I came here to kill the Wolf King.
And now I’m crouched on a jagged outcrop of black stone, the storm still dripping from the cliffs above, my bare feet cold against the rock, my back pressed to Kael’s chest, his heartbeat steady against my spine. The scent of rain, pine, and sex lingers in the air—our magic still humming between us, golden threads woven through blood and breath. Below, the valley stretches like a scar across the Highlands, mist curling through the ravines, torchlight flickering in the distance.
They’re coming.
Not the Council.
Not the Elders.
Hunters.
And not just werewolves.
From the scent on the wind—cold roses, iron, and something older—vampires. Fae. Witches. All converging. All armed. All hungry.
And they’re not here to arrest me.
They’re here to kill me.
Kael’s arm tightens around my waist, his breath warm against my neck. “You feel it,” he murmurs.
“I do,” I say, my voice low. “They’re not following the law. They’re hunting. Like we’re prey.”
“We’re not prey,” he growls. “We’re the storm.”
I press two fingers to the mating mark on my shoulder. It pulses—warm, alive, claimed. The bond hums beneath my skin, a live wire stretched taut, feeding me his strength, his rage, his love. I don’t need to look at him to know what he’s thinking. I can feel it—his fangs pressing into his lip, his claws retracted but ready, his body coiled like a predator about to strike.
“They’ll come from the east,” I say, closing my eyes, focusing on the wind. “Three squads. One vampire, one fae, one rogue pack. They’re moving fast. They’ll reach the ravine by dawn.”
“Then we won’t be here,” he says.
“No,” I say, turning in his arms. “We’ll be waiting.”
He stills.
His gold eyes lock onto mine—burning, possessive, knowing. “You want to fight.”
“I need to fight,” I say. “Not for revenge. Not for power. But because if we run, they’ll keep coming. They’ll keep hunting. They’ll keep trying to break us. And I’m done letting them.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just pulls me closer, his mouth crashing into mine—hard, desperate, real. His fangs scrape my lips, his tongue claiming me like he owns me. And I—
I kiss him back.
My hands fist in his coat, pulling him closer, my body arching into his, my core aching, needing. The bond flares—golden light erupting between us, the runes on our chests glowing, the air crackling with magic. Rain drips from the overhang, but it doesn’t touch us. The storm hums around us, the wind parting, the lightning circling.
When he pulls back, his breath is ragged, his eyes wild, his lips swollen. “You’re not just my mate,” he says, voice rough. “You’re my weapon.”
“And you’re mine,” I say, pressing my palm to the mating mark on his chest. “And if they think they can take me from you—” I lift my chin, gold eyes burning. “—they’ll learn what happens when you provoke a queen.”
He smiles—slow, dark, utterly triumphant. Then he stands, pulling me up with him. “Then let’s give them a lesson.”
We move fast.
Not through the ravine.
Not along the path.
Through the cliffs.
Kael leads, his body in half-shift—claws retracted, fangs just visible, gold eyes glowing in the dark. He scales the rock like it’s nothing, his hands finding purchase in the smallest cracks, his boots silent on the stone. I follow, my magic humming beneath my skin, my fae blood singing in my veins. I don’t need claws. I don’t need strength. I have something better.
Instinct.
The wind whispers to me. The stone speaks. The magic in the air—old, cold, hungry—tells me where to step, where to hide, where to strike.
We reach the high ridge by midnight.
A narrow spine of black rock, wind howling through the gaps, mist curling around our boots. Below, the ravine cuts deep, a jagged wound in the earth. And beyond—
The hunters.
Three squads, just as I said.
The vampire unit moves first—pale, swift, silent. They wear black cloaks, their faces hidden, their fangs just visible in the torchlight. They’re armed with silver daggers, fae-knives, and vials of cursed blood. They move like shadows, their steps soundless, their eyes scanning the cliffs.
Behind them—the fae.
Tall, pale, their silver robes edged with black runes. They carry staves of moonwood, their fingers crackling with glamour. They don’t walk. They glide, their feet barely touching the ground. Their magic hums in the air—cold, sharp, deceptive.
And then—the rogue pack.
Not werewolves of the Iron Court.
Outcasts. Traitors. Mercenaries.
Their coats are ragged, their fangs bared, their eyes wild with bloodlust. They carry axes, chains, and blades dipped in poison. They don’t move in silence. They growl, their voices echoing through the ravine, their breath steaming in the cold.
They’re not here to capture.
They’re here to maim.
Kael crouches beside me, his presence a storm. “They’re not working together,” he murmurs. “They’re competing.”
