The first time I tasted Kaelen’s blood, it was an act of war.
Not on the battlefield. Not with blades or fire.
In the Hollow Maw, under the weight of a lie, with his fangs at my throat and mine at his, our bodies pressed together like we were trying to tear each other apart. He’d just marked me—claimed me in front of the Council, sealing our false mating with a bite that burned like silver fire. I’d retaliated fast, sinking my fangs into his neck before he could pull away. Not to kill. Not to weaken.
To equalize.
His blood had flooded my mouth—dark, ancient, laced with something deeper than magic. Vampire venom. Werewolf fury. A curse older than the Council. And in that moment, as the bond roared to life between us, I didn’t feel hatred.
I felt recognition.
Now, weeks later, I stand in the ruins of the old Blood Pact Chamber—its obsidian floor cracked, its silver chains hanging like dead vines, its air still thick with the ghosts of forced unions and broken oaths—and I’m here to taste it again.
But this time, it won’t be war.
This time, it will be a vow.
—
The chamber is small, hidden beneath the eastern wing of the Hollow Maw, accessible only through a fissure in the stone that opens when both our blood is spilled upon it. Orin found it during the cleanup—its existence erased from every record, its purpose buried beneath layers of ritual lies. It wasn’t just a place for blood contracts. It was where the Council forged their most powerful bindings—where they forced mates to drink, where they chained hybrids and drained them dry, where they twisted fated bonds into weapons.
And now, we’re reclaiming it.
Not with chains.
Not with lies.
With truth.
I step inside first, my boots echoing against the stone. The air is cold, still, but not lifeless. The runes carved into the floor—twisted spirals of silver and black—pulse faintly, responding to my presence. My fire hums beneath my skin, low and steady, not wild, not reckless. Ready.
Kaelen follows.
I don’t turn. Don’t speak.
Just feel him—his heat, his scent, the pulse of the bond between us, steady and sure. He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t need to. His presence is enough. His silence, his stillness, the way he stands just behind me, close enough that I can feel the warmth of his breath on my neck—claiming, not demanding.
“You didn’t have to do this,” I say, my voice quiet. “We’re already bound. The mark. The vows. The truth.”
“I know,” he says, his voice low, rough. “But this isn’t about binding. It’s about renewing. About choosing each other again. Not because of fate. Not because of duty. Because we want to.”
I 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.
“You’re not afraid,” he says, stepping closer. “Even here. Even now. In this place of lies.”
“I was,” I admit. “The first time I walked in, I felt it—like the walls were watching. Like the chains could still bind me. Like the blood on the floor could still poison me.” I lift my hand, fire spiraling from my palm, searing the darkest stains from the stone. “But I’m not that woman anymore. I’m not the girl who came here to burn you. I’m not the hybrid who hid her fire. I’m not the mate who feared her bond.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just steps forward, closing the distance between us, his hand lifting, slow, deliberate, and brushing my cheek. Not possessive. Not demanding.
Just… there.
And it undoes me.
“You’re not just fire,” he says, his voice rough. “You’re light. You’re truth. You’re the only thing that’s ever felt real.”
My breath hitches.
Because he’s not wrong.
And I’m not hiding anymore.
“Then prove it,” I say, stepping back, my storm-gray eyes locking onto his. “Renew the pact. Not as the Alpha. Not as the enforcer. Not as the Marked. But as the man who chose me. Who bled for me. Who let me mark him in front of the world and didn’t flinch.”
He doesn’t hesitate.
Just lifts his wrist, fangs flashing, and bites down.
Blood wells—dark, thick, ancient—and drips onto the silver spiral at the center of the chamber. The runes flare, gold instead of red, humming with a power that isn’t mine, isn’t his, but ours.
“Zara Ember,” he says, his voice low, steady, “daughter of Lysara, last of the Emberborn, I renew my vow to you this night, in the sight of the old gods and the new—”
He offers his wrist.
And I take it.
Not with hesitation.
Not with fear.
With hunger.
My lips close over the wound, my fangs grazing his skin, and I drink.
His blood floods my mouth—dark, rich, laced with power and pain and something deeper, something primal. It burns through my veins, not like fire, but like home. The bond screams—a pulse of heat, a wave of energy that ripples through the chamber, 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.
I pull back slowly, my lips swollen, my breath ragged, my body aching with need. His blood coats my tongue, my throat, my core. I can feel him—his heart, his pulse, his magic—like it’s part of me.
“Now you,” he says, his voice rough. “Renew it. As the woman who burned the Council. As the mate who claimed me. As the one who’s never afraid.”
I don’t answer.
Just lift my wrist, fangs flashing, and bite down.
Blood wells—red-gold, alive, mine—and drips onto the same spiral. The runes flare brighter, gold bleeding into silver, humming with a power that isn’t his, isn’t mine, but ours.
“Kaelen Dain,” I say, my voice clear, strong, “Alpha of the Northern Packs, last of the Marked Alphas, I renew my vow to you this night, in the sight of the old gods and the new—”
I offer my wrist.
And he takes it.
Not with hesitation.
Not with fear.
With devotion.
His lips close over the wound, his fangs grazing my skin, and he drinks.
My blood floods his mouth—hot, wild, laced with fire and fury and something deeper, something ancient. It burns through his veins, not like fire, but like home. The bond screams—a pulse of heat, a wave of energy that ripples through the chamber, 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.
He pulls back slowly, his lips swollen, his breath ragged, his body trembling with need. My blood coats his tongue, his throat, his core. I can feel him—his heart, his pulse, his magic—like it’s part of me.
And then—
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 chamber, 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 outcasts.
And start being a people.
“I renew my vow,” he says, his storm-gray eyes locking onto mine, “to fight for you. To die for you. To burn for you. And if you ever doubt—”
He lifts my hand.
Presses his fangs to my palm.
A shallow bite. A pulse of fire. A claim.
“—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 chamber, 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.
“I renew my vow,” I say, my voice clear, strong, “to fight for you. To die for you. To burn for you. And if you ever doubt—”
I lift his hand.
Press my fangs to his palm.
A shallow bite. A pulse of fire. A claim.
“—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 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,” Kaelen says.
“And you?” she asks, turning to me.
“I’m Zara,” I say, kneeling. “And I’m here to make sure no one takes your wolf away.”
The girl smiles.
And hands me the toy.
I take it—slowly, carefully—and press it to my heart.
“Thank you,” I say, 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.