I came here to kill the Wolf King.
And now I’m staring at a vial of blood, trembling with the weight of a truth I don’t know if I can survive.
The liquid inside is dark—almost black—swirling like ink in water, pulsing faintly with magic. Vampire blood. Ancient. Forbidden. Thorne said it would show me the night my mother died. That it would peel back the lies, reveal the betrayal, expose the real enemy.
But at what cost?
My fingers hover over the glass. Cold. Smooth. alive. One sip. That’s all it would take. One taste, and I’d see it—the temple burning, the High Court whispering, Kael standing over her with his sword raised. Was he the executioner? Or the shield?
“Drink,” Thorne says, his voice a whisper in the dark. “And you’ll see what he did. What he *really* did.”
I lift my eyes to him. He stands beside the window, moonlight cutting across his pale face, his black eyes gleaming like obsidian. He’s not smiling. Not taunting. For once, he looks… serious. Dangerous. Not like a predator playing with prey, but like a man who’s waited centuries for this moment.
“Why?” I ask, my voice barely audible. “Why give this to me now?”
“Because I want you,” he says simply. “Not just your blood. Not just your power. But your *trust*. Your loyalty. I’ve watched you. Watched you fight him. Watched you hate him. Watched you *break* for him.” His gaze sharpens. “You’re not meant to be chained to a wolf. You’re meant to rule. And I can help you.”
“By showing me the truth?”
“By giving you the weapon to destroy him,” he says. “If he’s guilty, kill him. If he’s innocent—” He smiles, slow, dark. “—then you’ll know who really deserves your vengeance.”
My breath hitches.
That’s the worst part.
Not the blood.
Not the magic.
But the *doubt*.
Because ever since the forest, ever since he took that blade for me, ever since I kissed him and felt something that wasn’t hate—I’ve wondered.
What if he didn’t kill her?
What if he was trying to save her?
What if the man I came to destroy is the only one who ever tried to protect me?
I press two fingers to the mark on my shoulder. It pulses—warm, alive, hungry. The bond hums between us, faint but steady. Kael is out there, miles away, on patrol. But I can still feel him. Still sense him. Still *need* him.
And that terrifies me.
Because if Thorne is lying, I’ll drink this, see a false vision, and risk everything—my mission, my sanity, my soul—for nothing.
But if he’s telling the truth—
If Kael didn’t kill her—
If the Fae High Court did—
Then I’ve spent ten years hating the wrong man.
And I’ve spent the last week destroying the only one who ever tried to save me.
“You don’t have to believe me,” Thorne says, stepping closer. “But you know what the bond does. It twists. It lies. It makes you feel things that aren’t real. But this—” He holds up the vial. “—this is truth. Raw. Unfiltered. No magic. No illusion. Just memory.”
I look at the blood.
At the glass.
At the man who claims to hold the key to my past.
And I make my choice.
I take the vial.
My hands don’t shake. Not anymore. The fear is still there—cold, sharp, real—but it’s buried now, beneath something darker. Something fiercer.
Need.
I pull the stopper. The scent hits me—iron, age, something ancient and cold. I lift it to my lips.
And I drink.
The blood is thick. Metallic. It coats my tongue, slides down my throat like liquid fire. For a heartbeat, nothing happens.
Then—
The room vanishes.
—
I’m ten years old.
I’m hiding in the shadows of the temple, pressed against the cold stone, my breath shallow, my heart pounding. The air is thick with smoke and ash. The walls are burning. The sacred trees are collapsing, their roots screaming as they die.
Outside, voices rise—shouts, snarls, the clash of steel. I crawl forward, peering through a crack in the door.
And I see her.
My mother.
She’s on her knees, her silver circlet gone, her hands bound behind her back. Her white robes are torn, her face streaked with blood. But she’s not afraid. Her head is high. Her eyes are fierce. She looks… regal. Even in death.
And standing over her—
Kael.
The Wolf King. His sword drawn. His gold eyes cold. The pack surrounds them, snarling, fangs bared. The High Elder steps forward, his staff raised.
“She has committed treason,” he declares. “She conspired with the Northern Witches to overthrow the Supernatural Council. She will be executed at dawn.”
My mother laughs—soft, bitter. “Lies,” she says. “All of it. You fear me because I speak the truth. Because I refuse to let you sell our people to the vampires. Because I won’t let you enslave the hybrids.”
