The first time I saw Garnet fight, she was destroying me with her silence.
Standing in the armory, her back to the wall, her breath ragged, her body arching into my touch—she had been fire and defiance, every inch of her trembling with the need to resist. And when she kissed me back—hard, desperate, like she was drowning—I thought I’d finally cracked her.
Then she kneed me and ran.
And for three days, she vanished.
No sabotage. No defiance. No glares across the courtyard. Just silence. Distance. A careful, cold avoidance that cut deeper than any blade.
I should have let her be.
As Alpha, I had treaties to negotiate, alliances to mend, a pack to lead. The Southern Clan was already calling for blood over the caravan massacre. The Vampire Lords were watching, waiting for weakness. The Fae Court was whispering about instability.
And yet.
All I could think about was her.
The way her lips had felt under mine. The way her scent had spiked when I touched her. The way she’d whispered, *“Gods, I want you,”* like it was a confession, like it was a sin.
She thought she’d won by running.
She thought she’d proven she wasn’t mine.
But she was wrong.
Every step she took away from me only pulled me closer. Every silence, every avoidance, every lie she told herself about not wanting me—it only made me more certain.
She was mine.
Not because of the bond.
Not because of the blood pact.
Because she felt me. Deep. Raw. In the marrow of her bones.
And I would spend every damn day proving it.
That’s why I followed her into the forest.
Not because I thought she was planning something—though I knew she was. Not because I suspected an ambush—though the air had been too still, the birds too quiet, the scent of iron too faint beneath the pine.
No.
I followed her because I needed to.
Because when she slipped from the fortress at dawn, dressed in dark wool and soft leather, her hair bound tight, her dagger at her thigh, something in my chest snapped.
She wasn’t just leaving.
She was running.
And I couldn’t let her.
I moved through the trees like shadow, silent, scent suppressed, my body half-shifted—claws retracted, fangs hidden, ears tuned to every whisper of wind, every snap of twig. She was fast, Garnet. Light on her feet, trained in evasion. But I was older. Stronger. And I knew the forest better than she ever could.
She didn’t sense me.
Not when she paused at the edge of the Blackfen Pass, scanning the mist. Not when she crouched to examine the scorched earth where the caravan had burned. Not even when she pulled a small vial from her pocket—Dr. Vale’s dampener—and uncorked it, inhaling the bitter fumes.
She thought she was alone.
She was wrong.
I stayed back, watching, waiting. Letting her think she was free. Letting her believe she could outmaneuver me.
And then I smelled it.
Blood.
Not human.
Vampire.
Three of them. No—four. Moving fast, low to the ground, their scents masked with pine resin and grave dirt. Crimson Court assassins. Fast. Silent. Lethal.
And they were circling her.
My pulse spiked. My claws extended. The bond flared, a live wire between us, screaming danger. Garnet’s scent—spiced fire, wild thyme—was suddenly sharp with adrenaline. She’d sensed them too.
But not fast enough.
One of them lunged from the mist—a blur of black leather and fangs—slamming into her from the side. She went down hard, the vial shattering against the stone, the dampener’s glow fizzling out. The second attacker was on her before she could rise, a knife flashing toward her throat.
I moved.
Not with thought. Not with strategy.
With instinct.
I tore through the first vampire like paper, my claws ripping through his chest, black blood spraying across the moss. The second turned, fangs bared, but I was already on him—my fist crushing his windpipe, my knee driving into his ribs, snapping bone. He dropped, gurgling.
The third came at me with a silver-coated blade, swinging wide. I ducked, felt the metal whistle past my ear, then grabbed his wrist, twisted, and snapped it backward. He screamed. I didn’t stop. My other hand plunged into his chest, tore out his heart. He collapsed, dust and ash.
The fourth was on Garnet.
He had her pinned, one hand around her throat, the other pressing a dagger to her pulse point. Her eyes were wide, her fangs bared, her hands clawing at his arm. The bond screamed—pain, fear, desperation—flooding me with her terror.
“Let her go,” I growled.
He turned, smirking. “Or what, Alpha? You’ll kill me? We were sent to deliver a message.”
“Then deliver it,” I said, stepping forward, my voice low, dangerous. “Before I deliver your head to your Lady.”
He laughed. “The message is simple. *She* doesn’t belong to you. And if you don’t release her from the bond by Beltane, the Crimson Court will take her. One way or another.”
My blood turned to ice.
Not because of the threat.
Because of the truth in it.
Selene.
She’d sent them. Not to kill Garnet. To claim her. To break us. To prove that I couldn’t protect her.
And she was wrong.
I lunged.
He didn’t expect it. Thought I’d negotiate. Thought I’d hesitate.
I didn’t.
>My shoulder slammed into his chest, driving him off Garnet. She gasped, rolling away, clutching her throat. I didn’t look at her. Didn’t check if she was hurt.I was already on him.
My fist crashed into his jaw. My knee drove into his gut. I grabbed his head, twisted—once, twice—and snapped his neck with a sickening crack. He dropped like stone.
Silence.
Then—
“Kaelen—”
Her voice. Shaky. Raw.
I turned.
She was on her knees, one hand pressed to her throat, the other braced against the moss. Her eyes were wide, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Blood streaked her temple—she’d hit her head when she fell. Her tunic was torn at the shoulder, the fabric dark with dirt and damp. But she was alive.
And she was looking at me.
Not with hatred.
Not with defiance.
With something that looked dangerously like gratitude.
My chest tightened.
I crossed the space in three strides, dropping to one knee in front of her. My hands hovered—wanting to touch, needing to check, afraid to overstep.
“Are you hurt?” I asked, voice rough.
