The bond hums between us as we move through the Blackfang Palace, a live wire beneath my skin, thrumming with something new—purpose. Not the cold, singular mission I arrived with, not the fury that drove me to sabotage the Heartstone, but something warmer. Sharper. Shared.
Kaelen’s hand is still in mine, calloused and warm, his grip firm but not possessive. He lets me lead, his steps matching mine as we descend the eastern stairwell toward the lower gardens—where Maeve’s sanctum lies, hidden beneath twisted yew trees and ancient stone arches. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t question. Just walks beside me like we’ve done this a thousand times before, like we’re not enemies, not captor and prisoner, but partners.
And that terrifies me more than any curse ever could.
Because I’m starting to believe it.
That we can do this. Together. That I don’t have to destroy him to save my mother. That maybe—just maybe—I don’t want to.
But Selene’s words echo in my skull.
“The witch will be the least of your problems.”
Vexis is moving.
And if he’s poisoning the Heartstone through the bloodline, then time isn’t just running out.
It’s already been spent.
—
The lower gardens are a ruin of forgotten magic. Once, they were the pride of the Stormborn line—lush with moonbloom lilies, silver willows, and enchanted fountains that sang in the dark. Now, they’re overgrown, choked with thorns, the fountains dry, the paths cracked. The air smells of decay and old power, the kind that lingers after a spell has gone wrong.
Maeve’s sanctum is at the heart of it—a crumbling stone circle, its arches half-collapsed, its center dominated by a shattered altar. This is where the first ritual was performed. Where the curse was born. And where, if the texts are right, the final sacrifice must be made.
Kaelen stops at the edge of the clearing, his hand tightening around mine. “This place… it feels wrong.”
“It is,” I say. “This is where they bound my bloodline. Where the first Crimson Thorn witch was sacrificed.”
He turns to me. “And you’re not afraid?”
“I’m terrified,” I admit. “But fear doesn’t stop me. It fuels me.”
He studies me—gold eyes searching, assessing—then nods. “Then let’s end it.”
We step into the circle.
The moment my boot touches the cracked stone, the air shifts. A low hum vibrates through the ground, like the echo of a long-dead spell. The bond flares, not with pain, but with recognition. The curse knows me. Knows *us*.
And it’s afraid.
“Maeve?” I call, voice steady. “I know you’re here.”
Silence.
Then—a flicker in the shadows.
She steps forward, draped in gray silk that seems to absorb the light, her face ageless, her eyes black as obsidian. Maeve of the Unseelie Court. Fae seer. Witness to the curse’s birth.
“Amber of the Crimson Thorn,” she says, voice like wind through dead leaves. “You’ve come to break the chain.”
“I have,” I say. “And I need your help.”
“You already have it,” she says. “You just don’t know it yet.”
Kaelen steps forward. “We need the truth. The name of the curse. The blood of the pact-maker. We need to know how to break it without destroying the Heartstone.”
Maeve’s gaze shifts to him. “And what will you give in return?”
“Anything,” he says. “My power. My name. My life.”
She smiles. “Not your life. Your *truth*.”
“I’ve told her everything,” he says.
“Have you?” Maeve steps closer. “Have you told her why you never marked another? Why you let Selene wear your ring like a trophy? Why you carry her bite like a penance?”
Kaelen goes still.
So do I.
Because I haven’t asked. Not really. I’ve been too angry, too focused on my mission, too afraid of what the answer might mean.
“Tell her,” Maeve whispers. “Or the curse will never break.”
He exhales. Slow. Controlled.
Then he turns to me.
“I didn’t mark Selene,” he says. “Not as a mate. Not as a lover. She came to me centuries ago, when the Heartstone first began to fail. She offered an alliance—her blood for mine, a political bond to strengthen my power. I agreed. It was a transaction. Nothing more.”
“And the bite?” I ask, voice quiet.
“A ritual,” he says. “Blood exchange. It granted her House temporary strength. It meant nothing.”
