The Archives are silent now—no whispers, no footsteps, no echoes of battle. Just the low hum of ancient magic, the scent of old paper and blood, and the weight of what’s to come. The hidden passage behind the black stone wall remains sealed, its runes dormant, waiting. I stand before it, my fingers pressed to the cold surface, my breath steady, my pulse a slow drum beneath my skin.
It’s not fear that holds me here. Not hesitation.
It’s *recognition*.
This chamber—this trial—was built for me. Not for a witch. Not for a spy. For the last heir of the Moonblood line. For the girl who watched her mother burn. For the woman who came to burn it all down.
And now, it’s time.
Kaelen stands beside me, his storm-silver eyes scanning the corridor, his body coiled, ready. He insisted on coming, even though the wards will kill him if he steps inside. Even though I told him to stay back. But he’s not just my mate. He’s my shadow. My shield. My storm.
And I no longer try to push him away.
“You don’t have to do this alone,” he murmurs, his voice low, rough.
“I do,” I say, not turning. “The Chamber of Echoes only allows Moonbloods to enter. If you cross the threshold, the wards will tear you apart.”
“Then I’ll wait,” he says, stepping closer. “Right here. Guarding the door. Fighting off anyone who tries to stop you.”
I finally look at him. His jaw is tight, his fangs slightly extended, his claws just visible beneath his fingertips. He’s not just worried.
He’s afraid.
And gods help me, it makes my chest ache.
“And if I don’t come out?” I ask, voice quiet.
He doesn’t hesitate. “Then I’ll burn the fortress to the ground until I find you. And I’ll drag you out myself.”
My breath hitches.
Not from fear.
From the truth in his voice. From the way his hand lifts, brushes my cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of my lower lip. From the way the bond flares—warm, insistent, *needing*.
“You’d really do that?” I whisper. “Risk your rank? Your pack? Your life?”
“I already have.” He presses his forehead to mine. “The moment I let you live. The moment I let the bond take hold. The moment I chose you over the Council’s orders.”
And just like that, the last wall inside me cracks.
Not all of it. Not yet.
But enough.
Enough that I step forward. Close the distance between us. Enough that my hand lifts, trembling, to his face. Enough that my fingers brush the scar cutting through his eyebrow—the one I’ve seen a hundred times, the one I’ve hated, the one that marks him as *his*—and for the first time, I don’t see his father.
I see *him*.
“Then wait,” I say, stepping back. “And don’t let anyone near this door. Not Malrik. Not Mira. Not even Soren.”
He nods. “I won’t.”
“And Kaelen?”
“Hmm?”
“If I scream… don’t come in.”
His jaw clenches. “Brielle—”
“Promise me.”
He stares at me. Then, slowly, he nods. “I promise.”
And just like that, I turn.
Press my palm to the stone.
The runes ignite.
Not with fire. Not with light.
With *memory*.
Images flash—my mother’s face, her silver eyes wide with terror as the flames rise; the Council’s tribunal, their voices cold, their verdict final; the moment I first touched Kaelen, the scroll bursting into moonfire, the bond roaring to life. And then—
The wall opens.
Not with a groan. Not with a crash.
With a *whisper*.
A hidden passage—narrow, dark, descending into the mountain’s heart. The air that spills out is cold, thick with the scent of old magic and blood.
I step inside.
The moment the door seals behind me, the temperature drops. My breath fogs. Frost creeps up the walls, silver and deadly. The passage is tight—black stone, slick with ice, the only light coming from the faint glow of my runes. I move slowly, silently, every sense stretched. The bond hums beneath my skin, low and steady, a constant reminder of his presence, his heat, his *life*.
And then—
The chamber opens.
Vast. Ancient. A cathedral of stone, its dome lost in shadow, its walls lined with shelves of blackened tomes, its center dominated by a pedestal of obsidian. And on it—
The Blood Codex.
A massive tome, bound in crimson leather, its cover etched with silver sigils that pulse with forbidden power. The air around it hums, thick with magic, with danger, with *truth*.
But I don’t move toward it.
