The summons from Riven came at dawn.
Not through the usual channels. Not a soldier’s knock or a formal message delivered by an Omega. No—Riven came himself, boots silent on stone, his dark eyes sharp with urgency, his scent laced with something I hadn’t smelled on him in years.
Fear.
He didn’t speak when he reached my chamber. Just held out a scrap of silver silk—torn, singed, still warm. I took it, fingers curling around the fabric, and the moment my skin touched it, the bond twisted.
Not with pain. Not with war.
With memory.
“She’s back,” I said, voice low.
Riven nodded. “Selene. In the lower catacombs. She’s… waiting.”
My wolf snarled in my chest. I didn’t fight it. Let it rise—let the fangs elongate, let the golden eyes flare, let the heat of my rage bleed into the air. Selene had been banished. Exiled. Her name stricken from the records. And yet, here she was, slipping through the shadows like a disease no amount of fire could burn out.
“Why?” I asked. “What does she want?”
“She says she has proof,” Riven said. “Proof that you marked her. That you claimed her as your mate. That the bond between you and Amber is a lie.”
I didn’t laugh. Didn’t scoff. Just stared at the scrap of silk in my hand, the scent of blood and roses clinging to it like a curse.
Because I knew what proof she had.
And I knew how dangerous it was.
—
The catacombs were cold—stone slick with damp, torches flickering low, the air thick with the scent of old blood and forgotten magic. The tunnels twisted like a serpent’s coil, their walls lined with the bones of fallen warriors, their floors littered with the remnants of rituals long since abandoned. This was a place of endings. Of secrets. Of things better left buried.
And yet, here she stood.
Selene.
Not in the silver silk she’d worn at the Moon Festival. Not in the elegant gowns meant to mimic royalty. No—she wore a simple black dress, torn at the hem, her crimson lips pale, her silver hair loose and tangled. She looked… diminished. Not weak. Never weak. But wounded.
And her eyes—cold, ancient, hungry—were fixed on me.
“Kaelen,” she purred, voice like silk over steel. “You came.”
I didn’t answer. Just stepped forward, boots echoing on stone, my presence filling the narrow passage. Riven stayed behind, a shadow at the entrance, his hand on the hilt of his blade. He didn’t trust her. Neither did I.
“You were banished,” I said. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
“And yet,” she said, gliding closer, “here I am. Just like Amber. The witch who came to destroy you. Who broke the curse. Who took your blood into her veins.”
“Don’t speak her name,” I growled.
She smiled. “Or what? You’ll kill me? You had your chance. You let me live. You let me go. And now, I’ve come back with the truth.”
“Your truth is a lie.”
“Is it?” She lifted her hand. Slow. Deliberate. And then, with a single, fluid motion, she tore open the neckline of her dress.
And there it was.
A scar.
Not just any scar.
A bite mark.
High on her throat, just above the pulse, the skin puckered and silvered with age. A perfect crescent—my fangs, my claim, my mark.
My blood ran cold.
Not because I didn’t remember.
But because I did.
—
It was decades ago.
The Heartstone was failing. The pack was starving. The Council was on the verge of dissolving my rule, calling for a new Alpha to rise. I was desperate. Weak. And Selene—beautiful, cunning, powerful—offered me a way out.
Blood.
Power.
An alliance.
And in exchange, she asked for one night. One mark. A symbol to show the other Houses that I was not alone. That I had strength at my back.
I agreed.
Not because I loved her.
Not because I wanted her.
But because I needed her.
And when I bit her—when my fangs sank into that spot just above her pulse—I told myself it meant nothing. That it was a transaction. A lie. A performance.
But the mark remained.
And she made sure the world saw it.
—
Now, she stood before me, the scar exposed, her eyes blazing with triumph.
“You see?” she whispered. “You marked me. You claimed me. And if you marked me, then you can’t be truly bound to her. The bond between you and Amber—” her voice dropped “—is a fraud.”
My wolf snarled. My fangs elongated. The air around me shimmered with heat, with power, with the raw, unfiltered rage of an Alpha defending his mate.
“You know what this is,” I said, voice rough. “You know it wasn’t a mating mark. You know it was a lie.”
“And who will believe you?” she asked. “The Council? The pack? Amber herself? Or will they see this—” she touched the scar, her fingers trembling “—and wonder if you’ve been lying all along?”
I didn’t answer.
Because she was right.
The mark was real. The bite was real. And in the eyes of the pack, in the eyes of the Supernatural Council, a bite was a claim. A vow. A truth.
And if they believed she was my mate—
Then Amber was nothing.
—
I didn’t hesitate.
Not this time.
One hand gripped her wrist, not to hurt, but to hold. The other lifted, fingers brushing the scar on her throat. My touch was gentle. Deliberate. And then—
I bared my own neck.
Slow. Exposed. Vulnerable.
And there, just above my pulse, was the matching scar.
Not a bite.
A scar.
Old. Silvered. Faint, but unmistakable.
“You see this?” I asked, voice low.
She didn’t answer. Just stared at the mark, her breath catching.
“This is where you bit me,” I said. “The same night I bit you. Not as a mate. Not as a lover. But as a blood exchange. A political transaction. A lie.”
Her eyes flicked to mine. “And if I say it was more?”
“Then you’re a liar,” I said. “Because you wanted more. You wanted a claim. You wanted to believe you had power over me. But I gave you nothing. No bond. No vow. No future. Just blood. Just power. Just a lie.”
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. Just stared at me—her cold, ancient eyes searching, assessing.
And then—
She laughed.
Low. Cruel. Like the sound of breaking glass.
“You think this changes anything?” she asked. “You think showing me your scar proves your loyalty to her? That it erases what we were?”
