The scent hits me before I see the door.
Blood.
Not just any blood.
Hers.
It floods the narrow tunnel beneath Veridian Spire—thick, coppery, laced with something darker. Ember. Fire. Fear. It coils in my lungs, searing through the haze of pain, of exhaustion, of the thralls’ mindless grip. My body reacts before my mind can catch up—fangs lengthen, claws erupt, the wolf surging forward, close to the surface, close to losing control.
But not yet.
I hold on.
Because if I go feral now, if I let the bond scream too loud, I’ll tear her apart trying to save her.
And I won’t survive that.
—
The memory of her hanging—chained, broken, suspended in silver—still burns behind my eyes.
I saw it.
Through the bond.
Not a vision. Not a dream.
A scream.
One pulse of fire, one burst of agony, one silent cry that ripped through the connection like a blade through flesh. And then—nothing. No breath. No heartbeat. No Zara.
That’s when I broke.
The thralls had me pinned—ten, twenty, their dead hands dragging me down, their hollow eyes empty, their mouths slack. I fought. Claws. Fangs. Fire. But they didn’t bleed. Didn’t scream. Didn’t stop.
Until she screamed.
And then—
I wasn’t me anymore.
I was the beast.
The Marked Alpha.
The monster they made me.
I tore through them—ribs cracking, throats splitting, blood spraying the walls. I didn’t care if they were once like her. Like me. I didn’t care if they were victims. They were between me and her. And that was enough.
By the time I reached the Blood Pit’s entrance, my body was a ruin—claws broken, fangs chipped, blood dripping from a dozen wounds. But I didn’t stop. Couldn’t. The bond was a live wire in my chest, sparking, burning, screaming: She’s dying. She’s dying. She’s dying.
So I came.
And now—
I see her.
Still chained. Still hanging. Silver cuffs biting into her wrists, her arms dislocated, her body limp. Blood drips from her fingertips into a silver basin below, pooling like dark wine. Her head is tilted back, her storm-gray eyes closed, her lips parted. She’s not moving.
Not breathing.
Dead?
No.
The bond would know.
It would scream.
But it’s not screaming.
It’s… whispering.
A low, fragile pulse. Like a heartbeat beneath snow.
She’s alive.
Barely.
And Vexis is standing over her, dagger in hand, my blood in a vial, his smile slow, serpentine.
“Ah,” he says, turning to me, his crimson eyes glowing in the dark. “The cursed Alpha. How… predictable.”
I don’t answer.
I move.
Fast.
Claws slashing, fangs bared, my body a storm of blood and fury. The thralls turn—slow, emotionless—but I’m faster. I tear through them like paper, their bodies dropping one after another, their blood slick on the stone. Vexis doesn’t flinch. Just raises the dagger, the runes pulsing with a sickly light.
“You think you can save her?” he says, voice smooth as venom. “You think love conquers all? That fated bonds are unbreakable?” He steps closer to Zara, his hand brushing her cheek. “She’s already mine. Her blood. Her fire. Her magic. I’ll take it all. And then I’ll send her to kill you.”
Fire erupts in my chest.
Not magic.
Rage.
I lunge.
He dodges—fast, graceful, like a dancer—but I’m not aiming for him.
I’m aiming for the chains.
My claw slices through the silver cuffs above her wrists—once, twice—and she collapses into me, her body limp, her breath shallow, her skin ice-cold.
“Zara,” I growl, cradling her head, shielding her. “Hold on.”
She doesn’t answer.
Just whimpers—soft, broken—her fingers twitching against my chest.
And then—
Vexis moves.
The dagger flashes—silver, sharp, etched with runes that pulse with blood magic.
He aims for her heart.
But I’m faster.
I shift—fully this time—wolf and vampire and something darker—my body twisting, my arm snapping up, my claws slashing across his throat.
He stumbles back, blood spraying the dais, the dagger clattering to the floor.
