The night after the public claim, the city sleeps—but the bond doesn’t.
It hums beneath my skin, low and constant, like a fire banked but never extinguished. Not demanding. Not raging. Just… there. A pulse in my veins, a whisper in my bones, a presence that no longer feels like a curse, but a compass. I lie on the stone ledge of the eastern chamber’s open window, bare feet dangling into the cool mountain air, my back pressed to the cold rock, my storm-gray eyes fixed on the sky.
The moon is full.
Not just bright. Not just high.
Alive.
It spills silver over the peaks, painting the spires of Veridian in liquid light, casting long shadows that move like living things. The wind bites through my thin tunic, but I don’t shiver. Don’t pull away. Just breathe—deep, slow, deliberate—and let the night fill me. Below, the city is quiet. No torches. No howls. No whispers of war. Just the soft crackle of distant fires, the murmur of voices, the occasional laugh—human, hybrid, witch, wolf—all tangled together, unafraid.
We did this.
Not with blood.
Not with fire.
With truth.
And still, the weight of it presses against my chest. Not guilt. Not regret. Responsibility. We’re not just rulers. We’re not just mates. We’re symbols. And symbols don’t get to be tired. Don’t get to doubt. Don’t get to bleed.
But I do.
And I will.
“You’re thinking too loud.”
His voice cuts through the silence—low, rough, familiar. I don’t turn. Don’t flinch. Just feel him before I see him: the heat of his body, the scent of pine and iron, the quiet shift of leather as he steps onto the ledge beside me. He doesn’t sit. Doesn’t reach. Just stands there, close enough that I can feel the pulse of the bond between us, steady and sure.
“I’m not thinking,” I say, my voice quiet. “I’m remembering.”
“Of your mother?”
I nod.
“She used to say the full moon was a mirror. That it showed you not what you were, but what you could be.”
He’s silent for a long moment. Then, “And what does it show you now?”
I finally turn.
He’s looking at me—really looking. Not with the Alpha’s cold calculation. Not with the enforcer’s detached control. With him. Storm-gray eyes, gold bleeding into gray, fangs just past his lip, claws retracted but ready. He’s bare-chested, his coat open, the mark I left on his shoulder still red and swollen, a badge of ownership I gave him freely. And for the first time, I don’t feel power in it.
I feel love.
“It shows me a woman who spent her life hating you,” I say, my voice rough. “Who wanted to burn you alive. Who thought you were the monster who killed her mother.”
His jaw tightens.
“And now?”
“Now it shows me a man who bled for me. Who fought for me. Who let me mark him in front of the world and didn’t flinch.” I reach out, my fingers brushing the mark. “You didn’t have to do that. You could’ve claimed me the old way. You could’ve taken what you wanted.”
“I didn’t want to take,” he says, his hand covering mine, pressing it to his skin. “I wanted to give. To you. To us. To the future.”
I swallow.
Because that’s the thing—he’s not just saying it.
He means it.
And that terrifies me more than any blade ever could.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I whisper. “I know how to fight. How to lie. How to survive. But this—” I gesture between us. “—being seen. Being known. Being… loved. I don’t know how to not be afraid.”
He doesn’t answer with words.
Just shifts—fast, smooth—and suddenly I’m in his arms, lifted off the ledge, cradled against his chest like I weigh nothing. I don’t fight. Don’t protest. Just let him carry me inside, through the darkened chambers, past the dying fire, to the bed where we’ve bled, fought, and finally, finally, claimed each other.
He lays me down gently, then climbs in beside me, pulling me into him, one arm wrapped around my back, the other cradling my head, shielding me as the world dissolves into fire and need.
“You don’t have to be afraid,” he murmurs against my hair. “Not of me. Not of us. Not of what we’ve become.”
“But I am,” I admit, pressing my palm to his chest, over his heart. “I’m afraid that if I let myself believe in this—if I let myself trust it—that it’ll be taken from me. That you’ll be taken from me.”
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his storm-gray eyes locking onto mine. “Then don’t trust it,” he says, voice rough. “Trust me. Not the bond. Not the power. Not the title. Me. The man who stood in front of a blade and said, ‘She’s mine.’ The man who let you bite him and didn’t fight back. The man who would burn the world to keep you safe.”
My breath hitches.
Because he’s not wrong.
And I’m not hiding anymore.
“I do trust you,” I whisper. “That’s the problem.”
He smiles—just slightly. Not a victory. Not a challenge.
Something softer.
Something real.
And then—
He leans in.
His lips brush mine—soft, warm, promising.
Not a demand. Not a claim.
A question.
And I answer.
My hands slide up his chest, over his shoulders, to his neck—just like in the library. Not choking. Not hurting. Claiming. My thumb brushes his pulse.
