I came here to kill the Wolf King.
And now I’m standing at the edge of the world—the highest peak of the Lumin Vale, where the Fae High Court once ruled from their floating citadel, now shattered and silent, its silver spires broken like glass against the dawn. The air is thin, sharp, alive with the scent of frost, old magic, and something deeper—something final. Not power. Not vengeance. But peace.
The sky is split—half crimson with the dying Blood Moon, half pale with the coming sun. It’s not a battle. Not a war. It’s a passing. A threshold. And I’m standing on the other side.
Kael stands beside me, silent, still, his presence a storm. He hasn’t spoken since we left the Crimson Spire. Hasn’t touched me beyond the brush of his thumb against my wrist—a grounding pulse, a silent promise. His gold eyes burn, his fangs just visible, his claws retracted but ready. He knows what waits beyond this peak. Knows that this—
This is the last light.
And he knows—
I don’t know if I can let go.
Not because I’m afraid.
But because I’m awake.
The Blood Moon Key pulses in my hand, warm, alive, hungry. It’s not just a key. Not just a relic. It’s a heartbeat—mine, his, the world’s. It knows what’s coming. Knows that the final lie has already fallen. Knows that the balance is no longer broken—because I broke it myself.
And it knows—
Some endings aren’t about fire.
They’re about light.
The echoes walk behind us—silent, small, free. The ones we freed from the Blood Throne. The ones who were meant to be silenced. They don’t speak. Don’t cry. Just follow, their bare feet silent on the stone, their eyes wide, their hands clutching mine, Kael’s, each other’s. They don’t need to be told why we’re here.
They already know.
Because they lived it.
“They’ll try to stop you,” Kael says, his voice low, rough. “Not with blades. Not with magic. But with doubt. With guilt. With the past.”
“Let them,” I say, pressing 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. But it’s not just his.
It’s mine.
And it’s awake.
“They’ll say I betrayed my mother,” I say. “That I’ve chosen the monster who killed her. That I’ve abandoned my blood, my people, my duty.”
“And you’ll say?”
“I’ll say they’re right,” I whisper. “I *have* betrayed her. Not by loving you. But by hating you for so long. By letting my grief blind me. By not seeing the truth until it was almost too late.”
He turns to me—gold eyes burning, fangs just visible in the torchlight. “You didn’t betray her,” he says. “You honored her. By surviving. By fighting. By choosing love over vengeance.”
“And if they don’t believe me?”
“Then they die,” he says, stepping forward. “And the world burns with them.”
I press my palm to the Key. It flares—golden light erupting across the peak, the air crackling with magic. The torches blaze. The echoes step back, but don’t flinch. They’ve seen worse.
“No,” I say. “They don’t die. Not today. Not like this.”
“Then what?”
“They face the truth,” I say. “And if they can’t bear it—” I lift my chin, gold eyes burning. “—then they fall.”
The peak shudders—silent, slow, inviting.
Like a tomb.
Like a trap.
Like a reckoning.
We step through.
The world shifts—colors bleeding, sound stretching, time bending. The air is thick with the scent of old blood, ancient stone, and something deeper—something forbidden. The ground is cracked white marble, veins of silver pulsing faintly beneath. The sky is not sky. It’s a dome of shifting light, lit from within by a thousand dying stars. Along the walls, arches rise—carved with runes in a language no living being remembers, glowing with cold fire. At the center—
The Last Light.
Not a flame.
Not a torch.
A memory.
Forged from the first betrayal. Fueled by blood. Sustained by silence.
And it’s been fed for centuries.
Not by loyalty.
Not by duty.
By fear.
By lies.
By the blood of those who dared to speak the truth.
And my mother—
She was the last Guardian.
The only one who refused to feed it.
And when she stood before it and said no—
They made Kael kill her.
Not because he wanted to.
But because they threatened to destroy the Iron Court, the Ashen Circle, the entire supernatural world if he refused.
He lit the pyre to save thousands.
And he let the world believe he was the monster—
So I could survive.
So I could become the woman who could set it right.
Tears spill down my face.
Because I finally understand.
It was never about revenge.
It was about truth.
And now—
I have it.
I turn to Kael, my hand still on the Key, my gold eyes burning. “They lied,” I say. “About everything. About her. About you. About the Light.”
He steps forward, his presence a storm, his heat searing through the cold. “Then we expose them.”
“No,” I say. “We destroy them.”
He stills. “You don’t have to do this. We can rule. We can rebuild. We can—”
“And let them keep poisoning the world?” I ask, lifting my hand from the Key. “No. They’ve had their chance. They’ve had centuries. And they’ve used it to crush the weak, to silence the truth, to burn the light.”
He studies 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.”
I raise my hand—palm open, blood dripping—and I press it to the Last Light.
“By blood,” I say, “by fire, by truth—I break you.”
The Light screams.
Not a voice.
A thousand.
Howling, wailing, dying.
The fire splits—black veins boiling, silver chains bursting, the heartbeat stopping, shattering. The runes on the walls ignite—golden light consuming the frost, the corruption burning, the lie breaking.
