The sky split open at dusk.
Not with thunder. Not with lightning. But with silence—a sudden, unnatural hush that fell over the fortress like a shroud. The torches flickered and died. The wolves in the kennels stopped howling, their golden eyes wide, their ears flat against their skulls. Even the wind stilled, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
I felt it before I saw it.
The bond—warm, steady, unbreakable—shivered. Not with fear. Not with denial. But with warning. A thread of cold ran through it, thin and sharp, like a blade drawn across my spine. My hand flew to my stomach, where our daughter stirred—soft, warm, a spark in the dark. She knew. She felt it too.
Kaelen was already on his feet, his coat of storm-gray silk open at the throat, his fangs bared, his claws flexing. He didn’t speak. Didn’t look at me. Just stood at the window, his gold eyes scanning the horizon, his body a wall of storm and iron.
“They’re coming,” he said, his voice low, rough.
“How many?”
“All of them.”
And then—
The horns sounded.
Not the deep, resonant call of the Northern Pack. Not the war drums of the Southern Clan. But the jagged, dissonant shriek of the Iron Clan—forged in fire, forged in blood, forged in hatred for all who were not pure. Twelve hundred strong. Warriors clad in blackened steel, their faces hidden behind masks of molten iron, their eyes glowing red with rage and ancient magic. No banners. No oaths. Just annihilation.
And at their head—
The Hollow Witch.
Not as I’d last seen her—trapped in the prison beneath the Fae High Court, her magic sealed, her body withered. No. This was something worse. Something older. Her silver hair cascaded like a river of stars, her violet eyes burned with power, her gown of violet silk fluttered in the wind like a banner of war. She rode atop a beast of shadow and thorn, its body twisted, its eyes hollow, its breath a mist of poisoned roses.
And she was laughing.
Low. Cruel. Victorious.
“You think you’ve won,” her voice echoed, not from the air, but from the stone, from the trees, from the very blood in my veins. “You think love breaks the curse? You think a vow in daylight can silence the truth?”
My breath caught.
Not from fear.
From recognition.
Because she wasn’t just attacking the fortress.
She was attacking the bond.
And she knew—she knew—that if she broke me, she broke us all.
Kaelen turned to me, his gold eyes burning. “Stay behind the lines,” he said. “Protect her.”
“No,” I said, stepping forward, my hands rising to the daggers at my hips. “I fight with you. Not behind you. Not beneath you. Beside you.”
He didn’t argue. Just reached for me—his fingers brushing my cheek, his thumb tracing 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.
“Then fight like a queen,” he said, his voice rough. “Not for vengeance. Not for blood. But for the life we’ve built. For our daughter. For us.”
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 denial, but with truth. I could feel it—his love, his fury, his surrender. And I gave it back. My fire, my fear, my need—pouring into him like a river.
When we broke apart, our foreheads pressed together, our breaths ragged, he spoke.
“If I fall—”
“You won’t,” I said, stepping back, my hand rising to the sigil on my thigh. “But if you do, I’ll burn the world before I let them take you.”
He didn’t smile.
Just nodded.
And then—
We moved.
Not as queen and king. Not as Alpha and mate.
As warriors.
The pack was already in formation—sentinels at the front, omegas in the rear, warriors flanking the Heart Grove. Riven stood at the edge of the courtyard, his dark eyes sharp, his dagger at his hip. He didn’t speak. Just gave the slightest dip of his chin—acknowledgment. Respect. And something else.
Pride.
Lyra stood near the eastern arch, her silver hair braided with moonstone beads, her violet eyes reflecting the pale light. She didn’t smile. Didn’t speak. Just raised her hands, and the air shimmered with Fae glamour—silver and sharp, like moonlight on steel.
And Vale—
He stood at the infirmary door, his face drawn, his hands stained with blood and herbs. In his arms—a vial. Clear liquid, faintly glowing, swirling with silver and garnet. The serum. The cure. The final weapon.
“It’s ready,” he said, his voice rough. “But it needs more. More power. More fire. More storm.”
“Then we give it everything,” I said, stepping forward. “Not just our blood. Our love. Our truth.”
He nodded, clutching the vial like it was the last light in the dark.
And then—
The Iron Clan moved.
Not with war cries. Not with drums.
With silence.
They advanced—slow, deliberate, their boots silent on the stone, their weapons raised, their eyes burning. No fear. No hesitation. Just purpose. Just destruction.
And then—
The first wave hit.
Arrows—blackened steel, tipped with cursed fire—rained from the sky. I didn’t flinch. Just raised my hands, my magic flaring—garnet-red, hot and wild—racing down my arms, into the air. Fire erupted, not from my fingers, but from the bond itself, from the truth of who I was, from the love that anchored me. The arrows burned mid-flight, dissolving into ash, into smoke, into nothing.
And then—
They charged.
The front line crashed into the sentinels like a wave of iron and shadow. Claws met steel. Fangs tore flesh. Blood sprayed, hot and thick, painting the stone in crimson. I didn’t wait. Just moved—my body a streak of fire and shadow, my daggers flashing in the dim light. I took them down—one, two, three—my blade slicing through armor, through muscle, through bone. No mercy. No hesitation. Just fire. Just fury. Just truth.
