The morning after the cliffs, the world feels different.
Not because the war has ended.
Not because Vexis is broken.
But because she is no longer fighting me.
Zara walks beside me through the Spire’s eastern corridor, her stride steady, her storm-gray eyes sharp, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of her moonsteel dagger. She doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t speak. But her presence—warm, fierce, real—presses against the bond like a brand. And for the first time in centuries, I don’t feel like a weapon.
I feel like a man.
A man who has finally been seen.
Not as the Marked Alpha. Not as the Council’s enforcer. Not as the monster they made me.
But as hers.
And I will burn the world to keep it that way.
—
The Council Hall looms ahead—a vast chamber carved from black stone, its domed ceiling etched with ancient runes that pulse with restrained power. Five thrones rise in a semicircle, each representing one of the ruling factions: the Fae, the Vampires, the Werewolves, the Witches, and the Human Liaison—a puppet, a figurehead, a lie. The air hums with tension, thick with the scent of old magic, old blood, and older grudges.
Today, we go to war.
Not with fire.
Not with fangs.
With truth.
And I know it won’t be enough.
“You don’t have to do this,” I say, my voice low, meant only for her. “You’ve already won. The bond proved my innocence. Vexis is exposed. Mira’s gone. You’ve shattered their lies.”
She stops.
Turns.
Her eyes lock onto mine—storm-gray, unyielding, alive.
“I didn’t come here to win a battle,” she says. “I came to end a war. And I’m not done until every name in that ledger is free. Until every hybrid they’ve hunted walks in the light. Until the Purity Edict burns to ash.”
My breath hitches.
Because she’s not just speaking of justice.
She’s speaking of revolution.
And I—
I’ve spent my life enforcing the law.
Not breaking it.
But for her—
I’ll break everything.
“Then we do it together,” I say, stepping closer, my hand finding hers. The bond flares—hot, steady, unbroken. “No more secrets. No more half-truths. No more waiting. We walk in. We speak. We demand.”
She studies me—really studies me—for the first time since the cliffs. Not with suspicion. Not with rage.
With something deeper.
Trust.
“You’re not afraid,” she says, voice quiet. “Of what they’ll say. Of what they’ll do. Of what you’ll lose.”
“I lost everything the night they used my blood to sign your mother’s death warrant,” I say, my thumb brushing her pulse. “Everything but the bond. And now that I have you—truly have you—I have nothing left to lose.”
She doesn’t smile.
But her fingers tighten around mine.
And that’s enough.
—
We enter together.
Not as prisoner and enforcer.
Not as mate and master.
As equals.
The chamber falls silent the moment we step through the obsidian doors. Every eye turns to us—the Fae representative, her violet gaze sharp with calculation; the Vampire Elder, his crimson eyes narrowing; the Werewolf Beta, his posture rigid; the Witch Oracle, her silver eyes closed, her face unreadable; the Human Liaison, his hands trembling.
And in the shadows—
Vexis.
He’s not in chains.
Not in blood.
But he’s not unmarked.
A bandage wraps his chest where Zara’s dagger bit deep. His face is pale, his movements slow, but his eyes—
They burn.
With fury.
With promise.
With revenge.
“You are not permitted here,” the Oracle says, rising from her throne. Her voice echoes through the chamber, cold, final. “The Alpha is suspended. The hybrid is under investigation for treason.”
Zara doesn’t flinch.
She steps forward, the ledger in one hand, the vial of Vexis’s blood in the other.
“Then investigate,” she says, her voice clear, strong. “But first, you’ll hear the truth.”
“The truth?” the Vampire Elder sneers. “You mean the lies you’ve spun with your bond-fueled delusions? The forged records? The stolen evidence?”
“No.” She lifts the vial. “I mean this. Blood drawn from the Blood Pit. Tested by Elder Witch Orin. Laced with a memory suppressant used to erase hybrid identities. Stolen from Council stores. Altered. Weaponized.”
Gasps ripple through the chamber.
“And this,” she continues, holding up the ledger, “is the original record of hybrid executions. Signed by Vexis. With a note beneath—Forged. Blood stolen. K.D. not present. Proof that Kaelen Dain did not sign the order for my mother’s death. That he was framed. That he was used.”
“Lies!” Vexis snarls, rising from his seat. “She’s unstable. Dangerous. The bond has clouded her mind. She’s a threat to Council stability.”
“Then test it,” Zara says, stepping forward. “Let the blood be analyzed. Let the ledger be verified. Let the truth be known.”
“And what of the ritual?” the Fae representative asks, her voice smooth, dangerous. “The one that created the Marked Alphas? The one that required an Emberborn sacrifice? You stand before us—last of your bloodline, bearer of ancient fire—and you expect us to believe you’re not a weapon?”
The chamber stills.
Even Zara hesitates.
But only for a second.
Then she lifts her chin.
“I am not a weapon,” she says. “I am not a key. I am not a sacrifice. I am Zara Ember. Daughter of Lysara. Heir of the Bloodline. And I am done being afraid of what I am.”
“You cannot dismantle centuries of law,” the Oracle says. “The Purity Edict exists for a reason. To maintain order. To prevent chaos.”
“Order?” Zara laughs, sharp, bitter. “You call this order? Hunting hybrids? Burning witches? Chaining wolves? Using blood magic to control your own kind? You don’t maintain order. You maintain fear.”
“And what would you replace it with?” the Vampire Elder asks. “Anarchy? A world where bloodlines mix, magic runs wild, and power is unchecked?”
“No.” She turns to me. “With truth.”
And then—
I step forward.
Not as the Alpha.
Not as the enforcer.
As the man.
