The peace didn’t last.
It never does.
One moment, I was tangled in the furs, his breath warm against my neck, his hand tracing slow circles on my hip, the bond humming between us like a lullaby. The next—
The world exploded.
A scream tore through the corridors—sharp, feminine, laced with panic. Then another. Then shouting. Boots on stone. Spells flaring. The air crackled with magic, thick and acrid, like burning silver. My body snapped awake, every muscle coiled, my magic surging beneath my skin, ready to fight, to kill, to *survive*.
Kaelen was already moving.
He rolled off me in one fluid motion, his body a blur of muscle and instinct, already pulling on his trousers, his boots, his dagger. His golden eyes were molten, his fangs bared, his presence like a storm. “Stay here,” he growled, strapping on his sword. “Lock the door. Don’t open it for anyone.”
“Like hell,” I said, scrambling off the bed, already reaching for my robe. “If there’s trouble, I’m in it.”
He turned, his gaze locking onto mine. “This isn’t up for debate.”
“Neither is me staying behind,” I snapped, yanking the sash tight. “I’m not your prisoner. I’m not your pet. And I’m *definitely* not your liability.”
For a heartbeat, he just stared at me—really stared—his eyes searching mine, his breath shallow. And then, something shifted. Not defeat. Not surrender. *Respect.*
“Fine,” he said, stepping toward me, his voice low. “But you stay close. And if I tell you to run, you *run*.”
“Only if you do too,” I said, stepping into his space, my hand brushing his chest. “We fight together. Not apart.”
He didn’t answer. Just cupped my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing the pulse in my throat. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he murmured.
“Good,” I said, rising on my toes to kiss him—soft, quick, a promise. “Means you feel it too.”
Then we were gone.
---
The corridors were chaos.
Guards clashed in the torch-lit halls, steel ringing against steel, spells flaring like lightning. Vampires moved like shadows, their fangs bared, their eyes glowing red. Werewolves snarled, their forms half-shifted, claws raking stone. Fae magic shimmered in the air—glamour, illusion, pleasure curses designed to disorient, to seduce, to *break*.
And at the center of it all—
Lysandra.
She stood in the grand hall, draped in crimson silk, her pale skin glowing in the torchlight, her dark hair cascading over one shoulder. She wasn’t fighting. Wasn’t running. Just standing there, one hand pressed to her mouth, her eyes wide with false innocence, a single tear tracing her cheek.
And in her other hand—
A dagger.
My dagger.
“She attacked me!” she shrieked, her voice carrying over the din. “The half-blood witch—she tried to kill me! I was just coming to deliver the morning report, and she lunged at me! She said—” Her voice broke, dramatic, perfect. “She said, *‘You don’t get to wear his ring. You don’t get to touch him.’*”
My blood turned to ice.
Because it wasn’t just the lie.
It was the *proof*.
My dagger—etched with my family sigil, the one I’d hidden in my sleeve, the one I’d *never* drawn in front of anyone—was in her hand. And on her finger—
Kaelen’s ring.
The Blackthorn signet, forged from moon silver and wolf bone, the one only the Alpha and his true mate could wear without it burning their skin.
And it wasn’t burning hers.
It was glowing.
Like it *recognized* her.
“That’s a fake,” I snarled, stepping forward, Kaelen at my side. “That ring is bound to his blood. It wouldn’t accept you.”
Lysandra smiled—slow, sharp, *feline.* “And yet, here it is.” She held up her hand, the ring gleaming in the torchlight. “He gave it to me the night he came to my chambers. Said I was the only one who understood him. The only one who *pleased* him.”
“Liar,” Kaelen growled, his voice like thunder. “I’ve never touched you.”
“Then why does the ring accept me?” she purred, stepping closer, her hips swaying. “Why does your scent linger on my skin? Why did you moan my name when you came inside me?”
My stomach twisted.
Not because I believed her.
But because the court *did*.
Whispers rippled through the crowd—vampires smirking, witches murmuring, fae watching with cold amusement. Draven stepped forward, his expression unreadable. “Alpha,” he said, voice low. “The ring—it’s real. The magic is intact.”
“It’s a glamour,” I said, stepping in front of Kaelen, my voice sharp. “A spell. She’s faking it.”
“Then prove it,” Lysandra said, her smile widening. “Take it from me. If it’s not bound to me, it’ll burn your skin.”
I didn’t hesitate.
I lunged.
My hand closed around her wrist, my fingers gripping the ring. And for one heartbeat—
Nothing.
No burn. No pain. No magic rejecting me.
Just cold silver against my skin.
Then—
A pulse.
Hot. Violent. *Real.*
The ring flared—red and gold, pulsing with ancient magic—and seared my palm like a brand. I gasped, yanking my hand back, the scent of burning flesh rising in the air. My skin was blistered, raw, the sigil of the Blackthorn Pack burned into my flesh like a curse.
