The battlefield was silent now. Not the silence of peace, not the hush after a storm, but the hollow, ringing quiet of something broken. The fortress stood—its towers unshaken, its banners still flying—but the stone was stained with blood, the air thick with the scent of iron and burnt magic. The Iron Clan was gone. Not retreated. Not scattered. Unmade. Their masks cracked like dried clay, their bodies crumbling to ash in the wind, their cursed fire extinguished by the truth we’d forged in fire and storm.
But Kaelen wasn’t moving.
He lay in my arms, his head cradled against my chest, his breath shallow, his skin cold. The wound in his chest—where the Hollow Witch had plunged her hand into his heart—was sealed by my magic, cauterized by fire, but the damage ran deeper. His pulse was faint, fluttering like a dying bird beneath my fingers. His gold eyes, once so sharp, so commanding, were dim, unfocused, as if he were already halfway to the other side.
“Kaelen,” I whispered, my voice raw. “Stay with me. Stay.”
He didn’t answer. Just exhaled—a soft, broken sound—and his body went even heavier in my arms.
“No,” I said, pressing my hands to his chest, my magic flaring. “You don’t get to die. Not after everything. Not after we’ve fought so hard. Not after I’ve finally learned how to love.”
The bond between us was frayed. Not severed. Not gone. But thin, stretched to its limit, like a thread about to snap. I could feel it—the slow, fading pulse of his soul, the weakening current of storm and fire that had once burned so bright. And I knew, with a certainty that cut deeper than any blade, that if he died, I would die too. Not from magic. Not from curse. But from truth.
Because I wasn’t just his mate.
I was his other half.
And I wasn’t going to lose him.
I looked around. The pack was alive. Wounded, bleeding, but alive. Riven knelt nearby, his dark eyes wide, his hand pressed to a gash on his arm. Lyra stood at the edge of the courtyard, her violet eyes locked on us, her hands clenched at her sides. Vale was already moving, his satchel in hand, his face drawn, his steps quick but steady.
“He’s fading,” Vale said, dropping to his knees beside us. “The Hollow Witch didn’t just wound him. She poisoned the bond. Twisted it. It’s rejecting your magic.”
“Then fix it,” I said, my voice low, rough. “You made the serum. You said it could heal any curse.”
“It can,” he said, pulling the vial from his coat. The liquid inside swirled with silver and garnet, pulsing faintly, like a heartbeat. “But it needs a catalyst. A spark. A life willingly given to save another.”
My breath caught.
Not from fear.
From clarity.
“Then use mine,” I said, rolling up my sleeve. “Take it. All of it. Just save him.”
Vale didn’t move. Just looked at me—really looked at me—and shook his head. “It’s not that simple. The serum needs more than blood. It needs a kiss. A blood-magic kiss. One that transfers life, not just power. And it has to be given before the heart stops. After that—”
“—it’s too late,” I finished.
He nodded.
I didn’t hesitate.
Just leaned down, my lips hovering over Kaelen’s. His breath was so faint now, so shallow, I could barely feel it against my skin. His eyes were closed. His body still. But I could feel it—the faintest pulse of the bond, like a dying ember in the dark.
“You don’t get to leave me,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Not after I’ve finally stopped running. Not after I’ve finally chosen you. Not after I’ve finally learned how to be alive.”
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 everything into that kiss—my fire, my fury, my love, my life. My magic flared—garnet-red, hot and wild—racing down my throat, into his, through breath, through blood, through bond. The serum in Vale’s vial pulsed, reacting to the transfer, the silver and garnet swirling faster, brighter, like a storm breaking.
And then—
Kaelen gasped.
Sharp. Broken. Alive.
His chest rose. His heart beat—once, twice, strong and steady. His gold eyes flew open, wide, clear, his. He didn’t speak. Just reached for me, his hands cradling my face, his thumbs brushing the pulse at my wrists. The bond flared—warm, steady, unbreakable—racing through my veins, sealing the fracture, mending the wound, renewing us.
“You came back,” I whispered, tears burning my eyes.
He didn’t answer. Just pulled me into his arms, his body warm against mine, his breath steady against my neck. “I told you,” he murmured, his voice rough. “I’m not dying before I make you scream my name.”
I didn’t laugh. Just buried my face in his neck, my breath warm against his skin. The fortress was quiet now, the sentries moving in slow rotation, the omegas tending to the wounded. But beneath it all—
Life.