“You’ll regret this,” he snarls, pressing a hand to his neck. “You think you’ve won? You think she’ll survive? Her magic’s been drained. Her blood’s been harvested. She’s broken.”
I don’t answer.
I press my palm to the mark on her collarbone.
And the bond screams.
Not in pain.
In need.
It’s weak. Flickering. Like a flame about to go out.
She’s not just injured.
She’s unraveling.
—
I don’t hesitate.
I bite.
Not her neck.
Not to mark.
My wrist.
My fangs sink into my own flesh, tearing through muscle, drawing blood—black as midnight, swirling with silver threads. Vampire and wolf. Cursed. Powerful. Mine.
I press the wound to her lips.
“Drink,” I growl. “Now.”
She doesn’t move.
Just lies there, her breath shallow, her body cold.
So I do the only thing I can.
I pour my blood into her mouth.
Not gently.
Not carefully.
Forcefully.Like life through a blade.
And then—
She reacts.
Her body arches. Her lips part. Her tongue flicks against the wound, tasting, needing. Her magic flares—just a spark, a flicker of heat in her palms—but it’s enough. The bond surges, a wave of fire rolling through her, through me, through the room.
“That’s it,” I murmur, cradling her head. “Take it. Take me.”
She drinks—deep, desperate, her fingers clutching at my shirt, her body trembling. My blood flows into her, warm, alive, a current of power that seeps into her veins, reigniting the fire, mending the bond, bringing her back.
And then—
She stops.
Her eyes flutter open—storm-gray, clouded with pain, but present.
“Kaelen,” she whispers, voice raw.
“I’m here.”
“You came.”
“Always.”
She tries to smile. Fails. Her body sags, her breath shallow. “The dagger—”
“Gone.” I glance at the floor. The dagger’s there—its runes dark, its power broken. “He can’t control them anymore.”
She doesn’t answer.
Just closes her eyes, her fingers still clutching my shirt.
And then—
Vexis moves.
Not with the dagger.
With words.
“You think this changes anything?” he says, stepping forward, blood still dripping from his neck. “You think love saves her? That blood heals her? She’s still a hybrid. Still a traitor. Still doomed.”
I don’t look at him.
I press my lips to her temple. “We’re leaving.”
“You can’t,” she whispers. “The others—”
“Are gone.” I lift her, one arm around her back, the other cradling her head. “The thralls scattered when the bond flared. The survivors escaped. We’re the only ones left.”
She doesn’t argue. Just leans into me, her body trembling, her breath shallow.
And then—
Vexis laughs.
Low. Cold. Victorious.
“You think you’ve won,” he says. “But you haven’t. I still have her blood. I still have your blood. I still have the ledger. And when the Council sees what you’ve done—when they see the bodies, the fire, the chaos—you’ll be the monsters. Not me.”
My jaw tightens.
He’s right.
They’ll say we attacked first. That we broke Council law. That we started the war.
And without proof—without witnesses—no one will believe us.
“Then we give them proof,” Zara says, her voice weak but steady. “We take the ledger. We expose him. We make them see.”
“You’re in no state—”
“I’m not dying in the dark,” she snaps, her storm-gray eyes locking onto mine. “Not after everything. Not after what they did to my mother. Not after what they’ve done to us.”
I stare at her.
She’s pale. Weak. Barely conscious.
But she’s here.
Fighting.
Burning.
And I realize—
She’s not asking for rescue.
She’s asking for justice.
So I nod. “Then we take it.”
—
The ledger isn’t in the Blood Pit.
It’s in Vexis’s private chamber—a hidden room beneath the dais, accessed through a blood-keyed door etched with vampire sigils. I carry Zara down the narrow staircase, her body pressed to mine, her breath hot on my neck, her fingers clutching my shirt like I’m the only thing keeping her alive.
And maybe I am.
Her magic is still weak. Her body still broken. But the bond—
It’s stronger now.
Not whole.
Not healed.
But alive.
And that’s enough.