Because the trial hasn’t begun.
Because the Chamber of Echoes doesn’t test magic.
It tests *memory*.
And then—
The whispers start.
Not from the shadows. Not from the walls.
From *inside*.
You failed her.
You watched her burn.
You did nothing.
My mother’s voice. Cold. Accusing. *Real*.
I freeze. My breath stills. My pulse hammers.
“I tried,” I whisper. “I screamed. I fought. But they held me down—”
And you ran.
You left her to die.
You let them take everything.
“I came back,” I say, voice stronger. “I’m here. I’m fighting.”
For vengeance?
Or for power?
Are you any better than the monsters who killed me?
My chest tightens. Not from the cold. From the truth in her words.
Because she’s right.
I *am* here for vengeance. I *am* here to burn them all. And if I’m honest—
I want to watch Malrik burn too.
And Kaelen? Is he just a weapon? A key? A means to an end?
Or is he something more?
And then—
The whispers shift.
He’ll betray you.
He’s his father’s son.
He’ll choose legacy over love.
He’ll let you die.
Kaelen’s voice. Cold. Distant. *Familiar*.
I shake my head. “No. He’s not like his father. He saved me. Protected me. *Chose* me.”
Did he?
Or did he just use you?
To prove he’s not weak?
To claim the throne?
To silence the whispers?
“He loves me,” I say, voice breaking. “I *feel* it. In the bond. In his touch. In his eyes.”
Or is that just what you want to believe?
Because you’re afraid to be alone?
Afraid to face the truth?
Afraid to admit that love is weakness?
I stagger. My knees buckle. The cold bites deep, but it’s nothing compared to the fire in my chest—the fire of doubt, of fear, of *failure*.
And then—
A warmth.
Not from the chamber.
From *within*.
The runes on my spine ignite—silver fire spiraling up my back, pulsing with moonfire. The heat spreads—through my limbs, through my chest, into my core. My breath hitches. My vision blurs. And then—
I *see*.
Not the past.
The *truth*.
My mother, not burning.
Standing.
Whole.
Her silver eyes filled with love, not fear.
“You are not weak,” she says, her voice soft, real. “You are not broken. You are not vengeance. You are *light*. You are *fire*. You are *mine*.”
Tears spill down my cheeks. “I miss you.”
“I’m always with you,” she whispers. “In your blood. In your magic. In your heart. And if you must burn this world down—”
She smiles.
“Then burn it with love.”
And just like that, the whispers stop.
The cold fades.
The runes blaze brighter, hotter, *alive*.
I rise.
Step forward.
Press my palm to the Blood Codex.
The moment I touch it, the sigils on the cover flare—silver fire spiraling outward, racing up my arm, through my chest, into my core. Pain—sharp, blinding—tears through me, and I cry out, my body arching, my magic surging in response. The chamber trembles. The tomes rattle. The obsidian pedestal cracks.
And then—
It stops.
The pain fades.
The fire dims.
And the Codex… *opens*.
Not with a sound. Not with a light.
With a *whisper*.
I gasp. Stagger back. My hands fly to my mouth. My heart hammers.
Because I see it.
The truth.
Not just my mother’s name, cleared.
Not just Malrik’s signature on the execution order.
But *everything*.
The lies. The betrayals. The blood pacts. The hidden alliances. The way he framed the Moonbloods to steal their magic. The way he used the Council to consolidate power. The way he turned the Fang against each other. The way he manipulated Kaelen—raised him to be strong, to be ruthless, to be *his*.
And then—
I see *him*.
Kaelen.
Not as a weapon.
Not as a pawn.
As a *son*.
And for the first time, I understand.
He didn’t just inherit his father’s throne.
He inherited his *guilt*.
His *fear*.
His *shame*.
And he’s been carrying it all this time.
And I… I’ve only added to it.
My breath hitches. Not from the revelation.
From the *weight* of it.
And then—
A sound.
Not from the chamber.
From *outside*.
Stone grinds. Dust falls. And then—
The door creaks open.
Just a crack. A sliver of light. Warmth.
Kaelen.
