then—
I saw it.
Not in my face. Not in my posture. Not in the way my hair framed my face or the curve of my lips.
In my aura.
Faint at first. A shimmer. A glow. Like sunlight through smoke. But there—undeniable. A pulse of garnet-red light, swirling beneath my skin, centered just above my womb. It wasn’t magic. Not exactly. But something deeper. Older. Truer.
A life.
Our life.
I didn’t cry. Didn’t laugh. Just placed both hands on the vanity, my knuckles white, my breath shallow. The mirror reflected not just my face, but the fortress behind me—the war table, the maps, the scrolls, the crown resting on its velvet cushion. The weight of a kingdom. The burden of a queen. The fire of a witch. The fangs of a wolf.
And now—
A mother.
Because that’s what I was.
Not just a queen. Not just a mate. Not just a weapon forged in vengeance and blood.
A mother.
And gods, it terrified me.
Not because I didn’t want her. Not because I wasn’t ready. But because I knew what came with this. What it meant. A child born of fire and storm, of thorn and iron, of a bloodline cursed and broken and remade. A child who would inherit not just power, but war. Not just magic, but legacy. Not just love, but duty.
And I had no idea how to protect her.
Not from the world.
Not from the lies.
Not even from me.
Because I had come here to destroy. To break. To burn.
And now—
Now, I had to build.
The door creaked open behind me.
I didn’t turn. Didn’t flinch. Just kept my eyes on the mirror, my hands still pressed to the cool stone. But my body knew him before my mind did—the shift in the air, the deep, even rhythm of his breath, the warmth that rolled off him like a storm front.
“You’re up early,” Kaelen said, his voice rough with sleep.
“So are you,” I said, my voice steady.
He didn’t answer. Just stepped up behind me, his hands settling on my hips, his thumbs brushing the bare skin just above my waistband. I shivered—not from cold, but from the sheer rightness of it. Of him. Of us.
He pressed 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. His scent wrapped around me—storm and iron, power and possession—and I leaned back into him, my body arching into his.
“You’re tense,” he murmured, his hands sliding up my sides, his fingers tracing the curve of my ribs.
“I’m thinking,” I said.
“About what?”
I didn’t answer.
Just reached for his hand and placed it on my stomach.
He froze.
Not from shock. Not from fear.
From recognition.
Because he felt it too.
The fire. The pulse. The life.
His breath caught. His body stilled. And then—
He knelt.
Not in submission. Not in surrender.
But in acknowledgment.
His hands cradled my lower abdomen, his forehead pressing to the soft skin just above my hip, his breath warm against my flesh. I didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, my fingers threading through his hair, my heart pounding, my magic humming beneath my skin.
And then—
He spoke.
Not to me.
But to her.
“Hello, little one,” he said, his voice low, rough, thick with emotion. “I’m your father. And I promise you—no one will ever hurt you. Not while I draw breath. Not while I have fang or fire or storm. You are safe. You are loved. And you are ours.”
Tears burned my eyes.
Not from sadness.
Not from fear.
From something deeper.
Hope.
I didn’t cry. Just turned, pulling him to his feet, my hands rising to his face. His gold eyes burned into mine, fierce, unrelenting, but there was something softer beneath the surface—relief. Love. Peace.
“You feel her?” I asked, my voice breaking.
“I’ve felt her since last night,” he said. “In the bond. In the fire. In the way your magic changed when you slept. I didn’t want to say anything. Didn’t want to scare you. Didn’t want to hope too soon.”
“And now?”
“Now,” he said, stepping closer, his body pressing into mine, “I’m not afraid to hope. Not afraid to love. Not afraid to be a father.”
I didn’t answer.
Just kissed him.
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 desperation, 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.
“We’ll tell the pack today,” he said. “At dawn. In the Heart Grove.”
“Not yet,” I said, stepping back. “Let it be ours first. Just for a little while. Let me learn how to be a mother before the world demands I be a queen.”