The chamber is small, circular, its walls lined with shelves of scrolls, vials, and ancient tomes. In the center—a stone table, its surface stained with dried blood. And on it—
The ledger.
Not the one from the lab.
The original.
Thick. Bound in black leather. Sealed with a silver clasp etched with the Council’s sigil.
“That’s it,” Zara whispers, lifting a trembling hand. “The proof.”
I set her down gently, then move to the table. The clasp is blood-locked. I slice my palm and press it to the sigil.
It glows—crimson and black—then clicks open.
I flip it open.
Names. Dates. Executions. All hybrids. All signed with Vexis’s seal. And beneath each—
Specimen secured. Blood harvested. Subject terminated.
And then—
At the bottom of the page—
Lysara Ember. Sentence carried out by Council Enforcer K.D. Blood confirmation: verified.
But beneath it—
A different hand. Fainter. Older. Forged. Blood stolen. K.D. not present.
Proof.
Real, undeniable proof.
“We have it,” I say, closing the ledger, tucking it beneath my arm. “Now we go.”
But before I can move—
Footsteps.
Fast. Heavy. Many.
From the tunnel.
“Guards,” Zara whispers. “Council enforcers.”
“Then we fight.” I scoop her into my arms, pressing her close. “Or we run.”
“No.” She lifts her hand, fire flaring in her palm—small, uncontrolled, but enough. “We do both.”
—
We don’t make it to the exit.
Halfway up the staircase, the tunnel collapses—stone and fire and burning timber crashing down, cutting off the way out. We’re trapped. Again.
“Now what?” Zara asks, her voice weak.
“Now we wait,” I say, pressing a hand to the wall. “The fire will burn through the upper levels. They’ll send guards to contain it. We use the chaos.”
“And if they send them down here?”
“Then we fight.” I step in front of her, claws extended, fangs bared. “They want monsters? Let’s give them monsters.”
Minutes pass.
Then—
Footsteps.
Soft. Fast. Many.
They come from both ends of the tunnel—vampire enforcers, fae hunters, werewolf trackers. Armed. Armored. Ready.
“Stay behind me,” I say, stepping forward.
“No.” Zara moves to my side, fire dancing in her palm. “We fight together.”
I don’t argue.
I just nod.
And when the first enforcer lunges—
We ignite.
Fire explodes from her palms, a wave of heat and light that slams into him, sending him crashing into the wall. I move like shadow—claws slashing, fangs tearing—dropping two enforcers with a single swipe. She spins, fire surging from her hands, searing the air, forcing the others back.
And then—
She stumbles.
Her legs give out.
Her fire flickers.
“Zara!” I shout, catching her before she falls.
“I’m fine,” she whispers, but her breath is shallow, her body trembling. “Just… keep going.”
I press my palm to the mark on her collarbone.
And the bond screams.
Not in pain.
In need.
She’s not just weak.
She’s unraveling.
So I do the only thing I can.
I pull her into me.
One arm around her back, the other cradling her head, shielding her as the world dissolves into fire and need.
And then—
She whispers—
“You came for me.”
“Always,” I say.
And I mean it.
Not as a vow.
Not as a claim.
As the only truth I’ve ever known.
—
Hours later, we emerge in the lower tunnels—beneath the blood bars, where the scent of iron and old blood is thick. The ledger is tucked beneath my arm. Zara is in my arms, her body limp, her breath shallow, her fire dim.
But she’s alive.
And she’s mine.
“We made it,” she whispers, pressing a hand to the mark on her collarbone. “We’re free.”
“Not yet,” I say, pressing a hand to the wall. “The war’s just beginning.”
She doesn’t answer.
Just leans into me, her storm-gray eyes closing, her body relaxing.
And then—
She whispers—
“I believe you.”
And for the first time, I believe it too.
The bond hums between us—steady, strong, unbroken.
And I know—
This isn’t the end.
This is the beginning.
Of the war.
Of the truth.
Of us.