Kaelen was beside me—his body a storm of fury, his claws ripping through flesh, his fangs tearing out throats. He didn’t speak. Didn’t look at me. Just fought—relentless, unyielding, unstoppable. And every time our hands brushed, every time our eyes met, the bond flared—warm, steady, a current of fire and storm that needed no words.
But then—
She appeared.
The Hollow Witch.
Not on the battlefield. Not in the fray.
In the mind.
One moment, I was fighting. The next—
I was falling.
Not through space. Not through time.
Through memory.
Flashes erupted behind my eyes—blood on stone, a woman screaming, a child crying, a vow broken in the dark. My mother. Her last breath. The Hollow Witch’s laughter. And then—
Another memory.
Not mine.
But his.
Kaelen—kneeling in a moonlit grove, his hands covered in blood, his father’s voice cold in his ear: *“The bond must be broken. The line must end. No more hybrids. No more weakness.”*
I gasped—sharp, broken—as the vision tore through me, as the pain flared in my chest, as the bond shattered beneath the weight of it.
And then—
I saw him.
Kaelen—on his knees, blood pouring from a wound in his chest, his gold eyes wide, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The Hollow Witch stood over him, her hand plunged into his chest, her fingers wrapped around his heart.
“You think love saves you?” she hissed, her voice like wind through glass. “Love is weakness. And weakness is death.”
“No,” I screamed, my voice raw, broken. “NO!”
And then—
I moved.
Not through the vision. Not through the memory.
Through truth.
I didn’t run. Didn’t shift. Just leapt—my body a streak of fire and fury, my daggers raised, my magic flaring. I didn’t aim for her heart. Didn’t aim for her throat.
I aimed for the bond.
My blade sliced through the air, not at her flesh, but at the thread of magic that bound her to the vision, to the memory, to the lie. Fire erupted—garnet-red, hot and wild—racing down the blade, into the connection, into the curse.
And then—
The vision shattered.
Not with sound. Not with fire.
With a sigh—like a soul finally released.
I was back on the battlefield, my body trembling, my breath ragged. Kaelen was still standing—alive, bleeding, but alive. The Hollow Witch staggered, her violet eyes wide, her power flickering.
“You can’t break me,” she snarled. “I am your blood. I am your curse. I am your destiny.”
“You’re not my destiny,” I said, stepping forward, my daggers raised, my magic flaring. “You’re a ghost. A lie. A failure.”
And then—
She attacked.
Not with magic. Not with fire.
With truth.
Her hand shot out, not to strike, not to grab.
To touch.
Her fingers brushed my stomach—where our daughter grew.
And 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 sacrifice.
He stepped between us—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.
Love.
“You don’t touch her,” he growled, his voice low, rough. “Not now. Not ever.”
And then—
She stabbed him.
Not with a blade.
With magic.
Her free hand plunged into his chest—through flesh, through bone, through heart. Blood sprayed, hot and thick, painting my face, my hands, my clothes. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t cry out. Just held her wrist, his grip unbreakable, his eyes locked onto mine.
“Garnet,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Live.”
And then—
He fell.
Not to his knees.
To the ground.
Still. Silent. Dead.
My breath caught.
Not from shock.
From denial.
“No,” I whispered. “No. No. NO!”
The world went silent. The battle stilled. Even the wind died. And then—
I screamed.
Not with sound.
With fire.
Garnet-red flames erupted from my body, racing across the battlefield, consuming everything—Iron warriors, cursed steel, the Hollow Witch’s shadow beast. The sky above split with lightning. The earth trembled. The bond—frayed, broken, dying—flared one last time, not with need, not with denial, but with truth.
And then—
I dropped to my knees beside him.
His skin was cold. His chest still. His gold eyes—wide, unseeing.
“You don’t get to die,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Not like this. Not before I tell you—”
I pressed my hands to his chest, my magic flaring—garnet-red, hot and wild—racing down my arms, into his body. I could feel it—the curse, like a black thread woven through his veins, pulsing with malice, with hunger. But I didn’t let go. Just poured more fire into him, more power, more truth.
And then—
I kissed him.
Not slow. Not tender.
Claiming.
My mouth crashed into his, hot and demanding, my tongue sliding against his lips, forcing them open. I poured my magic into him—my fire, my fury, my love—through breath, through blood, through bond.
And then—
He gasped.
Sharp. Broken. Alive.
His chest rose. His heart beat. His gold eyes flew open—wide, clear, his.
“You’re not dying,” I said, my voice raw. “Not today. Not ever. Because I choose you. Not because of magic. Not because of blood. But because I love you. And that’s something she can’t control. Can’t curse. Can’t break.”
He didn’t speak.
Just pulled me into his arms, his body warm against mine, his breath steady against my neck.
And then—
The Hollow Witch screamed.
Not in pain.
Not in fear.
In defeat.
She writhed, she twisted, she clawed at the air like a thing unmade, like a memory torn from the flesh. 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.
The Iron Clan didn’t retreat. Didn’t flee.
They burned.
One by one, their masks cracked, their bodies crumbled, their eyes dimmed. The curse that had bound them—the lie that had forged them—was broken. And without it, they were nothing.
And then—
It was over.
The fortress stood. The pack lived. The bond—frayed, scarred, but unbroken—hummed beneath my skin.
Kaelen pressed a kiss to my forehead, his voice rough. “You saved me.”
“You saved me first,” I whispered, burying my face in his neck. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life saving you back.”
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.