I came here to kill the Wolf King.
And now I’m standing on the balcony of the Crimson Spire, the wind howling through the gothic spires, the sky bleeding crimson with the false dawn of vampire magic. The vial is in my hand—cold, heavy, pulsing with something ancient and hungry. It’s not just a weapon.
It’s a memory.
Thorne is gone. Vanished into the shadows like smoke. But I can still feel him—his presence, his power, his hunger. He didn’t come to fight.
He came to break.
And he almost succeeded.
The bond—my bond with Kael—is shattered. Not severed. Not suppressed. Shattered. Like glass under a hammer. I can still feel the echo of it—faint, broken, bleeding—but it’s not whole. Not alive. Not ours.
I press two fingers to the mating mark on my shoulder.
It doesn’t pulse.
It doesn’t glow.
It’s just… there.
Like a scar.
Like a wound.
Like a lie.
Kael is beside me, silent, still, his presence a storm. His gold eyes are burning, his fangs bared, his claws retracted but ready. He doesn’t touch me. Doesn’t speak. Just watches me—like he’s afraid I’ll vanish.
“It’s not gone,” he says, voice rough. “It’s just… broken.”
“It feels gone,” I whisper. “It feels like I’m bleeding from the inside.”
“Then we fix it,” he says. “We break the Blood Oath. We burn it. We destroy it.”
“And if we can’t?” I ask. “What if this is it? What if the bond is gone forever? What if we’re just… two people who loved each other in a world that never let us?”
He doesn’t flinch.
Just steps forward, his body a wall of heat, his hand warm around mine. “Then we make a new one,” he says. “Not because of magic. Not because of fate. But because we choose each other. Because we want each other. Because I love you.”
My breath catches.
Because he’s never said it like that.
Not in the heat of passion.
Not in the fury of battle.
But here.
Now.
With the bond broken and the world burning.
And it’s more real than anything I’ve ever heard.
“I love you too,” I say, my voice breaking. “And I don’t want to lose you.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just pulls me into his chest, his arms locking around me, his heartbeat steady against my ear. “Then we don’t,” he murmurs. “We fight. We burn. We survive. And we make them regret the day they tried to break us.”
I press my palm to the shattered mark on my shoulder. It doesn’t pulse. Doesn’t glow. But it’s still there.
Like me.
Like us.
“Seraphine said we have to use it,” I say, lifting the vial. “Not destroy it.”
“And you believe her?” he asks.
“No,” I say. “But I believe in survival. And if this is the key to fixing the bond—” I press the vial to my chest. “—then we don’t have a choice.”
He studies me. Then nods. “Then we do it. Together.”
I don’t answer.
Just press my forehead to his, my breath hot against his lips. “No more running,” I say. “No more hiding. No more fear. We face this. We fix this. And we burn anyone who tries to stop us.”
He smiles—slow, dark, utterly triumphant. “That’s my queen.”
We leave the balcony fast—silent, shadows against the stone. The Crimson Spire is stirring—vampire sentinels patrolling the halls, blood sigils glowing on the walls, the scent of iron and wine thick in the air. But we don’t care.
Let them come.
Let them try.
We’re not prey.
We’re the storm.
We reach the borderlands by dawn.
Neutral ground. No law. No pack. No Council.
Just us.
And the truth.
Kael leads, his body in half-shift—claws retracted, fangs just visible, gold eyes glowing in the dark. I follow, my magic humming beneath my skin, the vial clutched in my hand. It’s heavier than it looks. Cold. alive. The runes on the glass pulse—crimson, then gold, then gone—like it’s breathing.
“We can’t do this in the fortress,” I say. “Too many eyes. Too many ears. Too many lies.”
“Then where?” he asks.
“The ruins,” I say. “The temple. It’s still standing. It’s still ours.”
He doesn’t argue.
Just nods.
We move fast.
Not through the ravine.
Not along the path.
Through the cliffs.
Kael scales the rock like it’s nothing, his claws finding purchase in the smallest cracks. 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.
Truth.
We reach the temple by midday.