“For the bounty,” I say. “Whoever brings my head to the Council gets power. Gets favor. Gets immortality.”
“Then they’ll die first,” he says. “The vampires. They’re the fastest. The most dangerous.”
“No,” I say. “The rogues.”
He turns to me. “Why?”
“Because they’re loud,” I say. “Because they’re arrogant. Because they think we’re running. And when they realize we’re not—” I press my palm to the mating mark on my shoulder. “—they’ll panic. They’ll scatter. And that’s when we pick them off.”
He studies me. Then nods. “You’re not just a queen,” he says. “You’re a general.”
“And you’re my king,” I say. “Now let’s show them what happens when you hunt the wrong prey.”
We split.
Not far.
Not reckless.
Just enough.
Kael takes the eastern ledge, his body a shadow against the rock. I stay on the high ridge, my back pressed to the stone, my fingers tracing the runes on the dagger Riven gave me—ancient, etched with werewolf script, the edge sharpened with moonlight and blood. It’s not the blade I meant to kill him with.
It’s the one I’ll use to protect him.
The rogues enter the ravine first.
Laughing. Shouting. Their torches flicker with unnatural blue at the edges. They don’t look up. Don’t scan the cliffs. Just march forward, their axes swinging, their voices echoing.
“She’s running,” one growls. “The little witch. She thinks she can hide from us.”
“She’s not a witch,” another says. “She’s fae. Half-blood. Tainted.”
“Doesn’t matter,” the leader says. “Her head’s worth a kingdom. And her body—” He licks his fangs. “—is worth even more.”
My blood turns to ice.
Not from fear.
From fury.
I press two fingers to the mating mark on my shoulder. It pulses—warm, alive, claimed. The bond hums between us, feeding me his strength, his rage, his love. I don’t need to see him to know he’s heard.
And he’s angry.
I wait.
Just a few more steps.
Just a little closer.
And then—
I strike.
Not with the dagger.
Not with magic.
With sound.
I scream.
Not human.
Not fae.
Witch.
The sound rips through the ravine—high, sharp, laced with blood magic. It echoes off the cliffs, bounces through the mist, splits the air like a blade. The rogues freeze. Their torches flicker. Their eyes widen.
And then—
Kael moves.
He drops from the ledge like a shadow, his body in full shift—claws, fangs, gold eyes blazing. He lands in the center of the squad, his roar splitting the night. One rogue turns—too slow. Kael rips his throat out with his fangs. Another swings his axe—too late. Kael breaks his arm, then his neck.
Chaos.
They scatter. They scream. They try to run.
But I’m already moving.
I leap from the ridge, my body twisting through the air, my magic flaring. I land behind the last rogue, my dagger slicing through his spine. He collapses, gurgling, his blood soaking the stone.
Silence.
Just the drip of blood. The flicker of torchlight. The howl of the wind.
Kael stands in the center, his chest heaving, his coat soaked in blood. He doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t speak. Just lifts his head and howls.
A warning.
A challenge.
A promise.
The vampires hear it.
They stop.
Their torches flicker. Their cloaks still. Their fangs bared.
And then—
They retreat.
Not running.
Not fleeing.
But withdrawing.
They know.
They know we’re not prey.
We’re the hunters.
The fae don’t move.
They stand at the edge of the ravine, their staves raised, their eyes cold. They don’t speak. Don’t growl. Just watch.
And then—
One steps forward.
Tall. Pale. Silver hair braided with black thread. Her staff pulses with magic, runes flaring along the wood.
“Morgana,” she says, voice echoing in the stone. “Daughter of the traitor. You cannot hide from justice.”
“I’m not hiding,” I say, stepping forward, my dagger in hand, my back straight. “I’m fighting.”
“You defied the Council,” she says. “You broke the law. You took the king with you.”
“I didn’t take him,” I say. “He chose me. And if you think I’ll let you take him from me—” I press my palm to the mating mark on my shoulder. “—you’re wrong.”
She doesn’t flinch.
Just raises her staff. “Then you leave us no choice.”
“You never had a choice,” I say. “Not when it comes to him.”
She doesn’t answer.
Just speaks a word—soft, ancient, laced with power.
“Vel’thar.”
The rune flares—golden, then black, then gone. The air crackles. The stone trembles. And then—
A wall of magic surges toward me.
I don’t move.
Just raise my dagger.
And cut.
Not through the magic.
Through the truth.
The blade slices through the spell, splitting it like paper. The magic screams—high, sharp, laced with betrayal. The fae woman stumbles back, her staff cracking, her eyes wide.