“Silence!” the Elder roars.
But she doesn’t. “You call me a traitor,” she says, lifting her chin. “But you are the ones who betrayed the Fae. You sold our magic. You sold our children. And now, you burn our temple to hide your shame.”
The Elder’s face darkens. “Kill her.”
Kael doesn’t move.
He looks at her. Studies her. And then—
He steps forward.
But not to strike.
He kneels.
“You don’t have to do this,” he says, voice low. “I can get you out. I can hide you. I can—”
“No,” she says. “They’ll kill the others. They’ll burn the children. I won’t let them destroy what’s left.”
“Then let me die with you.”
She smiles—sad, proud. “You have a kingdom to protect. A treaty to uphold. Let me be the sacrifice. Let me be the lie that keeps the peace.”
He looks at her for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nods.
He stands.
Raises his sword.
And brings it down.
But not on her.
He slashes the ropes binding her hands.
Then he turns to the Elder. “She’s mine now,” he says. “A prisoner of the Iron Court. Not yours to execute.”
The Elder’s eyes narrow. “You defy the Council?”
“I uphold the peace,” Kael says. “And I won’t let you murder a queen in cold blood.”
“Then she dies by your hand,” the Elder says. “Or you die with her.”
Kael looks at my mother. She nods.
And then—
He raises his sword again.
This time, he strikes.
But not to kill.
He cuts her throat—just enough to draw blood, not enough to kill. Then he drops to one knee, presses his palm to the wound, and whispers an ancient spell.
Her body goes still.
Her eyes close.
And then—
She falls.
Dead.
But not by his blade.
By her own hand.
Because as he cut her, she whispered a counter-spell—one that stopped her heart, that made it look like he killed her, that protected the others.
Kael knew.
And he let her do it.
He lets the Elder believe he’s the executioner. Lets the pack believe the Fae are traitors. Lets the world believe he burned the temple.
Because it’s the only way to keep the peace.
Because it’s the only way to protect me.
Because if they knew she died by her own magic, they’d come for her bloodline. They’d come for me.
And he couldn’t let that happen.
He picks up her body. Carries her to the pyre. Lights the flames.
And as the fire rises, he looks into the shadows.
And he sees me.
His eyes lock onto mine.
And in that moment—
He *knows*.
He knows I saw.
He knows I’ll come for him.
And he doesn’t stop me.
—
I gasp, stumbling back, the vial slipping from my fingers, shattering on the stone. Blood pools in the cracks, dark and glistening. My breath comes in short, ragged sobs. My vision blurs. My knees give out.
I collapse.
“You see now,” Thorne says, stepping forward. “He didn’t kill her. She chose to die. And he let her. To protect you. To protect the peace.”
I don’t answer.
I can’t.
Because the truth is worse than I ever imagined.
Not because he killed her.
But because he *let* her.
Because he let me believe he was the monster.
Because he let me hate him.
For *ten years*.
And all this time—
He was trying to save me.
Tears spill down my face. Hot. Silent. endless. I press my palms to my eyes, but I can’t stop them. I can’t stop seeing it—her body falling, the fire rising, Kael’s eyes locking onto mine, the quiet, unbearable grief in his face.
He didn’t do it for power.
He didn’t do it for control.
He did it for *me*.
And I’ve spent every day since trying to destroy him.
“You could have told me,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “You could have—”
“Would you have believed me?”
The voice isn’t Thorne’s.
It’s *his*.
I lift my head.
Kael stands in the doorway, his boots silent on the stone, his gold eyes burning, his presence a storm. Rain soaks his coat. His scent—pine, fire, raw male—fills the room. He doesn’t look at Thorne. Doesn’t move. Just stares at me—on the floor, broken, weeping, the shattered vial at my feet.
And I know.
He heard.
He knows I know.
“You could have told me,” I say again, my voice raw. “You could have explained. You could have—”
“And you would have believed me?” he asks, stepping inside. “You would have stopped trying to kill me? You would have trusted me?”
I don’t answer.
Because the truth is—
I wouldn’t have.
Not then.
Not ten years ago.
I was a child. Angry. Grieving. Blind with hate.
And he knew it.