And then—
Silence.
Just the drip of water from the ceiling, the flicker of torchlight, the faint hum of the bond.
And then—
The Light collapses.
Not with a roar.
Not with a crash.
With a whisper.
Like a confession.
Like a secret finally set free.
Kael steps forward, his hand finding mine. “You didn’t just destroy it,” he says. “You freed them.”
“Freed who?”
He nods toward the shadows.
And then—
They emerge.
Not fae warriors.
Not guards.
But truths.
Dozens of them—pale, translucent, trembling. Some no older than ten. Some with chains still on their wrists. Some with scars across their throats.
“They kept them here,” Kael says, voice rough. “The ones who spoke out. The ones who questioned. The ones who remembered.”
My breath stops.
Because I see it now.
The Light wasn’t just a symbol.
It was a prison.
A place to silence the truth.
To bury the future.
And these truths—
They were the next generation of Guardians.
And the Fae Elders—
They were afraid.
I step forward, my hand still bleeding, my voice soft. “You’re safe now,” I say. “You’re free.”
One of the truths—a girl with silver hair and gold eyes—steps forward. She looks at me. Then at the shattered Light. Then back at me.
“Are you her?” she asks, voice trembling. “Are you the one who was supposed to come?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “But I’m here now.”
She reaches out—small, cold hand—and touches my palm.
And then—
The bond flares.
Not with pain.
Not with fire.
With light.
Golden light erupts between us, the runes on the floor igniting, 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.
And then—
I see it.
The future.
Not as a vision.
Not as a prophecy.
As a promise.
A world where truth is not silenced.
Where power is not hoarded.
Where love is not a weapon.
And where the throne—
Is not a crown.
But a choice.
The girl steps back, her eyes wide. “You’re not just a queen,” she says. “You’re a mother.”
My breath catches.
Because I understand now.
I don’t have to rule.
I don’t have to conquer.
I don’t have to destroy.
I just have to lead.
And sometimes—
Leadership isn’t about taking a throne.
It’s about breaking it.
I turn to Kael, my hand still on the girl’s, my gold eyes burning. “We don’t need a throne,” I say. “We need a home.”
He studies me—gold eyes burning, fangs just visible in the torchlight. “Then let’s build one,” he says. “Together.”
“Not here,” I say. “Not in their ruins. Not in their lies. But in the light. In the truth. In the fire.”
He nods. “Then let’s go.”
I press my palm to the mating mark on my shoulder. It pulses—warm, alive, claimed.
“We leave at dawn,” I say. “We go to the Iron Court. We go to the Ashen Circle. We go to the Crimson Spire. And we build a world where no child is silenced. Where no truth is buried. Where no one has to fight alone.”
The truths gather around me—small, trembling, alive. Some hold hands. Some clutch my robes. Some just stand there, staring at the shattered Light like they’ve never seen freedom before.
And then—
The girl with silver hair looks up at me.
“Will you take us?” she asks. “Will you be our queen?”
I press my palm to the mating mark on my chest. It pulses—warm, alive, claimed.
“I’m not your queen,” I say. “I’m your sister. Your protector. your fire.”
She doesn’t smile.
Just nods.
And I know—
I’ve passed their test.
Not because I proved my power.
But because I proved my heart.
We leave the peak at dawn.
The truths walk beside us—silent, small, free. The air is crisp, the sky pale, the wind whispering through the mountains. The silver spires of the Vale stand broken behind us, the vines dead, the Light in ruins.
But I don’t look back.
Kael at my side.
The Key in my hand.
The truths at my back.
And the wind—
It whispers.
“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.
Marked by the Wolf King
The first time Morgana sees him, he’s standing over a corpse—her mother’s body at his feet, her silver circlet in his hand. Ten years old, hidden in the shadows, she watches as the Wolf King declares the Fae Coven traitors and burns their temple to ash. She survives. She learns. She becomes a weapon.
Now, at twenty-seven, she returns to the Iron Court disguised as a neutral envoy from the Northern Witches, her magic veiled, her scent masked. Her mission: sabotage the Blood Moon Treaty that will cement werewolf supremacy over all supernaturals. She plans to kill the King during the ceremonial bond-rune exchange—until their fingers brush, and a golden mark flares across both their chests. The crowd roars. The Council declares them Fated. The bond is irreversible. And he—Kael, the Wolf King—smirks like he’s known her soul all along.
But his touch is fire. His voice, a growl that sinks into her bones. When he pins her against the obsidian door after the ceremony, his fangs grazing her pulse, whispering, “You’ve been mine since the night I killed your mother,” she doesn’t know whether to bite him… or kiss him back.
Because the bond doesn’t just crave union—it demands it. And if she resists too long, the fever will break her mind. Meanwhile, whispers rise: a rival queen claims she once bore his heir; a vampire lord wants Morgana’s blood for immortality; and the Fae High Court watches, waiting to see if she’ll burn the world for vengeance… or let it burn for love.