“Then why keep it?”
“Because I was weak,” he says. “Because I let power blind me. And when I realized what I’d done—when I saw how she used it, how she twisted it into something more—I couldn’t undo it. So I wore it. Let her think she had a claim. Let the pack think I was still strong. Until I found someone who could break it.”
“Me.”
He nods. “You.”
The bond surges—hot, bright, like a star igniting in my chest.
Maeve smiles. “Now you’re ready.”
She steps to the shattered altar, places a hand on the cracked stone. “The curse has a name,” she says. “But it cannot be spoken unless the sacrifice is prepared.”
“The lie,” I say. “We need to offer a lie as sacrifice.”
“And blood,” Maeve adds. “The blood of the pact-maker. Lord Vexis.”
“We don’t have it,” Kaelen says.
“Then you must take it,” she says. “From his vessel.”
“Vessel?” I frown. “What vessel?”
“The one who carries his will. His voice. His *hunger*.”
My blood runs cold.
“Selene,” I whisper.
Maeve nods. “She is bound to him. Not by blood, but by oath. Break her, and you break his hold on the Heartstone.”
Kaelen’s jaw tightens. “And if we fail?”
“Then the curse consumes you both,” Maeve says. “Your magic. Your bond. Your souls.”
She turns to me. “You came here to destroy the Wolf King.”
“I did.”
“But now?”
I look at Kaelen. At the man who gave me the key. Who let me heal his wound. Who stood beside me in the storm.
“Now,” I say, voice low, “I want to save him.”
The bond screams.
Not in pain.
In triumph.
Maeve steps back. “Then go. Take what you need. And when the time comes—speak the truth. Not the lie. And the curse will shatter.”
“Why the truth?” I ask.
“Because the curse was built on deception,” she says. “Only truth can destroy it.”
And then she’s gone—vanished into the shadows, leaving only the echo of her words.
Kaelen turns to me. “We take Selene’s blood. Break her oath. Then we return here. You speak the truth. I give you my blood. And we end this.”
“And if she fights?”
“Then I’ll make her bleed.”
I don’t flinch. Don’t argue. Because I know he will. Because I would do the same.
“Then let’s go,” I say.
But he doesn’t move.
He steps closer. One hand lifts, brushes my cheek—just once. A single point of contact, searing through the cold.
“You don’t have to do this,” he says. “I can handle Selene. I can get the blood.”
“And I can break the curse,” I say. “But not without you. Not without *us*.”
He stares at me. Gold eyes fierce, hungry. Not just for power. For me.
“Then we do it together,” he murmurs.
“Always,” I whisper.
And for the first time, I mean it.
—
We find her in the west tower—Selene—draped across a chaise, sipping from a crystal goblet filled with dark liquid. Her silver hair spills over one shoulder, her crimson lips curved in a smile that doesn’t reach her cold, ancient eyes.
“Kaelen,” she purrs. “Back so soon? And with your little witch.”
Kaelen doesn’t speak. Just strides forward, grabs her by the throat, and slams her against the wall.
“You’re bound to Vexis,” he growls. “I want his blood. Now.”
She laughs—low, cruel. “And if I don’t give it?”
“Then I’ll take it.”
“You’ll have to kill me.”
“I’ve done worse.”
She grins. “Then do it. But know this—Vexis will rise. And when he does, he’ll burn your pack to ash.”
My magic surges.
Before I can stop myself, I’m moving—crossing the room, grabbing her wrist, twisting it until the goblet falls. I catch it midair, hold it up.
Dark liquid. Thick. Metallic.
Blood.
“Is this it?” I demand. “Vexis’s blood?”
She laughs. “No. That’s *mine*. But it’s bound to him. Drink it. Use it. And you’ll feel his power. His *hunger*.”
Kaelen looks at me. “Do it.”
I don’t hesitate.
I uncork the vial. Press it to my lips.
