The first time I saw her, she was standing in the ruins of the Blood Pit, notebook in hand, camera dangling from her neck, her human scent sharp with fear and something else—defiance. I didn’t know her name. Didn’t care. She was just another surface-dweller who’d stumbled too close to the truth. Another liability.
But she didn’t run.
Even when the thralls came. Even when the shadows moved. Even when I stepped out of the dark, fangs bared, claws ready to silence her.
She looked at me—really looked—and said, “You’re not the monster they say you are.”
I should’ve killed her.
Or turned her over to the Council.
But I didn’t.
Because for the first time in centuries, someone saw me.
Not the Beta. Not the enforcer. Not the beast.
Just Riven.
—
Now, I stand at the edge of the Hollow Maw, my back to the wind, my dark eyes scanning the city below. The sun is high, golden light spilling over the mountain peaks, illuminating the spires of Veridian. The air hums differently—cleaner, lighter, free. No more whispers in the dark. No more blood in the alleys. No more lies.
And she’s still here.
Still watching.
Still seeing.
I feel her before I see her—her heartbeat, steady, human, alive. The scent of ink and paper, of coffee and courage. The soft crunch of boots on stone. And then—
“You always stand like that,” she says, stepping beside me. “Like you’re guarding the world from yourself.”
I don’t answer.
Just keep watching the city.
But I don’t stop her from being here.
Don’t tell her to leave.
Because I’ve learned—
Some things are worth the risk.
“They’re calling it a revolution,” she continues, her voice quiet, thoughtful. “The surface newsfeeds are calling it the Veridian Uprising. Saying it was led by a hybrid witch and a cursed Alpha. But I know the truth.”
“And what’s that?” I ask, my voice rough.
She turns.
Looks at me.
Not with pity.
Not with fear.
With something deeper.
Trust.
“It wasn’t just them,” she says. “It was us. The hybrids. The witches. The humans. The wolves who refused to kneel. It was every name in that ledger. Every life the Council tried to erase. This wasn’t a rebellion. It was a reckoning.”
I don’t argue.
Just nod.
Because she’s right.
And because I’m tired of pretending otherwise.
She steps closer—close enough that I can feel the heat of her body, close enough that her scent floods me. Not fire. Not magic. Just her. Human. Fragile. Unbreakable.
“You saved me,” she says. “That night in the Blood Pit. You could’ve let them take me. You could’ve let them kill me. But you didn’t.”
“I didn’t do it for you,” I say, my voice low. “I did it because the Council lies. Because the truth matters.”
“Liar,” she whispers.
And for the first time in centuries—
I smile.
Not wide. Not bright.
Just a flicker. A crack in the stone.
But it’s enough.
“You think you’re protecting me,” she says, stepping even closer, her hand lifting, her fingers brushing the scar on my jaw—the one from the Blood Pit, the one that never fully healed. “You think you’re keeping me safe by staying in the shadows. But you’re not. You’re just hiding.”
My breath hitches.
Because she’s not wrong.
“I’m not like him,” I say, my voice rough. “I’m not Kaelen. I don’t have a fated bond. I don’t have a mate. I don’t have a future.”
“Then make one,” she says, her hand sliding to my neck, not choking, not hurting. Claiming. “You don’t have to be alone. You don’t have to be afraid. You don’t have to be the Beta. Just be Riven.”
My heart stutters.
Because I am afraid.
Afraid of what I am. Afraid of what I could do. Afraid of what I might become if I let her in.
But I’m more afraid of losing her.
So I do the one thing I never thought I’d do.
I turn.
Look at her.
Really look.
At the dark hair that falls over her shoulders. The sharp line of her jaw. The storm in her eyes—gray, fierce, free. The way her hands don’t shake, even now, even here, even with a werewolf Beta staring down at her like he could break her with a touch.
And I say it.
The truth.
“I’m in love with you,” I say, voice raw. “And it’s the most dangerous thing I’ve ever done.”
She doesn’t flinch.
Just smiles—soft, real, unafraid.
And then—
She kisses me.
No warning. No hesitation. Just heat and need and something deeper—something fierce, something protective. Her lips are soft, demanding, her tongue sliding against mine like a claim. I gasp, my hands flying to her waist, not to control, not to dominate, but to hold on.
She tastes like coffee and iron and something darker—something human and wild. The kiss is slow, deep, a collision of fire and fury. My fangs lengthen. My claws erupt. But I don’t pull back. Don’t stop. Just let her take, let her own me.
And I do.
I let her.
Because for the first time in centuries—
I’m not afraid.
—
Later, we sit in the eastern chambers—my chambers, now ours—on the floor, backs against the cold stone, the fire crackling in the hearth. The room is small, shadowed, intimate. No grand halls. No ceremonial thrones. Just this. Just us.
And it feels more real than anything else.
