The fire in my veins has changed.
Not weaker. Not calmer.
Directed.
Like a river that’s spent centuries flooding its banks, finally channeled into a single, focused current. It still burns—oh, gods, it still burns—but now it doesn’t threaten to consume me. It feeds me. Powers me. Guides me.
And I know why.
It’s not just the truth we exposed in the Council Chamber. Not just the way the bond flared like a beacon when I kissed Kaelen, silencing every lie, shattering the crystal, making even Vexis flinch. Not just the way Mira’s face twisted with fury before she was dragged away, her voice a shrill scream: “You haven’t won! He’ll never love you like he could love me!”
No.
It’s the quiet.
The stillness between the storms.
The way Kaelen held me after we made love—not like a conqueror, not like a captor, but like something fragile. Precious. Cherished. The way his breath warmed my neck, his arms a shield, his heartbeat steady against my back. The way he didn’t speak, didn’t demand, didn’t claim. He just… stayed.
And I didn’t push him away.
I let him.
Now, as dawn bleeds through the fae lanterns, painting the chamber in pale violet light, I press my fingers to the mark on my collarbone. It pulses—warm, alive, right—a constant reminder that I am not alone. That I am not just vengeance. Not just fire.
I am claimed.
And for the first time, I don’t hate it.
—
Kaelen is already gone when I wake.
Not vanished. Not disappeared.
Just… not here.
But his scent lingers—pine, iron, smoke—woven into the black silk sheets, clinging to the pillow beside mine. And on the table, a note, written in sharp, angular script:
“Meeting with Riven. Be back before noon. Don’t burn the Spire without me.”
A ghost of a smile touches my lips.
He knows me.
Not just the fire.
Not just the fury.
The part of me that would, without hesitation, set this city ablaze if it meant justice.
And he’s not afraid of it.
He’s not trying to control it.
He’s just… asking me to wait.
So I will.
For now.
—
I dress slowly—black trousers, fitted tunic, boots laced tight. No silk. No masquerade. I am not Lady Selene. I am not the hidden hybrid. I am not the avenger in the shadows.
I am Zara Ember.
And I have work to do.
Orin is waiting in the Eastern Archive—a secluded chamber beneath the Spire’s oldest wing, its walls lined with ancient tomes, its air thick with the scent of parchment and old magic. He’s not alone. Two figures stand beside him—Rook, the werewolf we freed from Vexis’s lab, his silver-chained wrists now replaced with iron cuffs etched with wolf runes; and Lira, the Emberborn girl, her storm-gray eyes wide, her hands trembling at her sides.
They both bow when I enter.
Not to me.
To her.
To the name I’ve carried in silence for twenty years.
“Daughter of Lysara,” Orin says, his voice low, reverent. He’s an elder witch, his hair silver, his eyes deep with centuries of secrets. He knew my mother. Fought beside her. Watched her die.
And now, he’s the only one left who can tell me the truth.
“You asked for answers,” he says, stepping forward. “And I have them. But they are not easy. Not kind. And once you hear them, you cannot unhear them.”
My breath hitches.
“Then speak,” I say, voice steady. “Because I’m done running from the truth.”
He nods.
Then turns to Rook and Lira. “Wait outside.”
They don’t argue. Just bow again and retreat, the heavy iron door closing behind them with a soft, final click.
—
The silence is thick.
Heavy.
Like the air before a storm.
Orin doesn’t speak at first. Just walks to a stone pedestal in the center of the room, where an ancient book lies open—its pages yellowed, its ink faded, its binding cracked with age. He places a hand on it, and the symbols flare—gold and crimson, pulsing like a heartbeat.
“This,” he says, “is the Blood Codex. The oldest record of our bloodline. It contains the names of every Emberborn since the first fire was lit. And it tells the truth of what happened the night your mother died.”
My hands clench at my sides.
“Then tell me.”
He turns to me, his eyes storm-gray—just like mine. Just like hers.
“Your mother did not die alone.”
My breath stops.
“She was not betrayed by the Oracle. Not framed by the Council. Not executed for loving your father.”
“Then why?” I whisper.
“Because she knew too much.” He steps closer, his voice dropping. “She discovered the truth about the Marked Alphas. Not just that they were created by the vampire elders. Not just that they were weapons. But how. The ritual. The blood magic. The way they bound werewolf strength with vampire immortality—and used a third bloodline to seal it.”
“A third bloodline?”
He nods. “The Emberborn.”
My stomach drops.
“No,” I whisper. “That’s not possible. We’re witches. We don’t—”
“You do.” His hand lifts, fingers brushing my cheek. “Your mother found the records. Hidden in the Vault. Buried beneath centuries of lies. She learned that the first Marked Alpha—Kaelen’s ancestor—was not born. He was made. Using a ritual that required three sacrifices: a pure werewolf, a pure vampire, and an Emberborn witch. Their blood, their magic, their life force—fused into one being. A weapon. A slave. A monster.”
My breath comes in ragged gasps.
“And Kaelen—”
“Is the last of that line,” Orin says. “The final Marked Alpha. The only one who still carries the full curse. The full power. And the elders—Vexis and his kind—they’ve spent centuries trying to control him. To use him. To break him. Because if he ever learns the truth, if he ever embraces the Emberborn blood in the ritual, he won’t be a weapon.
