The first time I lie to Kael, it’s not about love.
It’s about blood.
It starts with a dream—sharp, vivid, clawing its way through the veil between sleep and waking like a hand from a grave. I’m standing in the ruins of the old Stormblood temple, barefoot on cracked stone, the sky above boiling with stormclouds the color of rotting flesh. My mother is there, but not as I remember her. Not frail. Not drained. Not broken.
She’s alive.
Her eyes are storm-gray like mine, her hair wild with static, her hands raised to the sky, chanting in a language that hums in my bones. Around her, the earth splits, roots writhing like serpents, vines bursting from the stone, thorns curling around the wrists of shadowed figures—wolves, I think, but not Blackthorn. Not his.
And then she turns to me, her voice cutting through the thunder.
“You were never meant to save me,” she says. “You were meant to avenge me.”
I wake with a gasp, my heart slamming against my ribs, my skin slick with sweat. The room is dark, the fire reduced to embers, the air thick with the scent of pine and male and him. Kael is beside me, his arm slung over my waist, his breath warm against my neck, his cock still half-hard against my thigh from the way we’d fallen asleep—tangled, skin to skin, hearts beating in time.
I don’t move.
Don’t breathe.
Just lie there, listening to the silence, feeling the pulse of the bond beneath my skin—steady, calm, deceptive.
Because I know what that dream was.
Not a memory.
Not a warning.
A summons.
The Stormblood magic isn’t just in my blood.
It’s in my bones.
And it’s awake.
I slip out of bed slowly, careful not to wake him. My bare feet make no sound on the stone as I cross to the window, the cold air raising goosebumps on my skin. The moon is full, hanging low over the cliffs, its light silvering the towers, glinting off the iron gates. The keep is quiet, the wolves still, the torches flickering low.
But something’s wrong.
I can feel it—a pressure behind my eyes, a hum in my teeth, a pull in my gut, like the world is holding its breath. I press my palm to the glass, feeling the pulse of the stone, the whisper of old magic in the walls. The runes along the frame flicker faintly—blue-white, then gold, then back to dark.
Not a threat.
A test.
I turn back to the room, my gaze landing on the bone dagger strapped to the bedpost. My mother’s bones. My weapon. My legacy. I haven’t used it since the final battle. Haven’t needed to. But now—
Now, it calls to me.
And I answer.
I cross the room, unstrap the dagger, slide it into the sheath at my thigh. My fingers linger on the hilt—cold, carved with ancient sigils, humming with power. I don’t look at Kael as I dress. Just pull on my boots, my cloak, the crown I now wear every day—storm-forged iron and black thorns, heavy but right.
And then I go.
Not to the war room.
Not to the archives.
Not even to the ritual grounds.
I go to the crypts.
Beneath the keep, where the oldest bones lie, where the first Alphas were buried, where the blood oaths were carved into the stone. No one guards this place. No one wants to. The air is thick with decay and old magic, the torches flickering low, the silence absolute. I walk barefoot now, my boots left behind, my steps silent on the damp stone.
The door to the Stormblood vault is sealed with a blood rune—one I didn’t know I could read until now. I press my palm to it, whisper the word that comes to me like a memory: “Verith.”
The stone grinds open.
Inside, the air is colder, the darkness deeper. No torches. No light. Just the faint glow of the bone dagger in my hand, its blade pulsing with a soft, blue-white light. And in the center of the chamber—a sarcophagus, cracked open, the lid thrown aside.
And inside—
Nothing.
No body.
No bones.
Just a single piece of parchment, folded and sealed with black wax, my name written in a hand I’d know anywhere.
Mother.
I pick it up with trembling fingers, break the seal, unfold it. The words are sharp, precise, written in blood.
“If you’re reading this, you’ve chosen him over me.
And I don’t blame you.
Love is a weakness. Loyalty is a weapon. And vengeance—vengeance is the only truth.
The Blackthorns didn’t just drain me. They betrayed me. They broke the Contract. They stole my magic and fed it to the Shadow Wastes to keep their power.
