I came here to kill the Wolf King.
And now I’m standing in the Iron Court’s Grand Hall, my hand laced with Kael’s, our magic humming between us like a storm that refuses to pass. The vaulted ceiling arches above us, carved with ancient runes that pulse faintly with power. Torchlight flickers along the stone walls, casting long, jagged shadows across the floor. The air is thick with the scent of iron, pine, and something deeper—fear.
Not mine.
Theirs.
The Supernatural Council is gathered—Alphas, Betas, Envoys, Elders—seated in a half-circle of obsidian thrones, their eyes sharp, their voices low. They called this emergency session under the guise of “restoring order.” But I know the truth.
This isn’t about order.
This is about control.
And they’re going to try to take him from me.
Kael doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Just stands beside me, his presence a storm, his gold eyes burning. His hand is warm around mine, his thumb brushing my knuckles in slow, deliberate circles. Not for comfort.
For warning.
He feels it too.
The tension. The betrayal. The quiet hum of conspiracy beneath the stone.
High Elder Voss rises, his silver robes edged with black runes, his staff raised. His gaze locks onto us—cold, calculating, hungry.
“Kael, Alpha of Alphas,” he says, voice echoing in the hall. “You have defied the Council. You have broken sacred law. You have taken a prisoner from lawful custody and declared her your queen without approval.”
“I didn’t declare her,” Kael growls. “The bond did. The magic did. The truth did.”
“The bond,” Voss sneers, “was forged under duress. The ritual was compromised. The mark—” He points at my shoulder. “—is invalid.”
I press two fingers to the mating mark. It pulses—warm, alive, claimed. The bond hums beneath my skin, a live wire stretched taut, feeding me his strength, his rage, his love.
“You don’t get to decide that,” I say, stepping forward. “The bond doesn’t care about your laws. It doesn’t bow to your thrones. It speaks the truth. And the truth is—” I lift my chin, gold eyes burning. “—I am his. And he is mine.”
“Silence,” Voss snaps. “You are not a member of this Council. You have no voice here.”
“She has mine,” Kael says, stepping beside me. “And if you try to silence her again—” His fangs bared. “—I’ll rip your tongue out.”
A murmur ripples through the chamber. Alphas shift. Betas tense. Envoys exchange glances.
They’re afraid.
Good.
Let them be.
Voss doesn’t flinch. Just raises his staff. “Then let the Council decide. By vote. By law. By ancient rite.”
“And if I refuse?” Kael asks.
“Then you are in rebellion,” Voss says. “And the Iron Court will rise against you.”
“Let it rise,” Kael says. “I’ll burn it to ash before I let them take her.”
I press my palm to the mating mark on my chest. It pulses—warm, alive, claimed. The bond flares—golden light erupting across the hall, the runes on the floor igniting, the air crackling with magic. The torches blaze. The Council stumbles back.
“The bond is confirmed!” one of the Betas shouts. “The mate-mark is sealed!”
“Then let it be tested,” Voss says, voice cold. “Let the Trial of Blood decide.”
My breath catches.
The Trial of Blood.
An ancient ritual. A duel to the death. Not between champions.
Between mates.
“You’re mad,” I say. “You want us to fight each other?”
“Not fight,” Voss says. “Prove. If the bond is true, it will protect you. If it is false—” He smiles—slow, cruel. “—then only one of you will walk away.”
Kael’s grip tightens. “You’re not doing this.”
“I don’t have a choice,” I say. “If we refuse, they’ll declare you a traitor. They’ll send assassins. They’ll burn the temple. They’ll come for us every night until we break.”
“And if you die?” he growls.
“Then I die,” I say. “But I won’t let them destroy what we’ve built. Not like this.”
He stills.
Lifts his head.
Looks at me—gold eyes burning, fangs just visible in the torchlight. “You’re not just my mate,” he says. “You’re my equal.”
“And you’re mine,” I say. “Now let’s go remind them who we are.”
The Trial is held in the arena beneath the fortress—black stone, high walls, torches flickering with unnatural blue at the edges. The air is thick with the scent of old blood and iron. The crowd gathers in silence—Alphas, Betas, Envoys, guards—watching from the balconies, their eyes sharp, their breath held.
Kael and I stand in the center, barefoot, dressed in ceremonial robes—white for me, black for him. No weapons. No armor. Just magic. Just blood. Just the bond.
High Elder Voss stands at the edge, his staff raised. “By the ancient rite, the Trial of Blood shall begin. Let the bond speak. Let the magic decide. Let the truth be revealed.”
He steps back.
And then—
It begins.
The ground trembles. The runes on the floor ignite—golden, then black, then gone. The air crackles with magic. And then—
Shadows rise.
Not from the walls.
Not from the torches.
From the bond.
They twist, coil, form—into figures. Warriors. Assassins. Us.
Dark versions of ourselves.
Me—cloaked in shadow, fangs bared, dagger in hand.
And Kael—eyes black, claws extended, growling low.
They don’t speak.
Just attack.
The shadow-Morgana lunges first—fast, silent, deadly. Her dagger slices toward my throat. I twist, barely avoiding it, my magic flaring. I don’t summon a weapon.
I summon truth.
“You’re not me,” I say, pressing my palm to the mating mark on my shoulder. “I don’t fight to kill. I fight to protect.”
The shadow hesitates.
And in that heartbeat—
I strike.
Not with magic.
With memory.
I slam my palm to the ground.
The runes ignite—golden light erupting across the stone, the air crackling with magic. The vision from the temple flashes—my mother, standing tall, unafraid. Kael, lighting the pyre. The truth.