He’ll be a god.”
The room tilts.
My knees buckle.
But Orin catches me, his hands firm on my arms, his voice steady.
“Your mother tried to stop it. She went to the Council. She presented the evidence. She begged them to end the Purity Edict, to free the hybrids, to stop the blood harvesting. But they refused. Called her a traitor. A heretic. And then—” His voice cracks. “—they used Kaelen’s blood to sign the order. Not because he gave it. Not because he agreed. But because they had already taken it. During a ritual. A lie. A trap.”
“And he didn’t know.”
“No.” Orin shakes his head. “They wiped his memory. Bound his mind. Made him believe he had done it willingly. And when your mother was executed, he was forced to watch. To believe he had signed the order. To believe he had killed her.”
Tears burn my eyes.
All this time—I’ve hated him. Blamed him. Let the bond twist me into someone I hate.
And he’s been carrying the same lie.
The same guilt.
The same truth.
“But why?” I whisper. “Why would they do this? Why create something they can’t control?”
“Because they think they can,” Orin says. “They believe that if they control the Emberborn blood—the final key—they can reforge the bond. Break Kaelen. Make him obey. And now—” He steps back, his eyes dark. “—they have you.”
My breath stops.
“Me?”
“You’re not just a hybrid,” he says. “You’re not just a witch. You’re the last true Emberborn. The only one with enough power to complete the ritual. To either break Kaelen… or make him unstoppable.”
“And Vexis knows.”
“Of course he does.” Orin’s voice is grim. “That’s why he wanted you. Why he tested you in the Blood Pit. Why he harvested your blood. He doesn’t just want to control Kaelen.
He wants to remake him.”
—
The silence that follows is deafening.
Not empty.
Not still.
Full.
Full of everything I’ve spent my life believing. Full of every lie. Every wound. Every scar.
And now—
It all makes sense.
The bond. The fire. The way Kaelen looked at me the first time we touched. The way the mark burned into my skin. The way he bled into my mouth, his blood flowing into me like a vow.
He wasn’t just claiming me.
He was recognizing me.
Not as his mate.
But as the final piece of his curse.
And I—
I thought I was here to destroy him.
But maybe—just maybe—I was always meant to complete him.
—
“What do I do?” I whisper.
Orin doesn’t answer right away. Just walks to a small chest beside the pedestal, opens it, and pulls out a silver dagger—its blade etched with ancient runes, its hilt wrapped in black leather. He hands it to me.
“This belonged to your mother,” he says. “She carried it the night she died. Used it to carve the truth into the walls of her cell. To mark the ones who betrayed her. To leave a message for you.”
I take it.
The metal is warm. Alive. Like it knows me.
And then—
A pulse.
Not from the dagger.
From the bond.
Kaelen.
He’s close.
Coming.
And he’s not alone.
—
The door bursts open.
Kaelen stands there, his storm-gray eyes blazing, his claws extended, his fangs bared. Behind him, Riven, his body coiled like a spring, his scent sharp with tension. And behind them—
Vexis.
Not under arrest.
Not in chains.
Smiling.
“Ah,” he says, stepping into the chamber, his crimson eyes glowing. “The Emberborn witch. The final key. How… convenient.”
My hand tightens on the dagger.
“You don’t belong here,” I say, voice low, dangerous.
“And yet, here I am.” He tilts his head. “You think you’ve won? You think the truth changes anything? The Council has already declared you a threat. A destabilizing force. A witch who cannot be trusted. And now—” His gaze flicks to Kaelen. “—you’ve led him here. To the one place where his curse can be broken. Or remade.”
Kaelen steps forward, his body a wall between me and Vexis. “You don’t touch her.”
“Or what?” Vexis smiles. “You’ll kill me? You think I haven’t planned for that? You think I don’t know what she is? What she can do?” He raises a hand—and the runes on the walls flare, crimson and black. “This chamber is warded. Sealed. No one enters. No one leaves. And when the ritual begins—”
“There will be no ritual,” I say, stepping around Kaelen, the dagger in my hand. “Because I’m not your weapon. I’m not your key. I’m not your slave.”
“No?” He smiles. “Then prove it.”
And then—
He moves.
Fast.
But I’m faster.
I lunge—dagger in hand, fire flaring in my veins—and slash across his chest. Blood sprays the stone. He stumbles back, his smile fading, his eyes wide with shock.
“You dare—”
“I do,” I say, pressing the blade to his throat. “And if you ever come near him again, I’ll burn you to ash.”
He doesn’t flinch.
Just laughs.
“You think you’re protecting him?” he says, voice low. “You think you’re saving him? You’re just making it easier. Because now—” His eyes flick to Kaelen. “—he’ll have to choose. Duty. Or you.”
Kaelen doesn’t answer.
Just steps forward, his hand closing around mine, the bond flaring between us—hot, violent, alive.
“You’re not taking her,” he growls.
“Then she dies with you,” Vexis says.
And the runes on the walls explode.
—
The chamber shakes.
Stone cracks. Torches snuff out. The Blood Codex bursts into flames.
And then—
Darkness.
But not silence.
Not stillness.
The bond—
It screams.
Not in pain.
In need.
And I know—
This isn’t the end.
This is the beginning.
Of the truth.
Of the fire.
Of us.