“I was there,” I say, my voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “When they used my blood. When they wiped my memory. When they forced me to watch your mother die, believing I had signed the order. I didn’t speak then because I was powerless. Not weak. Not cowardly. Powerless. But I am not powerless now.”
“You overstep,” the Oracle says, her eyes flashing red. “You are not a Council member. You do not have the right to—”
“I have the right of blood,” I say, stepping beside Zara. “Of bond. Of truth. And if you will not act, then I will.”
The chamber erupts—voices rising, magic flaring, tension thickening like storm clouds before a strike.
And then—
I drop to one knee.
Not in submission.
In defiance.
My hand finds Zara’s.
The bond screams—a pulse of fire, a wave of heat, a roar of power that shakes the runes on the ceiling, that silences every voice, that makes even Vexis stagger back.
“I challenge the Council,” I say, my voice steady, final. “For treason. For corruption. For the murder of Lysara Ember. For the enslavement of hybrids. For the lie that has ruled this city for centuries.”
Gasps.
Shouts.
“You cannot do this!” the Vampire Elder snarls. “You are one man. One Alpha. You have no army. No faction. No—”
“I have her,” I say, lifting Zara’s hand. “And I have the truth. And if you will not act, then I will burn this Council to the ground myself.”
The Oracle rises, her silver eyes blazing. “Then you are no longer Alpha. You are no longer enforcer. You are an enemy of the Council.”
“Good,” I say, rising. “Because I’ve never served you. I’ve only survived you.”
And then—
From the shadows—
They come.
Riven, stepping forward, his Beta mark glowing on his shoulder. Behind him, a dozen werewolf enforcers, their eyes gold, their fangs bared.
Orin, the elder witch, stepping from the eastern arch, his hands raised, ancient sigils burning in the air. Behind him, Lira and Rook, and a dozen more hybrids, their magic flickering, their eyes alive with fire.
And from the far door—
A human.
Not a Liaison.
A journalist.
Riven’s lover.
She holds a recording crystal, its surface glowing with footage—of the Blood Pit. Of the thralls. Of Vexis, smiling as he stirs blood in a silver basin.
“The truth is already free,” she says, her voice steady. “And the surface world is watching.”
The chamber stills.
Not in fear.
But in realization.
They’ve lost.
Not because of fire.
Not because of fangs.
Because the lie is broken.
And the truth—
It burns brighter.
—
Vexis moves.
Fast.
Not toward me.
Toward Zara.
His hand flashes—a silver needle between his fingers, laced with the same poison that nearly took her in the Blood Pit.
But I’m faster.
I shift—fully, wolf and vampire and something darker—and slam into him, knocking him to the ground, my fangs at his throat.
“You touch her,” I growl, “and I’ll rip your heart out.”
He laughs—wet, gurgling, mad. “You think this changes anything? You think love saves you? You think truth wins? You’re still a weapon. And she’s still the key. And when the ritual begins—”
“There will be no ritual,” Zara says, stepping forward, the silver dagger in her hand. “Because I’m not your sacrifice. I’m not your weapon. I’m not your slave.”
She presses the blade to his throat.
“And if you ever come near him again,” she says, voice low, dangerous, “I’ll burn you to ash.”
He doesn’t flinch.
Just smiles.
“You think you’re protecting him?” he whispers. “You think you’re saving him? You’re just making it easier. Because now—” His eyes flick to me. “—he’ll have to choose. Duty. Or you.”
I don’t hesitate.
I press my fangs to his neck.
Not to kill.
Not to drain.
To claim.
A shallow bite. A mark. A warning.
“He doesn’t choose,” Zara says, stepping back, the dagger still in her hand. “He’s already chosen. And you’ve lost.”
—
The vote is called.
Not for my guilt.
Not for Zara’s.
For the Purity Edict.
For the future.
The Fae representative votes no—her voice cold, her eyes sharp. “The bloodlines must remain pure.”
The Vampire Elder votes no—his voice a snarl. “We cannot allow chaos.”
The Werewolf Beta votes yes—his voice steady. “The packs grow tired of your lies.”
The Human Liaison votes yes—his voice trembling. “The surface world knows. We cannot hide forever.”
And the Oracle—
She hesitates.
Then rises.
“The balance is broken,” she says. “The lie has festered too long. I vote… yes.”
The chamber stills.
Deadlocked.
Two to two.
And me.
The Alpha who no longer serves.
“Then I cast the deciding vote,” I say, stepping forward, my hand finding Zara’s. “And I say—yes. The Purity Edict dies today. Hybrids are no longer outcasts. Cross-blood unions are no longer crimes. And the Council—” My eyes sweep the chamber. “—will answer for its sins.”
“You cannot do this!” the Vampire Elder roars.
“I just did,” I say.
And then—
The runes on the ceiling flare.
Not with power.
With recognition.
The ancient magic of the Spire—older than the Council, older than the factions—responds not to title, not to blood, but to truth.
And the truth is—
We’ve won.
—
Later, in the chambers, Zara stands at the window, the city spread below, the first light of dawn painting the stone in gold and violet.
She doesn’t speak.
Just watches.
“You did it,” I say, stepping beside her.
“We did,” she corrects, turning. Her eyes are stormy, fierce, free. “And it’s not over. Vexis is still alive. The Oracle still holds power. The factions will resist.”
“Then we keep fighting,” I say, my hand finding hers. “Together.”
She smiles—just slightly. Not a victory. Not a challenge.
Something softer.
Something real.
And then—
She leans in.
Her lips brush mine—soft, warm, promising.
“You’re not afraid,” she whispers.
“No,” I say. “Because I’m not alone.”
And for the first time, I believe it.
The bond hums between us—steady, strong, unbroken.
And I know—
This isn’t the end.
This is the beginning.
Of the truth.
Of the fire.
Of us.