I came here to break the curse. And if that means killing you, so be it.
The thought is cold, clean, and final as I press my back against the obsidian pillar, hidden in the shadowed arc of the Blackfang Palace courtyard. Moonlight bleeds silver across the cobbled stones, illuminating the kneeling figure at the center—the traitor, head bowed, wrists bound in iron cuffs etched with runes. Around him, the High Council stands in silent judgment: werewolves clad in black leather and steel, their eyes glowing faintly in the dark, ears twitching at the wind’s whisper.
And then there’s him.
Kaelen.
The Wolf King.
He steps forward, bare-chested, his torso carved with scars—some old, some still pink with healing. Blood streaks his knuckles. His hair is dark, nearly black, falling just past his jaw, and his eyes—gods—they’re gold. Not the warm amber of sunlight, but the predatory gleam of a predator who has already decided your fate.
He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t need to. The air thickens with his presence, a low, primal hum vibrating in my bones. My magic, usually a quiet current beneath my skin, stirs like a caged animal. I clamp down on it, hard. Not yet. Not until I’m ready.
The ritual dagger appears in his hand—black stone, jagged edge, humming with ancient power. The Heartstone Altar, embedded in the courtyard’s center, pulses once. A low chime echoes through the night.
“You swore blood oath to the pack,” Kaelen says, voice low, rough. “You broke it. You sold our secrets to the Fae. For what? A few drops of glamour? A night of pleasure?”
The traitor lifts his head. “I did it to save my sister. The Fae had her. They would’ve turned her into a thrall.”
Kaelen’s lip curls. “Then you should’ve come to me. Instead, you chose betrayal. And now, you choose death.”
The blade flashes.
It’s over in a second. A clean cut across the throat. The man doesn’t even scream. Just collapses, blood pooling beneath him, steaming in the cold air. The Council murmurs, a ripple of approval. Kaelen wipes the blade on his thigh, then turns—slowly—toward the altar.
That’s when I move.
I slip from the pillar, gliding low along the edge of the courtyard, my boots silent on the stone. My target: the Heartstone Altar. A massive obsidian monolith, veined with crimson light, it hums with the cursed magic that bound my mother’s soul to this place centuries ago. The Crimson Thorn bloodline—mine—was tricked into a binding pact with the first Wolf King. A pact that turned us into living batteries, our magic siphoned to fuel the Heartstone, our souls trapped in eternal servitude.
My mother didn’t die. She was consumed.
And I’m here to burn it all down.
I reach the altar’s base. My fingers brush the cold stone. The veins pulse brighter. I pull a small vial from my sleeve—witchglass, filled with powdered moonstone and a drop of my blood. One touch, and the enchantment shielding the Heartstone will fracture. Another, and the entire structure will destabilize. Within hours, it’ll collapse. The curse will break. My mother’s soul will be free.
I unscrew the cap.
Then—eyes on me.
I freeze.
Across the courtyard, Kaelen is staring directly at me. Not scanning. Not searching.
Staring.
Our gazes lock.
And the world shatters.
A jolt slams into me—like lightning through the spine, fire in the blood. I gasp, staggering back, the vial slipping from my fingers. It hits the ground, shatters, the liquid sizzling against the stone. The Heartstone roars.
Black light erupts from the altar, spiraling upward in a column of swirling energy. The runes along its surface flare, burning crimson. The ground trembles. The Council shouts, scattering. Kaelen doesn’t move. He’s still staring at me, his golden eyes wide, his chest heaving.
And then I feel it.
An invisible chain, snapping taut between us.
It wraps around my chest, my throat, my wrists—pulling, claiming. My breath comes in short, panicked bursts. My magic surges, not from me, but through me, as if something else is pulling the strings. I look down.
My skin is glowing.
Thin, silver lines spiral up my arms, pulsing with light. They burn, but not with pain—with recognition. The curse. It’s not just reacting to me.
It’s answering him.
“No,” I whisper. “No, no, no—”
Kaelen moves.
He crosses the courtyard in three long strides, his bare feet silent on the stone. The Council doesn’t stop him. They’re frozen, staring at the altar, at us. I try to back away, but my body won’t obey. The bond—whatever it is—has me rooted in place.
He stops inches from me.
His scent hits me first—pine and smoke, iron and something wild, something primal. My breath hitches. My pulse roars in my ears. His eyes drop to my glowing arms, then back to my face.
“You’re a witch,” he says, voice low, rough.
I lift my chin. “And you’re a murderer.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw. “You were trying to sabotage the Heartstone.”
“I was trying to free my mother’s soul.”
“The Heartstone is sacred. It protects this pack. This kingdom.”
“It’s a prison,” I snap. “For my bloodline. For generations, we’ve been bound to it. Used. Consumed.”
His eyes narrow. “And you thought you could just walk in and destroy it?”
“I thought I could die trying.”
For a heartbeat, he says nothing. Then, slowly, he reaches out.
I flinch, but he doesn’t touch my face. His hand closes around my wrist—the one glowing brightest. The moment his skin meets mine, the bond screams.
Heat floods my body. My knees weaken. A moan claws its way up my throat, and I bite it back. His thumb brushes the pulse point on my wrist, and the silver lines flare, spreading up my arm, across my collarbone. I feel it—his heartbeat, his breath, his hunger—as if it’s my own.
“You feel it,” he murmurs. “The bond.”
“It’s a curse,” I spit. “Not a bond.”
“No.” His voice drops, rough, possessive. “It’s fate.”
He pulls me closer. My body responds before my mind can protest, arching toward him, drawn by something deeper than will. His other hand finds my waist, dragging me against him. Heat radiates off him, searing through the thin fabric of my tunic. His breath is hot on my neck.
“You’re mine,” he growls.
I shove at his chest. “I’d rather die.”
He doesn’t release me. If anything, his grip tightens. “Then you’ll die bound to me.”
Behind us, the Heartstone pulses once, then falls dark. The silver lines on my skin dim, but don’t vanish. The bond is still there. Alive.
Kaelen’s eyes burn into mine. “You’ve been marked. By the altar. By the curse. By me.”
“I’m not your mate,” I whisper.
“You are.”
“I came here to break the curse,” I say, voice trembling with fury. “And if that means killing you, so be it.”
He smiles. Cold. Dangerous.
“Then you’ll have to get through me first.”