“You feel that?” I ask, voice low. “Your heart. Racing. Not from the heat.”
“No.”
“You’re not feral.”
“No.”
“You’re not lost.”
“No.”
“You’re here.”
“Yes.”
I smile—just slightly. Not a victory. Not a challenge.
Something softer.
Something real.
And then—
I kiss him.
No warning. No hesitation. Just heat and need and something deeper—something fierce, something protective. My lips are soft, demanding, my tongue sliding against his like a claim. He gasps, his hands flying to my waist, not to control, not to dominate, but to hold on.
He tastes like smoke and iron and something darker—something ancient and wild. The kiss is slow, deep, a collision of fire and fury. My fangs graze his lip, just enough to sting, just enough to make him growl.
And then—
My hand slides under his shirt, fingers burning over his stomach, his ribs, his back—
And the world explodes.
Heat. Light. Fire.
His magic ignites—just for a second, a burst of black-silver flame that licks up his arms, searing the air between us.
I don’t flinch. Don’t pull back.
I just moan into his mouth, my body arching into his, my fingers clutching at his skin.
And then—
He breaks the kiss.
Steps back.
His breath comes in ragged gasps. His lips are swollen. His body aches. His core throbs with a need so deep it feels like a wound.
I stare at him, my eyes dark, my chest heaving. “You feel that?” I ask, voice rough. “That fire? That need? That’s not the heat. That’s us.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just watches me.
And I know—
This isn’t just a moment.
It’s a promise.
—
Later, 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 Alpha?” she asks, her voice soft.
“Yes,” I say.
“And you?” she asks, turning to Zara.
“I’m Zara,” she says, kneeling. “And I’m here to make sure no one takes your wolf away.”
The girl smiles.
And hands her the toy.
Zara 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.
—
We don’t go back to the chambers.
Instead, he takes my hand and leads me up the mountain path—steep, narrow, treacherous. The wind bites through my tunic, the stones shift under my boots, but I don’t let go. Don’t slow. Just follow, my fingers locked in his, the bond humming between us like a live wire.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Somewhere we can be alone,” he says. “Somewhere the world can’t reach us.”
I don’t argue.
Just keep walking.
And then—
We reach it.
A clearing at the peak—flat stone, ringed by ancient pines, the sky open above, the moon spilling silver over everything. At the center, a circle of black stone, etched with runes that pulse faintly with old magic. A ritual site. Forgotten. Abandoned. Ours.
“This is where the old Alphas used to swear blood oaths,” he says, stepping into the circle. “Before the Council. Before the lies. Before the Marked.”
I follow.
Stand beside him.
“And now?” I ask.
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.
“I want to make a vow,” he says, his voice low, steady. “Not to the Council. Not to the packs. Not to the world.”
“To me?”
“To us.”
My breath hitches.
Because I know what this means.
Not just a claim.
Not just a bond.
A choice.
“Then make it,” I say.
He drops to one knee.
Not in submission.
In defiance.
His hand finds mine.
The bond screams—a pulse of fire, a wave of heat, a roar of power that ripples through the clearing, silencing every voice, stilling every breath. Wolves howl. Witches raise their hands. Humans draw their blades.
And I feel it—
The shift.
The moment we stop being rebels.
And start being a force.
“Zara Ember,” he says, his storm-gray eyes locking onto mine, “daughter of Lysara, last of the Emberborn, I vow to you this night, under the full moon, in the sight of the old gods and the new—”
He lifts my hand.
Presses his fangs to my palm.
A shallow bite. A pulse of fire. A claim.
“I will never hide from you. I will never fear you. I will never let the world take you from me. I will fight for you. Die for you. Burn for you. And if you ever doubt—”
He pulls back.
Looks at me.
“—remember this: you are not my mate because of fate. You are not mine because of magic. You are not here because of duty.”
He stands.
Steps close.
His thumb brushes my lower lip.
“You are here because I chose you. And I will choose you—every night, every dawn, every breath—until the stars burn out.”
My breath hitches.
Because he’s not just saying it.
He means it.
And I—
I don’t hesitate.
Just drop to my knees.
Not in submission.
In defiance.
My hand finds his.
The bond screams—a pulse of fire, a wave of heat, a roar of power that ripples through the clearing, silencing every voice, stilling every breath. Wolves howl. Witches raise their hands. Humans draw their blades.
And I feel it—
The shift.
The moment we stop being rulers.
And start being us.
“Kaelen Dain,” I say, my voice clear, strong, “Alpha of the Northern Packs, last of the Marked Alphas, I vow to you this night, under the full moon, in the sight of the old gods and the new—”
I lift his hand.
Press my fangs to his palm.
