The dreams started the night after Lyra’s warning.
Not visions. Not memories. Not even nightmares, not in the way most would understand them. These were invitations. Soft, silken pulls at the edge of sleep, like fingers trailing through my hair, like a mother’s lullaby sung in a language I’d forgotten. The scent of roses and old blood would rise from the pillow, thick and cloying, and I’d find myself standing in a garden I’d never seen—white stone paths winding through blackthorn hedges, moonlight dripping like silver sap from the branches, and at the center, a woman in a gown of violet silk, her back turned, her silver hair cascading like a river of stars.
“Come home, daughter,” she’d whisper, not turning, not raising her voice. “You were never meant to be a queen. You were meant to be mine.”
I’d wake gasping, my hand flying to my stomach, my magic flaring beneath my skin like a caged storm. Kaelen would stir beside me, his gold eyes opening in the dark, his hand instantly finding mine, his thumb brushing the pulse at my wrist.
“Again?” he’d murmur.
I’d nod, unable to speak, my throat tight with something deeper than fear—recognition. Because the voice wasn’t just familiar. It was part of me. A piece of the curse that had lived in my blood since birth, now calling me back to the source.
“She’s testing you,” he’d say, pulling me close, his body warm against mine. “She wants you to doubt. To weaken. To open the door.”
“And if I do?”
“Then I’ll burn the garden down,” he’d growl, his voice rough with sleep and fury. “And her with it.”
But it wasn’t just the dreams.
It was the silence in the fortress. The way the sentries’ eyes darted to the shadows when I passed. The way Riven’s jaw clenched when he handed me reports from the outer watch. The way Lyra lingered in the hallways, her violet eyes sharp, her voice low when she said, “She’s close, sister. Closer than you think.”
And then, three days after the Fae envoy’s visit, the first sign arrived.
Not a message. Not a threat. But a gift.
Left on the war table, wrapped in black silk, tied with a ribbon of dried roses and blood. No note. No sigil. Just the scent—roses and iron, magic and malice—rising from the cloth like a whisper.
I didn’t touch it.
Just stood there, my breath shallow, my fangs aching, my claws pressing into my palms. Kaelen stepped beside me, his body a wall of storm and iron, his hand hovering over the hilt of his dagger.
“Open it,” he said, his voice low.
I did.
Inside—a locket. Silver, tarnished with age, shaped like a thorned rose. I didn’t need to open it to know what was inside. But I did anyway.
A lock of hair. Black as midnight. Mine.
And beneath it—a single drop of blood, still wet, still warm.
My breath caught.
“She was here,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “Inside the fortress. Inside our chambers. And we didn’t even know.”
Kaelen didn’t answer. Just reached for the locket, his fingers brushing mine as he took it. His gold eyes burned as he turned it over, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled the scent. And then—
He crushed it.
Not with magic. Not with fire. With his bare hand. The silver crumpled like paper, the rose snapping, the blood oozing between his fingers. He didn’t wipe it away. Just let it drip onto the stone floor, a silent offering to the gods of war and silence.
“She wants you to come to her,” he said, his voice rough. “But we’re not playing her game. Not this time.”
“Then what do we do?”
“We trap her,” he said, stepping closer, his hand rising to my face. “We use the bond. We let her think you’re weakening. That you’re ready to return. And when she comes for you—”
“—we take her,” I finished.
He nodded. “Alive. I want answers. And then—”
“—then we end it,” I said. “For good.”
We didn’t wait.
That night, I stood on the balcony of our chamber, the wind cool against my skin, my hand resting on my stomach. I didn’t wear armor. Didn’t summon fire. Just stood there, vulnerable, open, letting the scent of my pregnancy—garnet and storm, life and power—drift on the breeze like a beacon.
Kaelen was behind me, hidden in the shadows, his presence a silent hum in the bond. Riven stood at the edge of the roof, his dark eyes scanning the darkness. Lyra waited in the corridor, her magic coiled like a serpent, ready to strike.
And then—
She came.
Not with fire. Not with storm. Not even with a whisper.
With silence.
One moment, the air was still. The next—she was there. Not stepped. Not shifted. Just appeared, like a memory given form. Her violet eyes burned in the dark, her silver hair cascading like moonlight, her gown of violet silk fluttering in the wind. She didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just watched me, her gaze fixed on my stomach, her lips curling in a smile that wasn’t joy. Wasn’t love.
Triumph.
“You’ve grown,” she said, her voice soft, like wind through glass. “Not just in power. In purpose. In weakness.”
I didn’t flinch.
Just stepped forward, my head high, my back straight. “I’m not weak. I’m a mother.”
“And that makes you vulnerable,” she said, stepping closer. “A queen rules with fire and fang. A mother rules with fear. And fear is the easiest thing to break.”
“You don’t know me,” I said, my voice steady. “You never did.”
“I know your blood,” she said, reaching for me. “I know your curse. I know your need. You came here to destroy, but you stayed to love. And love is the greatest weakness of all.”
Her fingers brushed my cheek.
And then—
The world shattered.
Not with sound. Not with fire. With magic. A pulse of violet light erupted from her touch, not aimed at me, but at the bond—twisting, pulling, unraveling the threads of fire and storm that bound me to Kaelen. I screamed—raw, broken—as the connection between us frayed, as the fire in my veins turned to ice, as the life inside me flickered like a dying star.