He didn’t argue.
Just nodded. “Then we keep it quiet. For now.”
“And the Council?”
“They’ll know when we’re ready,” he said. “And if they try to interfere—”
“—they’ll have to go through both of us,” I finished.
He smiled.
Not a smirk. Not a grimace.
A real smile.
Small. Rare. But real.
And gods, I loved him for it.
We spent the morning in silence.
Not tense. Not strained. But charged. Like the air before a storm. He worked at the war table, reviewing reports from the Southern envoy, signing treaties, issuing orders. I sat by the fire, a book in my lap I wasn’t reading, my hand resting on my stomach, my magic humming beneath my skin. Every so often, he’d look up, his gold eyes searching mine, and I’d nod—just once—and he’d go back to his work.
But I could feel it.
The shift.
Not just in us.
But in the fortress.
The sentries stood taller. The omegas moved with purpose. The warriors trained harder. Even the young ones—usually rowdy, loud, full of fire—were quieter, more focused, like they could sense it too. Like they knew something had changed. Something sacred.
And then—
Riven came.
He didn’t knock. Didn’t announce himself. Just stepped into the chamber, his dark eyes sharp, his posture tense. He didn’t look at me. Just at Kaelen.
“The Fae envoy is here,” he said. “Requests an audience.”
Kaelen didn’t look up. “With me?”
“With her,” Riven said, his gaze flicking to me. “Says it’s urgent. About the Hollow Witch.”
I didn’t flinch.
Just stood, my hand still on my stomach. “Then let her in.”
Riven hesitated. “She’s Fae. She’s—”
“She’s not here to harm me,” I said, stepping forward. “She’s here to help.”
He didn’t argue. Just nodded and left.
The Fae envoy arrived moments later—Lyra, her violet eyes sharp, her silver hair cascading like a river of moonlight, her dress of silver silk fluttering in the wind. She didn’t bow. Didn’t kneel. Just stepped forward, her gaze locking onto mine.
“Sister,” she said.
“Lyra,” I said. “What do you know?”
She didn’t answer. Just stepped closer, her hand rising to my face, her fingers brushing my cheek. And then—
She smiled.
Not a smirk. Not a grimace.
A real smile.
Small. Rare. But real.
“You’re with child,” she said, her voice soft. “A daughter. Born of fire and storm. The first of a new bloodline.”
I didn’t deny it.
Just nodded.
“And the Hollow Witch?” Kaelen asked, stepping forward.
“She knows,” Lyra said. “And she’s coming. Not to kill you. Not to curse the child. But to claim her. To raise her as her own. To turn her against you.”
“She won’t touch her,” I said, my voice low, rough. “Not while I draw breath. Not while I have fire or fang or storm.”
“Then you’ll have to kill her,” Lyra said. “Because she won’t stop. Not until the child is hers.”
“And if I do?”
“Then you break the last of her power,” Lyra said. “And you become what you were meant to be. Not just a queen. Not just a mate. A mother.”
I didn’t flinch.
Just placed both hands on my stomach, my fingers spreading over the soft skin, my magic flaring beneath my touch.
And then—
She pulsed.
Once.
Twice.
Like a heartbeat.
Not mine.
But hers.
And I knew—
I would burn the world before I let anyone take her.
Later, as the sun dipped below the mountains and the fortress lit with torchlight, I stood on the balcony again, my hand resting on my stomach, the wind cool against my skin. 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. “She’s coming. The Hollow Witch. She wants our daughter. And if she thinks she can take her—”
“—she’ll have to go through both of us,” he said, pressing a kiss to my neck, his fangs grazing my skin. “And if that’s not enough, we’ll burn the world.”
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 her. 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 now—”
“—you see me,” he said, his voice rough. “Not as a monster. Not as a tyrant. Not as a cursed Alpha. As him. And that’s enough.”
I didn’t smile.
Just kissed him.
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.