A shallow bite. A pulse of fire. A claim.
“I will never fear you. I will never doubt you. I will never let the past take you from me. I will fight for you. Die for you. Burn for you. And if you ever doubt—”
I pull back.
Look at him.
“—remember this: you are not my Alpha because of blood. You are not mine because of power. You are not here because of duty.”
I stand.
Step close.
My thumb brushes his lower lip.
“You are here because I chose you. And I will choose you—every night, every dawn, every breath—until the stars burn out.”
He doesn’t speak.
Just pulls me into him, one arm wrapping around my back, the other cradling my head, shielding me as the world dissolves into fire and need.
And I let him.
Because for the first time—
I’m not afraid.
—
Later, we lie on the stone, wrapped in each other, the wind biting through our clothes, the stars burning above, the bond humming between us like a live wire. The heat is still there—low, insistent, alive—but it’s different now. Not wild. Not uncontrolled. Contained. Like a fire banked, not extinguished.
And then—
He shifts.
Just slightly. His head tilts, his lips brushing the column of my throat. A whisper of contact. But it’s enough. Heat explodes beneath my skin, racing down my neck, pooling between my thighs. My fangs lengthen. My claws erupt. My body tenses, ready to take, to claim, to mark.
But I don’t.
Because he’s not asking for that.
He’s asking for this.
For me to stay.
For me to hold on.
For me to be here.
So I do.
I lower my head, my lips brushing his temple, his cheek, the curve of his jaw. Not a kiss. Not a claim. Just… contact. Connection. A promise.
And then—
My hand lifts.
Slow. Deliberate.
Fingers brushing his cheek. Just a whisper of touch. But it’s enough. His breath hitches. His body betrays him, arching into me, seeking more.
“You’re not a monster,” I whisper.
His eyes close.
Because he’s spent centuries believing he was.
That the blood in his veins—the curse, the power, the fangs and claws—made him something to be feared. Controlled. Destroyed.
And now, I’m saying it.
Not with logic. Not with reason.
With my hand on his face. With my breath on his skin. With the way my body fits against his like it was made for him.
“You’re not,” I say again, my thumb tracing his lower lip. “You’re mine. And I’m not afraid of you.”
His heart stutters.
Because he is.
He’s terrified.
I can feel it in the bond—in the way his pulse jumps, in the way his magic flares, in the way his body trembles when I touch him.
But he’s not running.
He’s not fighting.
He’s staying.
And that—that is the most dangerous thing of all.
“Why?” I ask, voice rough. “Why aren’t you afraid?”
He doesn’t answer.
Just leans in, his lips hovering over mine. Close enough to kiss. Close enough to claim.
But he doesn’t.
Just… waits.
And then—
My hand slides up his chest, over his shoulder, to his neck—just like in the library. Not choking. Not hurting. Claiming. My thumb brushes his pulse.
“You feel that?” I ask, voice low. “Your heart. Racing. Not from the heat.”
“No.”
“You’re not feral.”
“No.”
“You’re not lost.”
“No.”
“You’re here.”
“Yes.”
I smile—just slightly. Not a victory. Not a challenge.
Something softer.
Something real.
And then—
I kiss him.
No warning. No hesitation. Just heat and need and something deeper—something fierce, something protective. My lips are soft, demanding, my tongue sliding against his like a claim. He gasps, his hands flying to my waist, not to control, not to dominate, but to hold on.
I taste like smoke and iron and something darker—something ancient and wild. The kiss is slow, deep, a collision of fire and fury. My fangs graze his lip, just enough to sting, just enough to make him growl.
And then—
My hand slides under his shirt, fingers burning over his stomach, his ribs, his back—
And the world explodes.
Heat. Light. Fire.
His magic ignites—just for a second, a burst of black-silver flame that licks up his arms, searing the air between us.
I don’t flinch. Don’t pull back.
I just moan into his mouth, my body arching into his, my fingers clutching at his skin.
And then—
He breaks the kiss.
Steps back.
His breath comes in ragged gasps. His lips are swollen. His body aches. His core throbs with a need so deep it feels like a wound.
I stare at him, my eyes dark, my chest heaving. “You feel that?” I ask, voice rough. “That fire? That need? That’s not the heat. That’s us.”
“You don’t get to do that,” he whispers.
“I do.” I step closer, my thumb brushing his lower lip. “Because you’re mine. And no matter how much you run, no matter how much you hide—you’ll never belong to anyone else.”
“I don’t belong to you.”
“Liar.” I lean in, my lips hovering over his. “You’re already mine. You just haven’t admitted it yet.”
And before he can respond, I turn and walk away, leaving him trembling in the shadows, his body humming with the ghost of my touch, his mind screaming one word—
Yes.