One sip.
The moment the blood touches my tongue, the world shatters.
Fire. Pain. A thousand voices screaming in the dark. I see Vexis—ancient, pale, eyes like ice—standing over the first ritual, whispering the curse into the Heartstone. I see him poisoning the bloodline, twisting the magic, waiting for a fated bond to form so he could destroy it.
And I see the name.
Valthera.
The Curse of Valthera.
I gasp, dropping the vial. It shatters on the stone, the blood sizzling like acid.
“You saw it,” Selene whispers. “You saw the truth.”
Kaelen releases her, turns to me. “The name?”
“Valthera,” I say. “The Curse of Valthera.”
His eyes widen. “Then we go. Now.”
But Selene is already moving—fast, a blur of silver and shadow. She grabs a dagger from the table, lunges at me.
Kaelen intercepts her—faster, stronger. He disarms her, pins her to the floor, fangs bared.
“You’re done,” he growls.
“No,” she hisses. “I’m just the beginning.”
He backhands her. She goes still.
“Let’s go,” he says, grabbing my arm.
We run.
Back through the palace. Down the stairs. Through the gardens. To the ruins.
The bond hums between us, not with war.
With destiny.
—
The altar is waiting.
I step onto the dais, the cracked stone cold beneath my boots. Kaelen stands beside me, his presence a wall against the dark. I close my eyes, reach for my magic—deep, deeper, until I feel the current of the curse, the thread of Valthera, the lie that holds it together.
And then—
“No.”
Kaelen’s voice. Rough. Desperate.
I open my eyes.
He’s backing away. “I can’t let you do this.”
“What?”
“The ritual requires a lie as sacrifice,” he says. “If you speak the truth, the backlash—”
“I don’t care,” I say. “I’ll take the risk.”
“No.” He shakes his head. “I won’t lose you.”
“You won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.” I step toward him. “Because I trust you. Because I believe in *us*.”
He stares at me. Gold eyes blazing. Then—
He grabs me.
Not gently. Not carefully.
With fury.
He slams me against the shattered altar, one hand fisted in my hair, the other gripping my waist, dragging me against him. Heat floods my body. My breath hitches. The bond screams.
“You think I’ll let you die for me?” he growls. “You think I’ll stand by while you sacrifice yourself?”
“It’s not sacrifice,” I whisper. “It’s love.”
And then—
He kisses me.
Not soft. Not tender.
>With *fury*.His mouth crashes onto mine, teeth scraping, tongue demanding. I gasp, and he takes it, deepening the kiss, claiming me like he’s been waiting a lifetime to do it. My hands fly to his chest, not to push, but to pull, to hold, to *keep*. The bond erupts—white-hot, blinding—magic surging between us, merging, spiraling.
I bite his lip.
He groans.
Blood—mine, his, *ours*—spills into the kiss.
And I don’t stop.
I kiss him harder, deeper, grinding against him, my body arching into his, my magic spiraling out of control. The altar flares—black light, crimson veins, a scream that isn’t sound but pure magic.
The curse reacts.
But I don’t care.
Because for the first time, I’m not fighting.
I’m surrendering.
To him.
To us.
To the truth.
And as our blood mingles, as our magic merges, as the bond *screams*—
I whisper against his lips:
“I love you.”
The altar explodes.
Black flame erupts from the stone, spiraling into the sky. The ground trembles. The ruins shake. The curse—Valthera—shatters like glass.
And the bond—
It doesn’t break.
It burns.
Hotter. Brighter. Stronger.
Not a chain.
Not a curse.
But a promise.
Kaelen pulls back, breathing hard, blood on his lip, gold eyes wide.
“You said the truth,” he whispers.
“I did.”
“And you’re still here.”
“Because I meant it.”
He stares at me. Then, slowly, he smiles.
Not cold. Not dangerous.
Real.
“Then let’s finish this,” he says.
He pulls me close.
And the bond—
It sings.