She shook her head. “Just—just bruised. My head. My throat.”
I reached out, fingers brushing the cut on her temple. She flinched—but didn’t pull away. Her skin was warm. Her pulse jumped under my touch. The bond flared, not with pain, but with something deeper. Relief. Connection. Need.
“Why?” she whispered. “Why did you follow me?”
“Because I knew you’d run,” I said. “Because I knew you’d try to escape. Because I know you.”
Her breath hitched. “And if I had escaped? If I’d made it to Vale’s clinic? What then?”
“Then I would have come after you,” I said simply. “I would have torn through every city, every forest, every damn kingdom until I found you. And I would have brought you back.”
“Even if I didn’t want to come?”
“Especially then,” I said. “Because you don’t know what you want. Not yet. But I do.”
Her eyes burned. “And what’s that?”
“To keep you alive,” I said. “To keep you here. To make you see that I’m not your enemy. That I’m not my father. That I would rather die than let anything happen to you.”
She didn’t speak.
Couldn’t.
Because it was true.
And she knew it.
I stood, then reached down, offering my hand. “Come on. We need to get back.”
She hesitated.
Then, slowly, she took it.
Her fingers were cold. Her grip weak. But she held on.
And when I pulled her to her feet, she didn’t let go.
I carried her back.
Not because she couldn’t walk—she could, though her steps were unsteady. Not because she asked—she didn’t. But because I needed to.
Because the moment I lifted her into my arms, her face buried in my neck, her breath warm against my skin, the bond roared to life, not with desire, but with something deeper.
Belonging.
Her scent—spiced fire, wild thyme—filled my lungs. Her warmth seeped into my chest. Her pulse beat against my throat, steady, alive. I could feel her—every breath, every heartbeat, every flicker of emotion—like she was part of me.
And gods help me, I never wanted to let her go.
She didn’t fight.
Didn’t protest. Didn’t demand to be set down. She just… leaned into me. Her arms wrapped around my neck. Her body pressed against mine. Her breath slowed, deepened, as if she was finally, finally letting herself trust me.
And when she whispered, “Thank you,” against my skin—soft, broken, real—I nearly stumbled.
Because that was the moment I knew.
Not just that I would die for her.
But that I already had.
The fortress loomed ahead, torches flickering in the dusk. Sentinels stood at the gates, alert, wary. Riven was there, arms crossed, his dark eyes sharp.
“What happened?” he asked as we approached.
“Crimson Court,” I said. “Four assassins. They’re dead.”
His gaze flicked to Garnet in my arms. “She okay?”
“Alive,” I said. “Bruised. Shaken.”
“And the message?”
“Selene’s claiming her,” I said. “Says if I don’t release the bond by Beltane, they’ll take her.”
Riven’s jaw tightened. “She’s testing you.”
“No,” I said. “She’s testing her.”
And I knew it was true.
Selene wasn’t just threatening Garnet.
She was trying to break her. To make her doubt me. To make her believe I couldn’t protect her. That I wasn’t enough.
And it had almost worked.
But not today.
Not ever again.
I carried Garnet through the gates, up the stairs, down the hall to her chamber. She was quiet, her face still buried in my neck, her fingers clutching my shirt. When I set her down inside the room, she didn’t step away. Just looked up at me, her eyes wide, her breath shallow.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said. “You didn’t have to save me.”
“Yes, I did,” I said. “Because you’re mine. And I don’t let go of what’s mine.”
She swallowed. “And if I don’t want to be yours?”
“Then you’re lying,” I said. “And I’m done letting you lie to yourself.”
Her breath hitched.
“You felt it,” I said. “When I carried you. When you leaned into me. When you whispered *thank you*. You felt the bond. Not as a curse. Not as a chain. As truth.”
She didn’t deny it.
Couldn’t.
Because it was there—in her eyes, in her pulse, in the way her body still trembled with the need to be close to me.
I reached out, just once, and brushed my thumb over her cheek. The sigil on my wrist flared, warm and bright.
“Sleep well, Garnet,” I said. “Because tomorrow? We’re done pretending.”
Then I turned and left.
But not before I saw it—the flicker in her eyes.
Doubt.
And something else.
Something that looked dangerously like hope.
That night, I stood on the balcony of my chamber, staring out at the moonlit cliffs, the wind tugging at my hair. The bond pulsed, slow and steady, a constant reminder of her presence, even through the stone walls.
I thought of the fight.
Of the way my body had moved before my mind could catch up. Of the way my claws had ripped through vampire flesh without hesitation. Of the way my chest had tightened when I saw her pinned, helpless, a blade at her throat.
I had spent my life mastering control.
But for her?
I would lose it in a heartbeat.
And I wouldn’t regret it.
A knock at the door.
“Enter,” I said.
Riven stepped in, his expression grim. “The Southern Pack is mobilizing. They’re calling the caravan massacre an act of war.”
I didn’t turn. “Let them.”
“And Selene’s spreading rumors. Saying you’re weak. That you’re distracted by the bond.”
“Let her.”
He hesitated. “And Garnet?”
“She’s safe,” I said. “For now.”
“You think she’ll stay?”
I finally turned. “She already has.”
He studied me. “You’re not just protecting her, are you?”
“No,” I said. “I’m claiming her. Slowly. Patiently. Until she realizes she’s already mine.”
He didn’t argue. Just gave a sharp nod and left.
I stayed on the balcony until dawn.
Watching. Waiting.
Because I knew one thing for certain.
The war wasn’t just coming.
It was already here.
And this time, I wouldn’t fight it alone.
I’d fight it with her.
By my side.
Where she belonged.