Not just his. Not just mine. But the life of the pack. Of the fortress. Of the world we were fighting to protect.
Vale stepped back, the vial now glowing faintly in his hand. “It worked,” he said, his voice quiet. “The serum’s stable. The bond’s healed. But he needs rest. Real rest. Not just healing magic. His body has to rebuild itself.”
I nodded, still holding Kaelen, still feeling the steady beat of his heart against my chest. “Then we’ll give it to him.”
“Not here,” Vale said. “The infirmary. It’s shielded. Protected. And—”
“—I’m not leaving him,” I said, lifting my head, my violet eyes locking onto his. “Not for a second. Not even to breathe.”
Vale didn’t argue. Just nodded. “Then I’ll bring the infirmary to you.”
And he did.
Within minutes, the chamber was transformed—candles lit, sigils drawn, healing herbs burning in silver bowls. A low cot was brought in, draped in blackthorn silk, warmed by fire magic. Riven and Lyra stood guard at the door, their presence a wall against the world. The pack didn’t gather. Didn’t chant. Just watched from a distance, their eyes sharp, their breaths shallow, their loyalty unspoken but absolute.
I laid Kaelen down, my hands never leaving him, my body curled around his like a shield. His eyes were closed now, his breathing deep and even, his face relaxed for the first time in years. I pressed a kiss to his temple, my fingers tracing the old scar on his chest—the one that had nearly killed him, the one that had nearly broken us.
“You’re not allowed to do that again,” I whispered. “Not ever. If you die, I’ll drag you back just to kill you myself.”
He didn’t smile. Just reached for me, his fingers lacing with mine, his thumb brushing the pulse at my wrist. “I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured. “Not without you.”
I didn’t answer. Just leaned in and 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—as my body arched 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 fear, my need—pouring into him like a river.
When we broke apart, our foreheads pressed together, our breaths ragged, he spoke.
“You saved me,” he said, his voice rough. “Again.”
“You saved me first,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to the fresh bite mark just below his ear. It still throbbed faintly, a pulse of heat beneath his skin, a reminder that he was claimed. Not by magic. Not by curse. But by choice. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life saving you back.”
He didn’t answer. Just pulled me closer, his body warm against mine, his breath steady against my neck. “Promise me something,” he said, his voice low.
“Anything.”
“If I go… if I die… don’t let go. Don’t stop fighting. Don’t stop living. For her. For the pack. For us.”
My breath caught.
Not from fear.
From truth.
“I won’t,” I said, my voice breaking. “But you’re not going to die. 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 smile.
Just kissed me again—slow, deep, a vow sealed in breath and heat.
And then—
He slept.
Not the restless, fractured sleep of a man haunted by ghosts. Not the shallow rest of one clinging to life. But deep, true sleep. The kind that heals. The kind that renews. The kind that says, I am safe. I am loved. I am home.
I didn’t close my eyes. Just watched him—his chest rising and falling, his face unguarded, his body finally at peace. The infirmary was quiet, the candles flickering, the scent of pine and frost sharp in the air. Riven stood at the door, his dark eyes scanning the shadows. Lyra wove protective sigils around the chamber. Vale checked Kaelen’s pulse, his hands steady, his voice low.
And I—
I held on.
Not just to him. Not just to the bond.
To the life we’d built. To the future we’d fought for. To the daughter who stirred in my womb, soft and warm, a spark in the dark.
Later, as the first light of dawn spilled through the high windows, I placed my hand on my stomach, the life inside me pulsing like a second heartbeat. Kaelen stirred, his gold eyes opening in the dark, his hand instantly finding mine, his thumb brushing the pulse at my wrist.
“You’re quiet,” he murmured.
“I’m thinking,” I said.
“About what?”
“How fast everything changed,” I said, leaning into the warmth of his chest. “A year ago, I was planning your murder. Now—”
“Now you’re healing my scars,” he finished, pressing a kiss to the fresh bite mark just below my ear. “And you don’t want to.”
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—now smoother, warmer, no longer a wound, but a vow. “I didn’t come here to heal you,” 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.
“You didn’t just save my life,” he said, his voice rough. “You gave me a future.”
“We gave each other a future,” I said, stepping back, my hand still on my stomach. “And if the Hollow Witch comes for us—”
“—we’ll burn her,” he growled, pulling me closer, his lips brushing mine. “But not before I tear her 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 was 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.