“We were nothing,” I said. “And if you don’t leave now—” my voice dropped “—I’ll make sure you never speak her name again.”
She didn’t move. Just smiled. “You’ll regret this, Kaelen. You’ll regret choosing her over me. Because when Vexis comes—and he will come—he won’t just want the bond. He’ll want her dead.”
“Then he’ll have to go through me,” I said.
“And if you fall?” she whispered. “If you bleed? If you die? What then? Who will protect her? Who will stand beside her? Who will love her?”
My jaw tightened. “I’ll burn the world before I let him touch her.”
She didn’t argue. Didn’t beg. Just turned, her black dress swirling around her like a shadow, and vanished into the catacombs.
And I—
I stood there.
Alone.
The bond hummed beneath my ribs—not with war, not with fear, but with something softer. Warmer. Need.
Amber.
She’d feel this. The confrontation. The memory. The fear.
And she’d wonder.
Just like Selene wanted.
—
I found her in the war room.
Not pacing. Not brooding. Just standing at the obsidian table, maps spread before her, her green eyes sharp, her magic coiled low. She didn’t look up as I entered. Didn’t speak. Just kept her gaze on the parchment, her fingers tracing the edge of a blood oath sigil.
“You felt it,” I said.
She didn’t answer.
But her breath hitched. Just slightly. Just enough.
“I felt the bond twist,” she said. “I felt your anger. Your fear. And I felt… her.”
“Selene,” I said. “She’s back.”
Amber turned then, slow, deliberate, her green eyes locking onto mine. “And?”
“She showed me the scar,” I said. “The bite mark. On her throat.”
“And you?”
I didn’t hesitate. Just pulled down the collar of my tunic, baring the matching scar on my neck. “I showed her mine.”
She didn’t flinch. Didn’t look away. Just stepped forward, one hand lifting to touch the scar, her fingers trembling. “And this?” she asked. “What is this?”
“A blood exchange,” I said. “Not a mating. Not a bond. Just power. Just politics. Just a lie.”
“And the bite?”
“A show,” I said. “For the Council. For the other Houses. To make them think I had an alliance. That I wasn’t weak.”
She didn’t speak. Just stared at the scar, her fingers still pressed to my skin, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The bond hummed between us—not with pain, not with war, but with something softer. Warmer. Like a hand reaching through the dark.
“And if I hadn’t believed you?” she asked. “If I had thought you were lying? If I had thought you loved her?”
My chest tightened. “Then I’d have made you believe me.”
“How?”
“By showing you the truth,” I said. “Not just with words. With action.”
“And what action?”
I didn’t answer.
Just reached for her.
One hand cupped her face, my thumb brushing her lower lip. The other slid around her waist, pulling her close, until there was no space between us. Her breath hitched. Her magic flared. The bond surged—hot, bright, undeniable.
“This,” I said, voice rough. “This is real. Not the past. Not the lies. Not the scars. This.”
She didn’t pull away. Didn’t fight. Just leaned into me, her forehead pressing to mine, her breath hot on my skin.
And the bond—
It sang.
Not with war.
With truth.
—
But then—
A flicker in the air.
A shift in the scent.
And I knew—
She wasn’t alone.
“Amber,” I said, voice low. “We’re not—”
But she was already moving.
One hand flew to her belt, pulling a dagger from its sheath, her body spinning toward the shadowed archway. And there—
Dain.
Councilor Dain.
Standing in the doorway, his golden eyes sharp, his scent laced with something darker. Victory.
“I see the truth now,” he said, voice cold. “The witch who came to destroy you. Who broke the curse. Who took your blood into her veins.”
Amber didn’t flinch. Didn’t lower the dagger. “And what truth is that?”
“That you’re not his mate,” Dain said. “That the bond is a lie. That he marked another before you. That he loved another before you.”
“He didn’t love her,” I said, stepping forward, my fangs bared, my voice a growl. “And if you repeat that lie—”
“Then what?” Dain interrupted. “You’ll banish me too? Like Selene? Like the others who dared to question your rule?”
“No,” I said. “I’ll make you see the truth.”
And I did.
One hand gripped Amber’s wrist—not to stop her, but to hold her. The other lifted, baring the scar on my neck. “This is not a mating mark. This is not a bond. This is a scar from a blood exchange—a political transaction, not a vow. And if you think that makes her less—” my eyes flashed gold “—then you’re not worthy of this pack.”
Dain didn’t argue. Didn’t fight. Just turned, his golden eyes cold, his scent laced with something darker.
Defeat.
But not surrender.
Because I knew—
This wasn’t over.
—
Amber didn’t speak as we left the war room.
Didn’t look at me. Didn’t pull away. Just walked beside me, her hand still in mine, her magic humming beneath her skin, not wild, not uncontrolled, but aligned. With the bond. With her purpose. With me.
And when we reached the guest chamber, she turned to me—slow, deliberate—and pressed her forehead to mine.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she whispered.
“Do what?”
“Defend me,” she said. “You didn’t have to show him the scar. You didn’t have to—”
“I didn’t defend you,” I said. “I stated the truth. You’re not a prisoner. You’re not a weapon. You’re my mate. And I won’t let anyone make you feel like less.”
She didn’t smile. Didn’t laugh. Just leaned into me, her breath hot on my skin, her body fitting against mine like it was made to be there.
And the bond—
It sang.
Not with war.
With truth.
—
But in the shadows, far beyond the Vale, a figure stands atop a crumbling tower, the wind howling around him.
Lord Vexis.
His pale fingers trace the edge of a black dagger, its runes glowing faintly. His eyes—like ice—scan the horizon.
“You faced Selene,” he whispers. “You burned her lies.”
He smiles.
“But you haven’t faced the past yet.”