And Kael? He doesn’t know.
But his father did.
And if you want the truth—if you want justice—you’ll find it where the storm meets the stone. Where the first vow was broken.
But be warned, daughter: once you know, you cannot un-know.
And if you love him… you will have to choose.
—Aria Stormblood”
The parchment slips from my fingers.
My breath comes in short, sharp gasps.
My magic flares—wild, uncontrolled, crackling at my fingertips. The runes on the walls flare, blue-white and searing. The torches gutter. The stone trembles.
And then—
I hear it.
Footsteps.
Slow. Deliberate. known.
I don’t turn.
Don’t speak.
Just stand there, my back to the door, my hands clenched into fists, the bone dagger humming at my thigh.
“Torrent.”
Kael’s voice is low, rough with sleep and something darker—something like fear.
“What are you doing down here?”
I don’t answer.
Can’t.
Because if I speak, I’ll tell him.
And if I tell him, I’ll lose him.
So I lie.
“I couldn’t sleep,” I say, my voice steady, cold. “Came to clear my head.”
He steps closer, his boots silent on the stone, his breath hot against my neck. “You’re lying.”
“Am I?”
“Your pulse jumps when you lie. Right here.” He presses a thumb to the side of my throat. “And your magic—it’s not calm. It’s angry.”
I don’t pull away.
Just close my eyes, feeling the heat of him, the strength of him, the way my body aches for his touch even now, even here.
“Maybe I am,” I whisper. “But not about why I’m here.”
He turns me, slow, his golden eyes blazing down at me. “Then what aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing that matters.”
“Liar.”
His hands move—up, over my shoulders, under the collar of my cloak, fingers brushing the bare skin of my neck. “You think I don’t feel it? The bond—it’s not just a tether. It’s a truth. And right now, it’s screaming that you’re hiding something.”
“Maybe it’s wrong.”
“It’s never wrong.”
“Then maybe I don’t care.”
He growls—low, dangerous—and pins me against the wall, his body pressing into mine, his cock thickening against my belly. “You care,” he says, voice rough. “You care more than anyone I’ve ever known.”
“And what if I don’t want to?”
“Too late.” He leans down, his mouth at my ear. “You already do.”
I shiver.
Not from fear.
From the way he says it—like it’s a fact, like it’s truth, like it’s ours.
And maybe it is.
But not like this.
Not when I’m lying to him.
So I do the only thing I can.
I push him away.
Hard.
He stumbles back, his eyes wide, his breath ragged. “Torrent—”
“Don’t.” I press a hand to my chest, feeling the pulse of the bond, the ache of the lie. “Just… don’t.”
He doesn’t argue.
Just watches me, his golden eyes blazing, his jaw clenched, his hands fisted at his sides. And then—
He turns.
And walks away.
I don’t follow.
Don’t call out.
Just stand there, my back against the cold stone, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps, the parchment crumpled in my fist.
And then—
I make a choice.
Not for him.
Not for the pack.
For me.
I leave the crypts. I leave the keep. I leave the Dominion.
And I go to the storm.
It’s waiting for me on the cliffs—wind howling, rain slashing, lightning splitting the sky. I don’t shield myself. Don’t protect myself. Just stand there, my arms raised, my magic surging, my voice rising in a chant I’ve never learned but have always known.
The storm answers.
Lightning strikes the stone at my feet, carving a sigil into the rock—a spiral, a storm, a truth. The wind howls, not in rage, but in recognition. The rain washes over me, not as water, but as memory.
And then—
I see it.
A vision.
Not of the past.
Of the truth.
I see my mother—alive, strong, standing in the ritual grounds, her hands bound, her magic bleeding into the earth. I see Kael’s father—older, crueler, his fangs bared, his eyes gold with hunger. I see the Contract—shattered, not by time, but by betrayal. I see the Shadow Wastes—born not from war, but from theft.
And I see Kael.
Young. Helpless. Locked in a cell, screaming as his father drained a witch’s magic to power the wards.
He didn’t know.
He couldn’t know.