The white stone rises from the ash. Silver vines curl through the cracks. Floating orbs of soft light ignite in the air. The sigils on the floor pulse with power—fae magic, witchcraft, werewolf strength, vampire blood—all of it. It’s not just a temple.
It’s a kingdom.
And it’s waiting for us.
Kael steps inside, his presence a storm. “This place,” he says. “It feels like it knows us.”
“It does,” I say. “It remembers. It holds oaths. It carries truth.”
I walk to the center, the vial in my hand. The runes on the floor ignite—golden light erupting across the stone, the air crackling with magic. The wind howls. The ash rises. The broken arches tremble.
“This is where it ends,” I say. “Or where it begins.”
“Then let it begin,” Kael says, stepping beside me. “Break the Blood Oath. Fix the bond. Make them regret the day they tried to break us.”
I press two fingers to the shattered mating mark on my shoulder. It doesn’t pulse. Doesn’t glow. But it’s still there.
Like me.
Like us.
“I need your blood,” I say.
He doesn’t hesitate.
Just presses his palm to the mating mark on his chest. A drop of blood wells—dark, thick, laced with werewolf magic—and falls to the stone.
“And your voice,” I say. “Your vow. Your truth.”
He looks at me—gold eyes burning, fangs just visible in the torchlight. “I, Kael, Alpha of Alphas, Wolf King of the Iron Court, swear this: I am yours. Not because of magic. Not because of fate. But because I choose you. Because I want you. Because I love you. And no oath, no curse, no monster with a crown will ever take that from me.”
Tears spill down my face.
Because it’s not just a vow.
It’s a war cry.
I raise the vial.
“I, Morgana, daughter of the High Priestess, heir to nothing, queen of my own making, swear this: I am yours. Not because of a bond. Not because of a mark. But because I choose you. Because I want you. Because I love you. And no lie, no betrayal, no coward with a title will ever break that.”
The vial ignites—crimson light erupting across the temple, the air crackling with magic. The runes on the floor flare—golden, fierce, unstoppable. The wind howls. The ash rises. The broken arches tremble.
And then—
I break it.
Not with force.
Not with rage.
With love.
I slam the vial to the ground.
It shatters—glass exploding, liquid erupting, magic screaming. The Blood Oath—crimson, sharp, hungry—surges into the air, twisting like smoke, lashing like fire. It tries to escape. Tries to flee. Tries to survive.
But the temple—
It answers.
The runes on the floor ignite—golden light erupting across the stone, the air crackling with magic. The wind howls. The ash rises. The broken arches tremble, then lift, stone floating into the air like leaves on a storm. The magic crackles, the air hums, the ground trembles.
And then—
It consumes it.
The Blood Oath—crimson, sharp, hungry—is sucked into the runes, devoured by the light, burned by the fire. It screams—high, sharp, laced with betrayal—but it’s too late. The temple doesn’t just reject it.
It destroys it.
And then—
Silence.
Just the drip of water from the ceiling, the flicker of torchlight, the faint hum of the runes.
And then—
I feel it.
Not in my chest.
Not in my blood.
In my soul.
The bond—
It returns.
Not the same.
Not the old one.
But stronger.
Deeper.
Ours.
I press two fingers to the mating mark on my shoulder.
It pulses.
Warm.
Alive.
Claimed.
And then—
Kael is there.
His arms lock around me, his heat searing through the cold, his breath hot against my neck. “You did it,” he murmurs. “You fixed it.”
“We did it,” I say, pressing my forehead to his. “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 temple hums with power.
And then—
Footsteps.
Heavy. Fast. armed.
I break the kiss slowly, my breath ragged, my fangs bared. I don’t turn. Don’t release him. Just hold him tighter, my body a wall between him and the threat.
“Morgana,” a voice calls. Cold. Regal. Familiar.
My blood turns to ice.
I know that voice.
Elder Veylin.
One of the three Fae High Elders. The man who stood beside my mother as she was executed. The one who declared her a traitor. The one who helped burn our temple to ash.
And now he’s here.
At my door.
Again.