“I told you,” he says, his voice low, rough. “The night of the ritual. I said, *You’ve been mine since the night I killed your mother.*”
I stare at him.
And suddenly, I understand.
It wasn’t a taunt.
It wasn’t a threat.
It was a *confession*.
“You were protecting me,” I whisper.
He nods. “From the High Court. From the Council. From the pack. If they knew you were her daughter, they’d have come for you. They’d have killed you. So I let them believe I was the monster. So I could keep you safe.”
“And the temple?”
“Burned to hide the truth. To make it look like a werewolf purge. To stop the war.”
“And my mother—”
“Chose to die,” he says. “To protect her people. To protect *you*. And I let her. Because it was the only way.”
Tears spill faster. I can’t stop them. I press my palms to my face, but they leak through my fingers.
“I’ve spent ten years hating you,” I sob. “I came here to destroy you. To avenge her. And all this time—” My breath hitches. “—you were trying to save me.”
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just watches me—gold eyes burning, jaw tight, fangs just visible in the torchlight.
And then—
He crosses the room.
He doesn’t reach for me. Doesn’t touch me. Just drops to one knee in front of me, his hands resting on his thighs, his head bowed.
“I’m sorry,” he says, voice raw. “For not telling you. For letting you believe the worst. For making you hate me.”
I lift my head. “You don’t get to be sorry,” I whisper. “You don’t get to—”
“I do,” he says, lifting his eyes to mine. “Because I love you.”
The words hit me like a blade.
Not magic.
Not the bond.
But *truth*.
And I don’t know how to breathe.
“I’ve loved you since the moment I saw you,” he says. “Since the night I killed your mother. Since the night you looked at me from the shadows and I knew—this girl, this fierce, broken, *beautiful* girl—she’s going to destroy me. And I’ll let her.”
My breath hitches.
“I didn’t want to,” he says. “I fought it. I buried it. I told myself I was protecting the peace. But the truth is—” He reaches out, his thumb brushing the tear on my cheek. “—I was protecting *you*. Because I couldn’t lose you. Not then. Not now. Not ever.”
I don’t move.
Don’t speak.
Just stare at him—on his knees, rain-soaked, raw, *honest*.
And then—
I collapse into his chest.
My arms wrap around him, my fingers fist in his coat, my face burying in his neck. I sob—hard, broken, endless. All the pain, all the hate, all the years of grief and vengeance—
They pour out.
And he holds me.
His arms lock around me, his body shielding me, his heartbeat steady against my ear. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t try to fix it. Just holds me as I fall apart.
“I came here to kill you,” I whisper, my voice muffled against his skin.
“And yet,” he says, stroking my hair, “you saved me.”
“I don’t know why,” I sob.
“Yes, you do,” he says. “Because you’re mine. And I’m yours. And no one—no one—takes what’s ours.”
I lift my head slowly, my eyes searching his. My lips part. And then—
“And you’re not just a monster,” I whisper. “You’re… mine.”
And I kiss him.
Not violent.
Not desperate.
Real.
My lips press against his—soft, slow, claiming. His hands rise to my face, cradling me, his thumbs brushing my tears. The bond flares—golden light erupting between us, the runes on our chests glowing, the air crackling with magic.
When I pull back, my breath is ragged, my eyes wild, my lips swollen. “I came here to kill you,” I say, voice trembling.
“And yet,” he says, brushing a strand of wet hair from my face, “you saved me.”
“I don’t know why,” I whisper.
“Yes, you do,” he says, pulling me closer. “Because you’re mine. And I’m yours. And no one—no one—takes what’s ours.”
I don’t answer.
Just lean into him, my body trembling, my breath warm against his neck.
And I let myself believe—
Maybe I don’t have to win this war.
Maybe I don’t have to destroy him.
Maybe—
Maybe I can just *belong*.
Thorne is gone by morning.
Vanished. No trace. No note. Just the shattered vial, the dried blood on the stone, the memory of his words.
But I don’t care.
Because the truth isn’t in a vial.
It’s in Kael’s arms.
It’s in the way he looks at me—like I’m the only air in the room.
It’s in the way he took a blade for me.
It’s in the way he let me hate him… to keep me alive.
I came here to kill the Wolf King.
And now—
I think I love him.
And worse—
I don’t want to be anyone else.