And the shadow—
It screams.
Not from pain.
From recognition.
It shatters—glass under a hammer, dissolving into mist.
And then—
Kael roars.
The shadow-Kael has him pinned, claws at his throat, fangs bared. But Kael doesn’t fight.
He speaks.
“You’re not me,” he growls. “I don’t rule through fear. I don’t love through control. I love through choice.”
The shadow hesitates.
And in that heartbeat—
He flips it.
One hand at its throat. One at its chest. And then—
He slams it into the ground.
“I am the Wolf King,” he says, voice rough. “And I choose her. Every day. Every life. Every death. I choose her.”
The shadow screams—high, sharp, laced with betrayal—and shatters.
Silence.
Just the drip of water from the ceiling, the flicker of torchlight, the faint hum of the runes.
And then—
The bond roars.
Golden light erupts between us, the runes on our chests glowing, the air crackling with magic. The torches blaze. The walls tremble. The crowd stumbles back.
“The bond is true!” one of the Betas shouts. “It has passed the Trial!”
“Then it is confirmed,” Voss says, voice cold. “The mating stands.”
But he doesn’t look at us.
He looks at the shadows—still flickering at the edge of the arena, still moving.
And I know—
This isn’t over.
We return to the war room in silence. The fortress is stirring—Alphas patrolling the walls, Betas reinforcing the gates, envoys whispering in shadowed corners. The final signing of the Blood Moon Treaty has been delayed, but not canceled. And every instinct in my body screams that the calm before the storm is over.
Kael doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Just sits beside me, his presence a storm, his hand warm around mine. His gold eyes are locked on the maps, but I know he’s not seeing them. He’s seeing me. The way I stood in the arena. The way I faced my shadow. The way I chose him—over revenge, over duty, over everything.
“You didn’t have to do that,” he says. “You could’ve let me fight for you.”
“And you could’ve let me die,” I say. “But you didn’t. Because we’re not just mates. We’re partners. Equals. And if we don’t fight together—” I press my palm to the mating mark on my shoulder. “—we’ll lose.”
He stills.
Lifts his head.
Looks at me—gold eyes burning, fangs just visible in the torchlight. “Say it again,” he says, voice rough. “Say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” I whisper, lifting my chin. “Only yours. Always yours. Not because of the bond. Not because of duty. But because I want to be.”
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 war room hums with power.
And then—
The door bursts open.
Not with a slam.
Not with a roar.
With a whisper.
And then—
Riven steps inside.
His face is pale. His gold eyes are sharp. His hand is on his blade.
“They’re coming,” he says.
“Who?” Kael asks.
“The Council,” Riven says. “They’re mobilizing. Alphas. Betas. Enforcers. They’re moving on the temple.”
My breath stops.
The temple.
Our temple.
“They’re not just coming,” Riven says. “They’re bringing the Binding Chains.”
My blood turns to ice.
The Binding Chains.
Forged from fae steel, etched with suppression runes. Designed to break magic. To break will. To break bonds.
They’re not here to arrest.
They’re here to erase.
Kael stands, his presence a storm. “Then we meet them.”
“You can’t,” Riven says. “They outnumber you. They’re armed. They’re—”
“I don’t care,” Kael says. “They want war? They’ll get it.”
I stand beside him, my back straight, my chin high. “We’re not running,” I say. “We’re not hiding. We’re not letting them take what’s ours.”
Riven studies us. Then nods. “Then I’m with you.”
We leave through the eastern passage—silent, fast, shadows against the stone. The fortress is stirring—Alphas patrolling the walls, Betas reinforcing the gates, envoys whispering in shadowed corners. The final signing of the Blood Moon Treaty has been delayed, but not canceled. And every instinct in my body screams that the calm before the storm is over.
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, my fae blood singing in my veins. I don’t need a weapon. I don’t need armor. 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 temple by midnight.
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 under siege.
The Council’s forces surround it—Alphas in black armor, Betas with silver blades, Enforcers carrying the Binding Chains. The air is thick with the scent of iron and fear. Torchlight flickers across the stone, casting long, jagged shadows.
And at the center—
High Elder Voss.
His staff raised. His eyes cold. His voice echoing in the stone.
“Morgana,” he calls. “Daughter of the traitor. Surrender. Break the bond. And we will spare you.”
I step forward, my back straight, my chin high. “I’m not your daughter,” I say. “Not anymore.”
“Then you are declared traitor,” he says. “And you will be branded. Hunted. Killed.”
“And Kael?”
“He will die,” Voss 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,” Voss 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!” Voss 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 Council stumbles 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.”
Voss doesn’t answer.
Just raises his staff.
And the Binding Chains move.
They slither across the stone like serpents, glowing with suppression magic, reaching for us—
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 destroys them.
The Binding Chains—cold, sharp, hungry—are sucked into the runes, devoured by the light, burned by the fire. They scream—high, sharp, laced with betrayal—but it’s too late. The temple doesn’t just reject them.
It annihilates them.
And then—
Silence.
Just the wind. The stone. The bond.
Voss doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just watches us—like he’s seeing the future.
And I know—
He’s afraid.
“This isn’t over,” he says.
“No,” I say. “It’s just beginning.”
He turns. The Council follows.
And we’re alone.
Kael 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 queen.”
“And you’re mine,” I say. “And if they come again—” I lift my chin, 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 temple 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 fangs bared. I don’t turn. Don’t release him. Just hold him tighter, my body a wall between him and the threat.
“Who?” Kael asks.
“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.