The explosion of power rips through the courtyard like a storm breaking.
Not just fire.
Not just magic.
Us.
Kaelen’s black-silver flame surges from his palms, a violent, purging force that tears through the corrupted sigil, incinerating the thralls’ blood, severing the ritual’s hold. My own magic answers—red-gold fire that erupts from my hands, searing the stone, melting the chains around Orin’s wrists. The sigil cracks. The blood ignites. The runes scream as they shatter.
And then—
Orin falls.
I’m already moving—dashing across the cracked stone, skidding to my knees beside him. His chest heaves, his silver hair matted with sweat and blood, his storm-gray eyes fluttering open.
“Zara,” he breathes.
“I’ve got you,” I say, pressing my palm to his chest. My magic flares—gentle now, not destructive. Healing. Warming. “Just hold on.”
He grips my wrist, weak but urgent. “The ritual… it wasn’t just for me. Vexis—he’s siphoning power. He’s using the blood—hybrid blood—to fuel something bigger. Something ancient.”
My blood runs cold.
“What?”
“The Marked Alpha curse,” he gasps. “He’s not trying to control you. He’s trying to replace Kaelen. To become the last Alpha himself.”
And then—
Laughter.
Not from the courtyard.
From above.
I look up.
Vexis stands on the balcony, unharmed, untouched by the blast. His crimson eyes glow with triumph, his lips curled in a smile that makes my fangs lengthen.
“You think you’ve won?” he calls down. “You think breaking a sigil stops centuries of planning? You think love makes you strong?”
“You’re done,” Kaelen growls, stepping beside me, his body a wall between me and the threat. “No more lies. No more games. No more poison.”
“Oh, but there’s one more,” Vexis says, lifting a hand.
And then—
The balcony collapses.
Not from our fire.
From beneath.
Stone cracks. Dust fills the air. The floor gives way—and Vexis falls, not with a scream, but with a smile, landing lightly on the shattered courtyard floor.
He doesn’t attack.
Doesn’t rush.
Just stands there, arms spread, his crimson eyes locking onto Kaelen.
“You were never meant to be the last Alpha,” he says, voice smooth, dangerous. “You were meant to be the first sacrifice. The blood of the Marked must be spilled at the altar of the Spire to break the seal. And now—” He smiles. “—you’ve walked right into it.”
Kaelen doesn’t move.
But I feel it—the bond, flaring not with heat, not with need, but with warning. A pulse, deep, primal. A memory. A curse.
“It’s a trap,” I whisper.
“No,” Vexis says. “It’s a destiny.”
And then—
He moves.
Fast.
Not toward me.
Toward Kaelen.
His hand flashes—a silver dagger, engraved with the Council’s sigil, the same one from my mother’s execution. He lunges, not to kill, but to cut—to draw blood, to spill it on the stone, to complete the ritual.
But I’m faster.
I shift—just enough to intercept, my body slamming into Kaelen’s, knocking him aside as the blade grazes my arm. A line of fire. A trail of blood.
And then—
The ground shakes.
Not from magic.
From power.
The blood on the stone—mine, red-gold, alive with Emberborn fire—meets the ancient sigil beneath the courtyard, the one Vexis has been feeding for centuries. It ignites.
Flame erupts—black and crimson, twisting, writhing like a living thing. The air thickens. The scent of old blood and rot fills my nose. And from the flames—
Shadows.
Not thralls.
Not vampires.
Beasts.
Twisted forms, half-wolf, half-shadow, their eyes glowing with stolen magic, their fangs bared, their claws raking the stone. They don’t attack the courtyard.
They attack Kaelen.
He shifts—fully, wolf and vampire and something darker, his roar shaking the spires. He tears into them, fangs ripping through shadow, claws shredding darkness. But for every one he destroys, two more rise from the flames.
“The ritual needs his blood!” Orin shouts, still on the ground, his voice weak but urgent. “But yours—yours is the key. The Emberborn blood can burn the curse. But you have to get close. You have to touch the source.”
“And if I die?”
“Then he dies with you.”
I don’t hesitate.
Just move.
Fast.
Through the chaos—wolves howling, hybrids fighting, Fae warriors falling from the sky. I don’t look back. Don’t slow. Just run—toward the flames, toward the heart of the sigil, toward the shadow that pulses like a heartbeat beneath the stone.
Vexis sees me.
Smiles.
“You think you can stop it?” he calls. “You think your fire is strong enough? You’re just a girl. Just a hybrid. Just a mistake.”
“No,” I say, skidding to a stop at the edge of the sigil. “I’m the daughter of Lysara. The last of the Emberborn. And I’m not afraid of you.”
And then—
I step into the fire.
Not metaphorically.
Physically.
The flames don’t burn.
They consume.
Black and crimson, they wrap around me, searing my skin, clawing at my magic, whispering lies in a voice that sounds like my mother’s scream. I see flashes—her in chains. Me, throat slit. Kaelen, fangs in my neck, eyes empty. The lies are strong. The fear is real.
But I don’t stop.
I press forward—through the fire, through the pain, through the visions—until I reach the center.
The source.
A black stone, pulsing with stolen blood, engraved with runes that twist and writhe like worms. The heart of the ritual. The anchor of the curse.
And I know what I have to do.
I press my palm to it.
Not with force.
With truth.
My magic erupts—red-gold flame that surges from my palm, searing through the stone, through the runes, through the corruption. The black flames scream. The shadows shriek. The ground trembles.
And then—
Vexis is on me.
Not with the dagger.
With his hands.