Kael growls, low and rough, his body coiling. “You don’t have to answer,” he says.
“I do,” I say, stepping forward. “They’ll come for me. They’ll come for you. And if I don’t go—” I press my palm to the mating mark on my shoulder. “—they’ll use it against us.”
He doesn’t argue.
Just steps beside me, his presence a storm, his gold eyes burning.
I open my eyes.
Elder Veylin stands at the edge of the temple, tall and pale, his silver robes edged with black runes, his staff raised. Behind him, two Fae guards flank the corridor, their eyes cold, their hands on their blades.
“Daughter of the High Priestess,” he says, voice echoing in the stone hall. “You are summoned before the Fae High Court. Come.”
“I’m not your daughter,” I say, stepping forward. “Not anymore.”
He doesn’t flinch.
Just turns and walks.
I follow.
Kael at my side.
The corridors are silent. The torches flicker with unnatural blue at the edges. The scent of iron and pine fades, replaced by something older—moonflowers, frost, the cold magic of the Fae. We ascend through the fortress, through hidden passages, through veils of glamour that shimmer like mist. And then—
We step into the Fae Enclave.
Ice-carved walls. Silver vines. Floating orbs of soft light. The air is thick with ancient power, with the weight of oaths, with the memory of betrayal. The High Court chamber is circular, the floor etched with runes that pulse faintly with magic. Three thrones rise at the center—onyx, carved with fae script, glowing with cold fire.
The other two Elders are already seated.
Elder Solen—her hair like spun moonlight, her eyes sharp as glass. And Elder Nyx—his face half-hidden in shadow, his voice like smoke.
They don’t rise.
Don’t greet me.
Just watch.
“Morgana,” Elder Veylin says, taking his seat. “Daughter of the traitor. Heir to nothing. You stand before the Fae High Court.”
“I don’t,” I say. “I stand before the men who murdered my mother. Who framed her. Who burned our temple to hide their lies.”
“Silence,” Elder Solen snaps. “You speak to your betters.”
“I speak to my enemies,” I say. “And I don’t kneel to murderers.”
Elder Nyx leans forward, his voice low, dangerous. “You have no right to challenge us. You are half-blood. Half-witch. An abomination.”
“And yet,” I say, lifting my chin, “I’m the only one who survived. The only one who remembers. The only one who knows the truth.”
“The truth?” Elder Veylin laughs. “That you’ve been claimed by a wolf? That you’ve let him mark you? That you’ve forsaken your blood, your magic, your duty?”
“I haven’t forsaken anything,” I say. “I’ve embraced it. I’m not just Fae. I’m not just witch. I’m both. And I’m stronger for it.”
“You are weak,” Elder Solen says. “Tainted by the wolf’s bond. Corrupted by his touch. And now, you threaten the balance.”
“The balance?” I say. “You mean your control. Your power. Your lies.”
“Enough,” Elder Nyx says, standing. “You have one choice. One path. Return to us. Renounce the wolf. Break the bond. And we will spare you.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then you are declared traitor,” he says. “And you will be branded. Hunted. Killed.”
“And Kael?”
“He will die,” Elder Veylin 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,” Elder Solen 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!” Elder Nyx 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 floor ignite—golden light erupting across the chamber, the air crackling with magic. The torches blaze. The Elders stumble back.
“The bond is confirmed!” Elder Solen 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.”
“Then you are condemned,” Elder Nyx says, voice cold. “Leave this place. And know—” He steps forward, his eyes locking onto mine. “—we will not forget. We will not forgive. And we will not stop.”
“Neither will I,” I say. “And next time, I won’t warn you.”
I turn and walk away.
Kael at my side.
The corridors blur. My breath comes in short, ragged gasps. My hands tremble. My vision blurs. I don’t stop. Don’t slow. Just keep moving, my bare feet silent on the stone, my heart pounding, my pulse racing.
And then—
I see it.
Not in front of me.
Not in the stone.
In the air.
A whisper.
From the wind.
From the magic.
From the bond.
“She’s coming.”
I stop.
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.