And then—
Kaelen moved.
Not with speed. Not with fury.
With precision.
He stepped from the shadows, his body a wall of storm and iron, his hand closing around her wrist before she could pull away. His gold eyes burned, not with rage, but with something colder. Deadlier.
Control.
“You don’t touch her,” he growled, his voice low, rough. “Not now. Not ever.”
She didn’t flinch.
Just smiled. “You think you can stop me? You think you can protect her? You’re not her father. You’re not her king. You’re not even her mate. Not really. Not when I can unravel the bond with a touch.”
And then—
Riven was there.
His dagger at her throat, his dark eyes sharp, his voice steady. “She’s not alone.”
Lyra stepped from the corridor, her hands raised, her magic flaring—silver and sharp, like moonlight on steel. “And you’re not welcome.”
The Hollow Witch didn’t fight.
Didn’t struggle.
Just laughed.
Low. Cruel. Victorious.
“You think this is a trap?” she said, her gaze flicking to me. “You think I came here to be captured? I came to warn you. To show you what happens when you defy me. When you choose love over blood. When you let a child bind you.”
And then—
She vanished.
Not with a spell. Not with smoke.
With silence.
One moment, she was there. The next—gone. No trace. No scent. No magic.
Just emptiness.
I staggered, my hand flying to my stomach, my breath coming in short, panicked gasps. The bond—still there, but thin, frayed, like a rope stretched to its limit. The fire in my veins—flickering, not gone, but weakened. And the life inside me—
Still there.
Still alive.
Kaelen caught me before I fell, his arms wrapping around me, his body warm against mine. “She’s gone,” he murmured, his voice rough. “But she’ll be back.”
“She touched me,” I whispered, my fingers clutching his coat. “She touched the bond. She touched her.”
“And she failed,” he said, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Because you’re stronger than she thinks. Because we’re stronger. And because that child—”
He placed his hand on my stomach, his thumb brushing the soft skin.
“—is ours. Not hers. Not the curse’s. Ours.”
I didn’t cry. Just buried my face in his neck, my breath warm against his skin. The bond hummed between us, not with need, not with denial, but with something deeper.
Defiance.
We didn’t return to the chamber.
Instead, we went to the Heart Grove—the ancient blackthorn tree where oaths were sworn, where bonds were sealed, where the pack had knelt to us. Riven and Lyra followed, silent, watchful. The sentries formed a ring around the grove, their weapons raised, their eyes sharp.
And in the center—
Us.
Kaelen placed his hand on the stone, his gold eyes burning. “We seal it,” he said. “The bond. The child. The future. We seal it with blood and fire, with storm and iron. And if she tries to break it again—”
“—she’ll burn,” I finished.
He nodded. “Then let’s begin.”
I didn’t hesitate.
Just stepped forward, my hand rising to the dagger at my hip. I didn’t cut deep. Just enough—a thin line across my palm, blood welling in a crimson thread. Kaelen did the same, his blood dark as storm, thick as iron. We pressed our hands together, our blood mingling, our magic flaring—fire and storm, garnet and thorn, life and power.
And then—
We spoke.
Not in words. Not in spells.
In truth.
“I am Garnet Hollow,” I said, my voice clear, steady. “Daughter of fire. Heir of thorn. Mate of storm. Mother of light. And I claim this bond. I claim this child. I claim this life. Not by magic. Not by curse. But by choice. By love. By fire.”
Kaelen’s voice joined mine, deep, resonant, unshakable. “I am Kaelen Thorne. Alpha of storm. King of iron. Mate of fire. Father of light. And I claim this bond. I claim this child. I claim this life. Not by magic. Not by blood. But by choice. By love. By storm.”
The runes on the stone flared—garnet and silver, fire and moon, blood and bone. The air crackled with magic, not with denial, not with resistance, but with completion. The bond—thickened, strengthened, sealed. The fire in my veins—roared back to life. The life inside me—pulsed, strong, steady, safe.
And then—
The ground shook.
Not an earthquake. Not a storm.
A laugh.
Deep. Cruel. Victorious.
“You think this changes anything?” the Hollow Witch’s voice echoed from the shadows, not from one place, but from everywhere. “You think sealing the bond protects her? You think love breaks the curse? You’re fools. The child is mine. And when the time comes—”
“—you’ll be dead,” I said, stepping forward, my head high, my back straight. “And she’ll never know your name.”
Silence.
Heavy. Thick. Real.
And then—
It was gone.
The presence. The voice. The scent.
Just the wind. Just the fire. Just the bond.
And us.
Later, as we stood on the balcony of our chamber, the moon high above, the fortress quiet below, I placed my hand on my stomach, the life inside me pulsing like a second heartbeat. Kaelen pulled me into his arms, his body warm against mine, his scent—storm and iron—wrapping around me like a vow.
“She’ll come again,” he said.
“Let her,” I said. “We’ve already won.”
“How?”
“Because we chose each other,” I said. “Not because of magic. Not because of blood. But because we love each other. And that’s something she can’t control. Can’t curse. Can’t break.”
He didn’t answer.
Just leaned in—and 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.