The first time I dreamed of a child, I woke in flames.
Not metaphorically. Not with sweat slicking my skin or my heart hammering against my ribs.
Burning.
It was the night after Kaelen marked me in the burning archive—the desperate kiss, the bite, the moment my mission fractured and something deeper took root. I’d fallen asleep tangled in his arms, my body still humming with the aftermath of fire and fury, my mind drifting into something soft, something forbidden.
A crib.
Not carved from bone or bound in silver, but from warm, polished wood, its edges smoothed by time. Sunlight streamed through a high window, dust motes dancing in the golden light. And inside—
A baby.
Not crying. Not restless.
Laughing.
Her eyes—storm-gray, like mine, like his—sparkled with mischief. Her tiny fingers reached up, and when she touched the air, a spark spiraled from her palm, dancing like a firefly. A tuft of dark hair curled at her brow, streaked with red-gold.
Emberborn.
And then—
Kaelen.
Not the cold enforcer. Not the feral Alpha. But a man—barefoot, shirtless, his storm-gray eyes soft, his fangs retracted, his claws sheathed. He reached into the crib, lifted her, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. And when he looked at me—really looked—his voice was rough, tender:
“She has your fire.”
And I—
I smiled.
Not a smirk. Not a challenge.
A mother’s smile.
And that’s when I woke—
And the bed was on fire.
Not from me.
From her.
The spark in the dream had been real. The laughter. The warmth. The love.
And it had burned through the veil.
I smothered it fast—water from the basin, a whispered sigil, Kaelen’s arms around me, his voice low, calm: *“It’s okay. You’re not alone.”* But the truth stayed with me, curled in my chest like a live coal.
I didn’t just dream of a child.
I dreamed of a future.
And that terrified me more than any enemy ever could.
—
Now, months after the fall of the Council, after the Blood Pact Renewal, after the liberation of the first prison and the rise of the New Council, I dream of her again.
Not in flames.
In light.
This time, she’s older—no more than three, her bare feet slapping against the stone of the Hollow Maw’s courtyard. She runs toward me, her arms outstretched, her laughter ringing like bells. Her hair is a wild tangle of dark curls streaked with fire, her storm-gray eyes alight with joy. She’s wearing a tiny tunic, one I recognize—hand-stitched by Mara, embroidered with a flame wrapped in a wolf’s paw.
“Mama!” she cries, launching herself into my arms.
I catch her—instinctive, effortless—and she buries her face in my neck, her small hands clutching my shoulders. Her scent—milk, magic, mine—floods me, and for a moment, I forget everything.
The war.
The blood.
The lies.
There is only this.
Only her.
And then—
Kaelen.
He steps into the dream, his long coat open, his storm-gray eyes warm, his fangs just past his lip. He doesn’t speak. Just walks to us, one hand lifting to brush a curl from her forehead, the other settling on the small of my back.
“She’s yours,” he says, voice rough, tender.
“She’s ours,” I correct.
He smiles.
Not a predator’s grin.
Not a conqueror’s smirk.
A father’s smile.
And then—
She reaches for him.
“Dada,” she says, her voice soft, certain.
And he—
He breaks.
Just for a second. A flicker in his eyes. A tremor in his hands. But then he lifts her, cradling her against his chest, his lips pressing to her temple, his breath unsteady.
And I wake—
Not in flames.
In tears.
—
I don’t move. Don’t speak. Just lie there, my face turned to the window, the first light of dawn spilling across the stone floor. Kaelen is still asleep beside me, his breath slow and even, his arm draped over my waist, his scent—pine, iron, smoke, him—wrapping around me like a shield.
He doesn’t know.
About the dreams.
About the fire.
About the child who isn’t born but already feels real.
I haven’t told him.
Not because I don’t trust him.
But because I’m afraid.
Afraid that if I say it out loud, if I give it a name, it will vanish like smoke.
Afraid that the world will take her from me before she even exists.
Afraid that I’m not strong enough to be her mother.
That I’ll burn her with my fire.
That I’ll fail her like I failed my mother.
“You’re thinking,” Kaelen murmurs, his voice rough with sleep. “I can feel it in the bond.”
I don’t answer.
Just press my palm to my stomach, where the dream-child once laughed, where the spark once danced.
“Tell me,” he says, turning onto his side, his hand lifting to brush my hair from my face. “Not the Alpha. Not the enforcer. Not the Marked. You.”