“The ring rejects you,” Lysandra said, her voice soft, triumphant. “But it accepts *me*.”
The chamber erupted.
“She’s not his true mate!” one of the witches shrieked. “The magic proves it!”
“She’s a fraud!” another vampire snapped. “A half-blood imposter!”
“She tried to kill me,” Lysandra said, her voice breaking. “And now she’s trying to steal my place.”
“Enough,” Kaelen snarled, stepping forward, his presence like a storm. “You’re lying. That ring is bound to *my* blood. It wouldn’t accept you unless I’d marked you.”
“And you did,” she said, stepping closer, her hand brushing his chest. “The night you came to my chambers. The night you stayed until dawn. The night you whispered my name as you came.”
My breath stopped.
Because it wasn’t just the words.
It was the *scent*.
His scent—storm and iron—was on her skin. Faint, but *there.* Like he’d touched her. Held her. *Taken* her.
And worse—worse—was the way she looked at him. Not with desire. Not with lust.
With *possession.*
Like she’d already won.
“You’re lying,” I said, my voice low, dangerous. “He wouldn’t touch you. He *couldn’t*. The bond—”
“—can be broken,” she said, smiling. “With the right magic. And the right *payment*.”
My blood turned to ice.
Because she wasn’t just lying.
She was *planning*.
And she had help.
“Who gave you the ring?” I demanded. “Who forged the spell? Was it Cassian? Did he promise you power if you destroyed me?”
She didn’t answer. Just smiled, slow, sharp, *feline.* “Ask him,” she purred, stepping back. “Ask your precious Alpha why his scent is on my skin. Why his ring accepts me. Why he hasn’t denied spending the night in my chambers.”
All eyes turned to Kaelen.
He didn’t flinch. Just stood there, his golden eyes blazing, his fangs bared. “I’ve never touched you,” he said, voice low, dangerous. “I’ve never worn that ring. It was stolen from me weeks ago. And if you’re wearing it now, it’s because someone forged a spell to mimic its magic.”
“Then prove it,” she said. “Break the spell. Take the ring. If it’s fake, it’ll shatter in your hand.”
He didn’t hesitate.
He stepped forward, his hand closing around the ring.
And for one heartbeat—
Nothing.
No shatter. No explosion. No magic rejecting her.
Just the ring, glowing, *real*, bound to her finger.
Then—
A pulse.
Hot. Violent. *Real.*
The ring flared—red and gold, pulsing with ancient magic—and seared his palm like a brand. He gasped, yanking his hand back, the scent of burning flesh rising in the air. His skin was blistered, raw, the sigil of the Blackthorn Pack burned into his flesh like a curse.
“The ring rejects you,” Lysandra said, her voice soft, triumphant. “But it accepts *me*.”
The chamber stilled.
Every eye turned to me. Every breath held.
And I—
I didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Just stood there, my hands clenched at my sides, my heart pounding, my body aching.
Because for the first time—
I wasn’t sure.
Not of the ring.
Not of the spell.
But of *him*.
Had he lied?
Had he touched her?
Had he *wanted* her?
And if he had—
What did that mean for us?
---
We were dragged to the Council Chamber.
Not by guards. Not by force.
By silence.
The court parted before us like waves, their eyes sharp, their whispers like knives. Lysandra walked beside Kaelen, her hand on his arm, her smile sweet, her scent—mythril and blood—thick with triumph. I followed, my head high, my back straight, my burned palm hidden in the folds of my robe.
The doors groaned open.
The chamber beyond was a cavern of shadow and fire—twelve thrones arranged in a circle, each occupied. The witches sat cloaked in gray, their eyes hidden behind veils of silver thread. The vampires, draped in crimson and black, their fangs bared in silent challenge. The fae, elegant and cold, their silver eyes gleaming with amusement. And the werewolves—Kaelen’s pack—stationed at the edges, their presence a wall of muscle and fury.
At the center of it all, bound in silver chains that hissed against his skin, was Cassian.
He looked up as we entered, his smile sharp as a blade. “Ah,” he purred. “The traitor and her mongrel mate. And the *true* mate.” He let his gaze trail over Lysandra, then back to me. “How… *predictable*.”
Kaelen didn’t flinch. Just stepped forward, his presence like a storm. “You don’t get to speak,” he said, voice low, dangerous. “Not until this farce is over.”
“And what farce is that?” Selene asked, rising from her throne, her crimson lips curled in a smile. “The exposure of a fraud? The unmasking of a half-blood imposter who stole the Alpha’s affection through lies and blood magic?”