She’s in my arms, her head resting on my chest, her breath steady, her heartbeat slow. My hand rests on her hip, my claws retracted, my fangs hidden. But I don’t hide from her. Don’t pretend.
Just am.
“They’ll come for you,” I say, my voice low. “The Council remnants. The Oracle. Vexis. They’ll see you as a threat. A liability. A way to get to me.”
She lifts her head.
Looks at me.
“Then let them try,” she says, voice quiet, fierce. “I’ve spent my life chasing the truth. I’m not going to stop now. Not for them. Not for the Council. Not even for you.”
My breath hitches.
Because she’s not afraid.
And that terrifies me.
“You don’t understand,” I say, pressing my palm to her chest, over her heart. “I can’t lose you. I can’t watch you die. I can’t—”
“You won’t,” she interrupts, pressing her hand to mine. “Because I’m not going anywhere. And if they come? I’ll burn them too. With words. With truth. With this.”
She lifts her recording crystal—the one she used to expose Vexis, the one that now holds the footage of the New Council’s formation, the public claim, the hybrid child who handed Zara her wooden wolf.
“The truth is already free,” she says. “And I’m not afraid to fight for it.”
I don’t argue.
Just pull her into me, my arms wrapping around her back, my face burying in her hair. Her body is warm, solid, alive. And for the first time, I let myself need it.
“You’re not a monster,” she murmurs against my skin.
My breath hitches.
Because I’ve spent centuries believing I was.
That the fangs and claws, the loyalty to Kaelen, the blood on my hands—made me something to be feared. Controlled. Destroyed.
And now, she’s saying it.
Not with logic. Not with reason.
With her hand on my face. With her breath on my skin. With the way her body fits against mine like it was made for me.
“You’re not,” she says again, her thumb tracing my lower lip. “You’re mine. And I’m not afraid of you.”
My heart stutters.
Because I am.
I’m terrified.
I can feel it in the way my pulse jumps, in the way my magic flares, in the way my body trembles when she touches me.
But I’m not running.
I’m not fighting.
I’m staying.
And that—that is the most dangerous thing of all.
—
The next morning, we stand before the New Council.
Not in the Hall.
Not in shadows.
In the Hollow Maw—where the old packs used to meet, where blood oaths were sworn, where rebellions were born. The ceiling is lost in shadow, the floor cracked with ancient fissures that glow faintly with residual magic. It’s raw. Real. Unfiltered.
And it’s ours.
We stand at the center—Zara and Kaelen on the raised stone, Rook and Lira to their right, Orin to their left. The Human Representative—no longer a Liaison, but a true voice—sits across from them. The Fae and Vampire envoys watch from the edges, their eyes sharp, their postures tense.
And me.
And her.
I don’t take my place at Kaelen’s side.
Just stand in front of them all, my Beta mark glowing faintly on my shoulder, my dark eyes steady.
She stands beside me, her hand in mine, her recording crystal in the other.
And I say it.
The truth.
“This is Elira,” I say, my voice cutting through the silence. “She is a human journalist. She is my mate. And she knows everything.”
Gasps ripple through the chamber.
“You cannot be serious,” the Fae envoy says, her voice smooth, dangerous. “A human? You expect us to believe a human knows the truth of our world? That she’s worthy of your bond?”
“She’s not bonded,” I say. “Not yet. But she will be. Because I choose her. Not because of fate. Not because of magic. Because she sees me. Because she fights for the truth. Because she’s mine.”
“And what of the Council?” the Vampire envoy asks. “What of the secrecy? The balance? The laws?”
“The laws are dead,” Zara says, stepping forward. “The balance is broken. And the truth—” She lifts Elira’s crystal. “—is already free. You can try to silence her. You can try to erase her. But the surface world is watching. And they will not look away.”
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.
—
After, we walk through the city.
Not with guards. Not with ceremony.
Just us.
The streets are alive—torchlight flickers in the alleys, hybrids stand tall in the open, wolves walk beside witches, humans trade with fae. No more hiding. No more fear.
And then—
A child.
Not more than six. Half-wolf, half-witch, her eyes gold, her hair streaked with fire. She stops in front of us, her small hand clutching a carved wooden wolf.
“Are you really the Beta?” she asks, her voice soft.
“Yes,” I say.
“And you?” she asks, turning to Elira.
“I’m Elira,” she says, kneeling. “And I’m here to make sure no one takes your wolf away.”
The girl smiles.
And hands her the toy.
Elira takes it—slowly, carefully—and presses it to her heart.
“Thank you,” she says, voice thick. “I’ll keep it safe.”
And as we walk away, I feel it—
Not just the bond.
Not just the fire.
Home.
And for the first time, I believe it.
This isn’t the end.
This is the beginning.
Of the truth.
Of the fire.
Of us.