“You can’t do that,” she whispers.
“I just did,” I say, stepping forward. “And if you think your glamour can hide from me—” I press two fingers to the mating mark on my shoulder. “—you’ve already lost.”
She doesn’t answer.
Just turns and vanishes—cloak dissolving into mist, footsteps fading into silence.
The others follow.
And then—
Silence.
Just the wind. The stone. The bond.
Kael steps beside me, his presence a storm. “You didn’t need me,” he says.
“I didn’t,” I say. “But I wanted you here.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just pulls me into his chest, his arms locking around me, his heartbeat steady against my ear. “You’re not just my mate,” he murmurs. “You’re my equal.”
“And you’re mine,” I say. “And if they come again—” I lift my head, gold eyes burning. “—we’ll burn them together.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just kisses me.
Not gentle.
Not sweet.
Violent.His mouth crashes into mine, his fangs scraping my lips, his tongue claiming me like he owns me. And I—
I kiss him back.
My hands fist in his coat, pulling him closer, my body arching into his, my core aching, needing. The bond flares—golden light erupting between us, the runes on our chests glowing, the air crackling with magic. The wind howls. The stone trembles. The ravine hums with power.
And then—
I hear it.
Not hoofbeats.
Not footsteps.
A whisper.
From the mist.
From the stone.
From the magic.
“She’s coming.”
I break the kiss slowly, my breath ragged, my eyes sharp. “Someone’s coming,” I say. “Not hunters. Not rogues. Someone… older.”
Kael tenses. “Who?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “But they’re not afraid. And they’re not alone.”
He doesn’t speak.
Just steps in front of me, his body a wall of heat, his fangs bared, his claws extended.
And then—
From the mist, a figure emerges.
Tall. Pale. Dressed in black silk, her hair like spun silver, her eyes burning with ancient fire.
Elder Solen.
One of the three Fae High Elders.
The woman who declared my mother a traitor.
The one who helped burn our temple to ash.
And now she’s here.
At my door.
Again.
“Morgana,” she says, voice echoing in the stone. “Daughter of the High Priestess. You stand before the Fae High Court.”
“I don’t,” I say, stepping forward, my dagger in hand, my back straight. “I stand before the woman who murdered my mother. Who framed her. Who burned our temple to hide their lies.”
“Silence,” she snaps. “You speak to your betters.”
“I speak to my enemies,” I say. “And I don’t kneel to murderers.”
She doesn’t flinch.
Just raises her hand.
And behind her—
Dozens of fae emerge from the mist.
Armed. Armored. ready.
“You have one choice,” she says. “Return to us. Renounce the wolf. Break the bond. And we will spare you.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then you are declared traitor,” she says. “And you will be branded. Hunted. Killed.”
“And Kael?”
“He will die,” she says. “And the Iron Court will burn.”
I don’t flinch.
Just press my palm to the mating mark on my shoulder. It pulses—warm, alive, claimed.
“You don’t get to choose for me,” I say. “Not anymore. I’m not your weapon. I’m not your pawn. I’m not your daughter. I’m a queen. And I rule beside the man I love.”
“You love a monster,” she hisses.
“And you serve cowards,” I say. “Who let my mother die to protect their secrets. Who let Kael take the blame so they wouldn’t have to.”
“Silence!” she roars. “You will obey. Or you will die.”
“Then kill me,” I say, stepping forward. “But know this—” I raise my hand, the mating mark glowing. “—if you harm me, the bond will destroy you. If you harm him, I will burn your court to ash. And if you try to take what’s mine—” I lift my chin, gold eyes burning. “—I will make you regret the day you ever touched my mother’s blood.”
The runes on the ground ignite—golden light erupting across the ravine, the air crackling with magic. The torches blaze. The fae stumble back.
“The bond is confirmed!” one of them shouts. “The mate-mark is sealed!”
“And so is my choice,” I say. “I am not yours. I am his. And I will never bow to you again.”
She doesn’t answer.
Just turns and vanishes—cloak dissolving into mist, footsteps fading into silence.
And then—
Silence.
Just the wind. The stone. The bond.
Kael turns to me, his gold eyes burning. “They’ll come back,” he says.
“Let them,” I say. “Because if they do—” I press my palm to the mating mark on his chest. “—we’ll burn them together.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just pulls me into his chest, his arms locking around me, his heartbeat steady against my ear.
And I know—
Maybe I don’t have to win this war.
Maybe I don’t have to destroy them.
Maybe—
Maybe I can just belong.
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.
Because I don’t want to be free.
Because I don’t want to be anything but his.