He shouldn’t be here. He *promised*.
But he is.
Standing in the threshold, his storm-silver eyes wide, his chest heaving, his claws extended, his fangs bared. The scent of him—pine and iron, frost and fire—wraps around me, tangled now with the faint copper of his blood, the leather of his armor, the lingering smoke of battle.
And beneath it all, the bond.
It’s louder now. Stronger. Not with heat, not with lust, but with *fear*.
“I couldn’t wait,” he says, voice ragged. “I heard you scream. I felt the magic surge. I *had* to come.”
“You promised,” I whisper.
“And I broke it.” He steps inside, ignoring the frost, the runes, the wards. “Because I’d rather die than lose you.”
My chest tightens. Not from anger.
From the truth in his voice. From the way his eyes darken, from the way his body leans into mine, just slightly, from the way the bond flares—warm, insistent, *needing*.
And then—
I step forward.
My hands fly to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic, pulling him closer, *needing* him closer. The bond roars between us, not with fire, not with lust, but with something deeper. Something *real*.
“I have it,” I say, voice trembling. “The truth. It’s all here. Malrik framed my mother. He stole the Moonfire magic. He’s been manipulating the Council for centuries.”
He doesn’t look at the Codex. Doesn’t reach for it.
Just cups my face, his thumb brushing my cheek, wiping away the tears I didn’t realize were falling.
“And you?” he asks, voice rough. “Are you okay?”
I nod. “I am now.”
“Then let’s go.” He turns, ready to lead me out.
“Wait.” I grab his wrist. “There’s more.”
He stills. Turns back. “What?”
“It’s not just about my mother.” My voice drops. “It’s about you. About your father. About the way he raised you. The way he used you. The way he made you believe you had to be him to be strong.”
His jaw clenches. “I know.”
“Do you?” I step closer, my hands sliding up his chest, to his shoulders, my fingers brushing the nape of his neck. “Because I see it now. I see *you*. Not the Alpha. Not the enforcer. Not the son of a monster. I see the man who’s been carrying this weight alone. The man who’s afraid to be weak. The man who’s afraid to love.”
He doesn’t answer. Just stares at me, his storm-silver eyes dark with something I can’t name—fear, yes, but also hope. *Grief*.
And then—
I kiss him.
Not soft. Not slow.
Desperate.
Hard. Deep. *Feral*. My hands fly to his hair, pulling him closer, my mouth opening under his, my tongue sliding against his with a hunger that matches his own. He groans—low, rough, guttural—and his arms lock around me, lifting me off the ground, pressing me back against the stone wall as he takes more, deeper, *harder*, until we’re both breathless, trembling, lost in the heat of it.
And then—
The magic surges.
Not from the Codex.
From *me*.
The runes on my spine ignite—silver fire spiraling up my back, pulsing with moonfire. The heat spreads—through my limbs, through my chest, into my core. I cry out—low, guttural—and my body arches, my magic flaring in pulses of silver flame that paint the stone in light.
Kaelen doesn’t pull away.
He *holds* me.
His hands grip my hips, pressing me closer, his cock hard and insistent against my belly. I moan—low, guttural—and my legs wrap around his waist, holding him closer, *needing* him closer. The bond roars between us, not with fire, not with lust, but with something deeper. Something *real*.
And then—
The chamber trembles.
Not from the magic.
From *below*.
Stone grinds. Dust falls. And then—
A hidden passage opens—beneath the pedestal, in the floor. Darkness spills out. Cold. Thick. *Alive*.
We break the kiss. Stagger back.
“What the hell is that?” I whisper.
Kaelen steps in front of me, shielding me with his body. “I don’t know. But it wasn’t on any map.”
My breath stills. “Someone doesn’t want us down there.”
He turns. Meets my gaze. “Then we go.”
I nod. “Together.”
He smiles. Not cold. Not predatory.
Dangerous.
“Always.”
And just like that, the world tilts.
Because we’re not just fighting for the truth.
For justice.
For vengeance.
We’re fighting for *each other*.
And if this is the end?
Then let it burn.