He grabs my wrist, yanking me back, his crimson eyes blazing. “You don’t get to do this!” he snarls. “You don’t get to take what’s mine!”
“It was never yours,” I spit, wrenching my arm free. “It was never his. The Marked Alphas weren’t your weapons. They were your failures. And you’re not a creator. You’re a thief.”
He laughs—wet, gurgling, mad. “And you’re just a girl who thinks she’s a hero. But you’re not. You’re just the spark that lights the fire.”
And then—
He shoves me.
Hard.
And I fall—into the flames, into the shadows, into the pulse of the curse.
And for a second—
I’m lost.
The fire is everywhere. The voices are screaming. The shadows are clawing. I can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can’t be.
And then—
A voice.
Not from the fire.
Not from the shadows.
From the bond.
Kaelen.
“Zara.”
Not a shout.
Not a roar.
A whisper.
But it cuts through the chaos like a blade.
“I’m here,” he says. “I’m with you.”
And I feel it—
Not just the bond.
Not just the fire.
Us.
Together.
Not as hunter and prey.
Not as enforcer and enemy.
As mated.
I close my eyes.
And let the fire in.
Not to burn.
Not to destroy.
To become.
The red-gold flame surges—not from my palm, but from my heart—racing through my veins, searing the shadows, purging the lies, consuming the curse. The black flames scream. The stone cracks. The runes shatter.
And then—
It explodes.
Not with sound.
With light.
A pulse of red-gold fire that rips through the courtyard, that sears the sky, that makes every vampire scream, every Fae stagger, every wolf howl in triumph.
And in the center—
Vexis.
Not laughing.
Not smiling.
Burning.
His body ignites—black flame turning to ash, his crimson eyes wide with horror, his mouth open in a silent scream. He reaches for me. Tries to speak.
But there’s nothing left.
Just ash.
Scattering in the wind.
—
The silence that follows is deafening.
Not peaceful.
Not calm.
Complete.
The shadows are gone. The fire is gone. The curse is broken. The courtyard is in ruins—stone cracked, blood pooled, bodies scattered. But the air—
It’s clean.
No more lies. No more poison. No more fear.
And then—
Footsteps.
Fast.
Heavy.
Kaelen.
He reaches me in three strides, his hands gripping my arms, his storm-gray eyes searching my face. “Are you hurt?” he demands, voice rough. “Did he—”
“I’m fine,” I say, pressing my palm to his chest. “I’m here. I’m whole. I’m free.”
He doesn’t smile.
But his arms wrap around me, pulling me into him, his face burying in my hair. His body is warm, solid, alive. And for the first time, I don’t pull away.
I just hold on.
“You were in the fire,” he murmurs against my skin. “I felt it. The bond—it went dark. I thought—”
“I thought I’d lost you,” I whisper. “But you called me back. You kept me here.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just holds me tighter.
And I let him.
—
Later, we stand on the balcony—what’s left of it—looking down at the city below. The sun is high now, golden light spilling over the mountain peaks, illuminating the spires of Veridian. The wind carries the scent of snow and iron and something new—something free.
Orin is with us, leaning on a cane, his wounds bandaged but his storm-gray eyes alive with fire. Riven stands beside him, his Beta mark glowing, his dark eyes scanning the horizon. The hybrids gather below, the wolves howling in triumph, the humans lighting torches in the streets.
We’ve won.
Not with blood.
Not with fire.
With truth.
“It’s not over,” Orin says, voice quiet. “The factions will resist. The Oracle still holds power. The surface world will demand answers.”
“Then we give them answers,” I say, stepping into Kaelen’s side. “We show them the truth. We build something better.”
He turns.
Looks at me.
And for the first time, I see it—
Not just the Alpha.
Not just the monster.
But the man who chose me.
Who stood in front of fire and fangs and said, “She’s mine.”
And I say it back, without words.
Just a squeeze of his hand.
A tilt of my chin.
A promise.
“You’re not afraid,” he says, voice low.
“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.
Marked Alpha: Zara’s Fire
The first time Zara touches Kaelen Dain, her skin burns.
It’s not magic. It’s worse—recognition.
In the dim glow of the Council Hall’s obsidian doors, their fingers brush as he reaches for the same treaty scroll. A spark. A jolt. Then—a shared vision: her mother screaming in chains, her own throat slit by a silver dagger engraved with the Council’s sigil. And him—standing beside the executioner, face unreadable.
She yanks her hand back. He doesn’t. His gaze pins her like a blade to the wall. “You feel it,” he murmurs, voice like smoke over ice. “Don’t you?”
She lies. “I feel nothing.”
But she’s lying to herself.
Zara isn’t just here to infiltrate. She’s here to destroy. Her mother was a witch of the Bloodline of Ember, executed for “corrupting the pure blood” by mating with a rogue werewolf—Zara’s father. Now, Zara, their half-breed daughter, has returned under a false name to expose the lies, dismantle the Council, and reclaim her birthright.
But Kaelen Dain—Alpha of the Northern Packs, vampire-blooded enforcer of the Dark Council, and last of the Marked Alphas—stands in her way. He smells her lies. He feels the bond. And he wants to own her.
Their first forced public appearance ends with her dress torn, his mark burning on her collarbone, and rumors spreading that they spent the night locked in his chambers. The truth? They nearly tore each other apart—with teeth and hands and a kiss that tasted like war.
But someone else knows her secret. A rival with Kaelen’s scent on her skin. A Council member with her mother’s execution order in his vault. And a bond that, if broken, could start a species war.
They were never meant to survive each other. But they were always meant to burn together.