“The farce,” I said, stepping forward, “is *her*.” I pointed at Lysandra. “She’s wearing a forged ring. A spell designed to mimic the Blackthorn magic. And you’re all falling for it.”
“Then prove it,” Selene said, arching a brow. “Break the spell. Take the ring. If it’s fake, it’ll shatter in your hand.”
I didn’t answer.
Because I already had.
And it hadn’t.
“She attacked me,” Lysandra said, her voice breaking. “She’s jealous. She can’t accept that he chose *me*.”
“He didn’t choose you,” I snapped. “He doesn’t even *know* you.”
“And yet,” Cassian said, his voice smooth, “his scent is on her skin. His ring accepts her. And his body—” He let his gaze trail over Kaelen, then back to me. “—responds to hers.”
My breath stopped.
Because it wasn’t just the words.
It was the *truth*.
Kaelen hadn’t denied it.
Hadn’t said he hadn’t touched her.
Hadn’t said he hadn’t *wanted* her.
And now—
Now I was standing in the heart of the enemy, my burned palm aching, my heart cracking, my mission in ruins.
Because if he’d lied about this—
What else had he lied about?
---
The vote was called.
“By the laws of the Supernatural Council,” Selene said, “a mate bond may be voided if proven false. If the ring accepts another, the bond is broken. And the false mate—” Her eyes locked onto me. “—is to be executed.”
My breath stopped.
“All in favor,” she said.
Hands rose.
Vampires. Witches. Fae.
One by one.
And then—
Draven.
He didn’t look at me. Just raised his hand, slow, deliberate, his expression unreadable.
My stomach twisted.
Because if *he* believed it—
Then I was already dead.
“The vote is unanimous,” Selene said, her smile sharp. “The bond is void. The false mate is to be executed at dawn.”
“No,” Kaelen snarled, stepping forward. “You don’t get to decide her fate.”
“We just did,” Cassian said, his smile widening. “And you’ll obey, or you’ll lose your throne.”
Kaelen didn’t answer.
Just turned to me, his golden eyes holding mine, his voice rough. “Run,” he whispered. “Now.”
But I didn’t.
Because for the first time—
I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
---
They took me to the holding cells.
Not the ones beneath the Blood Vaults. Not the ones where Cassian was kept.
A deeper cell. Darker. Older.
The walls were carved from black stone, the air thick with the scent of decay and magic. The door was sealed with a rune ward—blood-red, pulsing faintly. My burned palm ached, the sigil still raw, still bleeding. I sat on the stone bench, my arms wrapped around myself, my breath shallow.
Had he lied?
Had he touched her?
Had he *wanted* her?
And if he had—
What did that mean for us?
For my sister?
For my revenge?
A sound.
Soft. Barely there.
Footsteps on stone.
I didn’t look up.
“Sloane.”
Mira.
She stepped into the torchlight, her silver gown shimmering, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders. She didn’t smile. Didn’t speak. Just knelt in front of me, her hands gentle as she took mine.
“The ring is a glamour,” she said, voice low. “But not just any glamour. It’s bound to *his* blood. Someone took it from him—weeks ago, like he said—and used a drop of his blood to forge the spell. That’s why it accepts Lysandra. That’s why it burned you. That’s why it burned *him*.”
My breath caught.
“But it’s not real,” she said. “The bond is still yours. The ring is just a trick. A lie.”
“Then why didn’t he break it?” I whispered. “Why didn’t he destroy it?”
“Because he can’t,” she said. “Not without proof. Not without exposing who helped her. And if he does—” She let her gaze trail to the door, then back to me. “—he risks war.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Then you die at dawn.”
I didn’t answer.
Just sat there, my hands trembling, my heart breaking.
Because for the first time—
I wasn’t sure I believed him.
Not because of the ring.
Not because of the vote.
But because of the one thing he hadn’t said.
The one thing he hadn’t denied.
Had he touched her?
Had he *wanted* her?
And if he had—
What did that mean for us?
“He loves you,” Mira said, her voice soft. “I’ve seen it. Draven’s seen it. The whole court sees it. But love isn’t enough. Not here. Not now. You need *proof*.”
“And if I can’t get it?”
“Then you die,” she said. “But not before you make them pay.”
I looked at her—really looked at her—and saw it.
Not pity.
Not sorrow.
Fire.
And I knew—
I wasn’t going to die quietly.
Not today.
Not ever.
“Then I’ll make them pay,” I whispered. “Starting with her.”
Mira smiled—slow, sharp, *feline.* “Good,” she said. “Because I know how.”
And then she was gone, the door sealing shut behind her.
I sat there, my burned palm aching, my heart cracking, my mission in ruins.
But not my rage.
Not my fire.
And not my will to survive.
Because if I was going to die at dawn—
Then I’d take them all with me.