My breath hitches.
Because he always sees me.
Even when I hide.
Even when I lie.
Especially when I’m afraid.
“I dreamed of her again,” I whisper.
“The child?”
I nod, my throat tight.
“She called me ‘Mama.’”
He doesn’t flinch.
Doesn’t pull back.
Just watches me—really watches—as if I’ve given him the greatest gift in the world.
“And me?” he asks, voice low. “What did she call me?”
My breath catches.
Because I can’t lie.
Not to him.
Not about this.
“Dada,” I say, the word breaking in my chest.
He closes his eyes.
Just for a second.
And when he opens them, there’s something in them I’ve never seen before.
Not hunger.
Not rage.
Not even love.
Hope.
“She’s not just a dream,” he says, his thumb tracing my lower lip. “She’s a promise. A future we didn’t think we deserved. A fire we didn’t know we could carry.”
“And if I can’t?” I whisper. “If I’m not strong enough? If I hurt her? If I—”
“You won’t,” he says, cutting me off, his hand sliding to my neck, not choking, not hurting. Claiming. “You’re not your mother’s vengeance. You’re her legacy. And you’re not the fire that burns. You’re the fire that mends.”
My breath hitches.
Because he’s not wrong.
And I’m not hiding anymore.
“I’m afraid,” I admit.
“So am I,” he says. “I’ve spent centuries believing I was a monster. That the blood in my veins—the curse, the power, the fangs and claws—made me something to be feared. Controlled. Destroyed. But now?” He leans in, his lips hovering over mine. “Now I have a reason to be better. To be human. To be her father.”
My 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 he touches me.
But he’s not running.
He’s not fighting.
He’s staying.
And that—that is the most dangerous thing of all.
—
Later, we stand on the edge of the Maw, where the wind bites through my tunic and the stars burn cold and bright. The city moves below—torches flicker in the alleys, hybrids laugh in the square, wolves patrol the edges, Fae trade in the market—but I don’t see them.
Not yet.
First, I need to breathe.
Kaelen stands beside me, his hand on my lower back, his scent flooding me—pine, iron, smoke, him. He doesn’t speak. Just watches the sky, the stars, the path ahead.
“Do you want her?” I ask, voice rough.
He turns.
Looks at me—really looks.
“I’ve wanted you since the first lie,” he says. “Since the first touch. Since the first time you looked at me like I was worth saving. And now?” He steps closer, his hand sliding to my stomach, just above where the dream-child once laughed. “Now I want us. All of us. The fire. The fury. The future. I want to build a world where she can light her first flame and not be afraid. Where she can call me ‘Dada’ and know she’s loved. Where she can be herself.”
My breath hitches.
Because he’s not wrong.
And I’m not hiding anymore.
“Then we do it together,” I say. “Not as rulers. Not as mates. As parents.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just pulls me close, one arm wrapping around my back, the other cradling my head, shielding me as the world dissolves into fire and need.
—
That night, we return to our chambers—no guards, no ceremony, just us. The fire burns low in the hearth, the runes on the walls pulsing with a soft, steady light. I shed my coat, my boots, my tunic, standing in the glow of the flames, my storm-gray eyes meeting his in the mirror.
He doesn’t undress.
Just watches me—really watches.
“You’re not just a fire anymore,” he says, his voice low, rough. “You’re a leader. A healer. A mother to them all.”
“And you’re not just a beast,” I say, turning. “You’re a protector. A father. A man who kneels not in defeat, but in love.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just steps forward, his hands lifting, slow, deliberate, and brushing my shoulders. Just a whisper of touch. But it’s enough. Heat explodes beneath my skin, racing down my arms, pooling in my core. My fangs lengthen. My claws erupt. My body tenses, ready to take, to claim, to burn.
But I don’t.
Because this isn’t about fire.
It’s about home.
“You’re not afraid of me,” he whispers, his lips brushing my temple, my cheek, the curve of my jaw. Not a kiss. Not a claim. Just… contact. Connection. A promise.
“No,” I say, my hand lifting, slow, deliberate, and brushing his cheek. “I’m not. Because you’re not a monster. You’re mine. And I’m not afraid of what I am.”
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.
—
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.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just watches me.
And I know—
This isn’t just a moment.
It’s a promise.
Not of love.
Of war.
Of fire.
Of us.
—
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.