And now—
Now, I understand.
The choice isn’t between vengeance and love.
It’s between truth and peace.
And I don’t know which one I want.
The storm dies as quickly as it came, the wind stilling, the rain slowing, the lightning fading. I sink to my knees, my body trembling, my magic spent, my heart breaking.
And then—
I feel it.
Not the bond.
Not the magic.
From me.
A shift.
Not in power. Not in magic.
In purpose.
I came here to destroy.
To burn the Dominion to ash.
To reclaim my mother’s magic.
And I did.
But not the way I thought.
Not with fire.
Not with vengeance.
But with truth.
And that—
That terrifies me more than anything.
Because if I’m not here to destroy him—
Then maybe I’m here to save him.
And that—
That changes everything.
I stand.
Turn.
And walk back to the keep.
Not to hide.
Not to lie.
To face him.
The corridors are quiet, the torches flickering low, the scent of pine and healing salve in the air. I don’t go to his chambers. Don’t seek him out.
I go to the war room—now just the strategy room, the blood oaths burned, the grudges buried. And I wait.
It doesn’t take long.
He finds me standing by the hearth, the fire low, the crown heavy on my head, the bone dagger at my thigh. He doesn’t speak. Just steps inside, his boots silent on the stone, his golden eyes blazing, his chest bare beneath his open coat.
“You left,” he says.
“I came back.”
“You lied.”
“I know.”
He crosses the room in three strides, his hands coming up to frame my face, his thumbs brushing the curve of my jaw. “Why?”
I don’t answer.
Just press my palm to his chest, over the mark, feeling the pulse of his heart, the heat of his skin, the truth of us.
And then—
I tell him.
Everything.
About the dream.
About the crypt.
About the letter.
About the vision.
And when I’m done—
He doesn’t flinch.
Doesn’t pull away.
Just cups my face in his hands, his golden eyes blazing, his voice rough with something I’ve never heard before.
Grief.
“I didn’t know,” he says. “But I should have.”
“You were a child.”
“And now I’m a king.” He presses his forehead to mine. “And I’ll burn the world to make it right.”
Tears burn behind my eyes.
Not from pain.
From the way he says it—like it’s already written, like it’s inevitable, like it’s ours.
And maybe it is.
So I do the only thing I can.
I pull him down.
Hard.
“Kiss me,” I demand, arching into him, my legs wrapping around his waist. “Now.”
He doesn’t hesitate.
Just crashes his mouth into mine—hot, demanding, his tongue sliding against mine, his fangs grazing my lip. I gasp, but don’t pull away. Just bite his lip, hard enough to draw blood. He groans, deep in his chest, and the bond screams—heat slams into me, raw and primal, my magic surging, wild and uncontrolled. The runes on the walls flare, blue-white and searing. The chandelier trembles. The wine in the goblets spills.
He breaks the kiss, mouth trailing down my neck, teeth grazing my pulse point. “Say it,” he growls. “Say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” I whisper. “Always.”
He bites down—sharp, not breaking skin, but close—and I cry out, back arching, hips grinding against his. His cock thickens, pulses, pressing into me. My breath hitches. My core tightens. Wetness pools between my legs.
And I don’t care.
Because this isn’t the bond.
This isn’t magic.
This is us.
Desperate. Angry. Alive.
But then—
He pulls back.
Just enough to press his forehead to mine, his breath hot against my skin. “No more lies,” he murmurs. “No more secrets. No more running.”
“Then don’t make me choose,” I whisper.
“You already did.” He presses his lips to mine, soft, reverent. “The first time you called me yours.”
And just like that, the world stops.
Because if he means it—
Then maybe I’m not the only one who’s been drowning.
Maybe I’m not the only one who’s been broken.
And maybe—
Just maybe—
I don’t have to burn him down.
Maybe I can rebuild him instead.
But as I hold him, his breath on my skin, the bond humming beneath my skin—warm, alive, hopeful—
I know.
He’s not mine.
And I’m not his.
We’re ours.
And that—
That changes everything.