The war room of the Obsidian Spire had never been built for comfort. Its walls were carved from black stone, its ceiling lost in shadow, its floor inscribed with runes that hummed faintly beneath my boots. Maps of the Concord’s territories hung from the walls—Vienna, Lyon, Oslo, London—marked with red ink where the Shadow Pact had struck, where Dusk Fae assassins had infiltrated, where hybrid uprisings had flared like wildfire in dry grass. The air smelled of old magic, cold iron, and something else—something sharper.
Tension.
It clung to the room like frost on glass. It lived in the way the torches flickered, in the silence between orders, in the way Kaelen’s hands clenched around the edge of the war table every time Opal’s name was mentioned.
I’d seen him like this before. Not with Nyx. Not with any of the noble Fae women who’d thrown themselves at his feet, desperate for a taste of the Black Thorn Alpha. No—this was different.
This was *obsession*.
And worse—it was *recognition*.
“The Veil Market’s in ruins,” I said, spreading the latest report across the table. “Three stalls burned. Two guards dead. Five hybrids taken hostage. The Shadow Pact claims responsibility.” I glanced at Kaelen, who stood at the window, his back to me, his coat dusted with snow. “They’re demanding the release of the prisoners in the lower cells. By dawn.”
He didn’t turn. “And if we refuse?”
“They’ll execute them. Publicly. In the market square.”
“Then we don’t refuse.”
That got his attention.
He turned, silver eyes narrowing. “You’re suggesting we negotiate with terrorists?”
“I’m suggesting we *survive*,” I said, voice steady. “The Shadow Pact isn’t just some rogue faction. They’ve been planning this for months. They know our patrol routes. Our weak points. Our *secrets*. And if we walk into that market blind, we’ll lose more than hostages—we’ll lose Opal.”
His jaw tightened. “She can handle herself.”
“She can,” I agreed. “But she’s not invincible. And she’s not thinking clearly.”
“And you are?”
“I’m not in love with her.”
The words hung in the air like a blade.
He didn’t flinch. Didn’t growl. But the frost creeping across the windowpane spread faster, the runes on the floor flaring faintly. The bond—this cursed, relentless thing—pulsed in the air between us, a presence I could feel even as an outsider.
“It’s not love,” he said, voice low. “It’s the bond.”
“No,” I said. “The bond is magic. What you feel? That’s *you*.”
He turned back to the window, his breath a pale mist in the cold. “She doesn’t want me.”
“She does.”
“She fights me at every turn.”
“Because she’s afraid.”
“Of me?”
“Of *this*.” I gestured to the room, to the maps, to the tension humming beneath our skin. “Of losing control. Of wanting you more than she wants her revenge. Of becoming what she swore she’d never be—a woman ruled by a man.”
He exhaled, sharp. “I don’t want to rule her.”
“Then stop acting like you do.”
That made him turn.
“I gave her a choice,” he said. “In the Bonding Chamber. I told her she could walk away.”
“And she didn’t.”
“Because the ritual was interrupted.”
“No.” I stepped closer. “She didn’t walk away because she *couldn’t*. Because the second she straddled you, the bond screamed. Because her hands fisted in your shirt. Because she *moaned* when your mouth touched her neck.” I met his gaze. “You think I don’t see it? The way she looks at you when she thinks no one’s watching. The way her breath hitches when you walk into a room. The way her fire magic flares when you’re near?”
He didn’t answer.
But the bond—this cursed, relentless bond—pulsed between us, hot and alive, a truth neither of us could deny.
“She’s not just fighting the Council,” I said. “She’s fighting *herself*. And if you keep pushing her like she’s an enemy, she’ll burn you both to the ground.”
He stared at me. Long. Hard. And then—
“What do you suggest?”
“Let her lead.”
“She’s not ready.”
“She’s *more* ready than you are.” I stepped to the war table, tapping the map of Vienna. “The Shadow Pact isn’t just attacking the market. They’re testing us. Probing for weakness. And if we respond with force, they’ll retreat. But if we respond with *strategy*—” I looked up. “—then we win.”
He studied me. “You’re suggesting we let her plan the rescue?”
“I’m suggesting you *ask* her.”
“And if she says no?”
“Then you’ve lost her anyway.”
He didn’t argue. Didn’t growl. Just turned back to the window, his reflection a shadow in the glass. Outside, the snow fell in slow, heavy flakes, blanketing the city in white. The bond pulsed—distant, faint. She was in her chambers. Thinking. Planning. *Waiting*.
“Get her,” he said, voice rough.
I didn’t move. “Ask her yourself.”
He turned, his silver eyes burning. “I’m not asking. I’m *commanding*.”
“Then she’ll refuse.” I crossed my arms. “You want her to trust you? To fight beside you? Then stop treating her like a prisoner. Stop commanding. Start *choosing*.”
He didn’t answer.
But I knew he’d heard me.
Because the frost on the window slowed. The runes dimmed. And for the first time since the Blood Moon Festival, the bond—this cursed, relentless thing—didn’t scream.
It *hoped*.
I left the war room, my boots silent on stone, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. Kaelen wasn’t just my Alpha. He was my brother. My pack. The only one who’d stood by me when the others called me weak, when they said a Beta shouldn’t question the Alpha’s orders.
But this wasn’t about orders.
This was about survival.
And if he didn’t learn to trust her—if he didn’t learn to *love* her—then we’d all burn.
I found Opal in the library, just like I’d suspected. She sat at the far end of the archive section, her boots propped on the table, a stack of scrolls spread before her. The candlelight flickered across her face, highlighting the sharp line of her jaw, the curve of her cheekbone, the faint scar just above her brow. Her hair was braided back, secured with a silver dagger. Her tunic was open at the collar, the sigil on her collarbone glowing faintly in the dim light.
She didn’t look up as I approached.
“You’re here to drag me to the war room,” she said, voice low.
“No,” I said, stopping beside her. “I’m here to ask if you want to come.”
She finally looked up, her dark eyes sharp, assessing. “And if I say no?”
“Then I’ll tell Kaelen you’re busy.”
She smirked. “You’d lie for me?”
“I wouldn’t be lying.” I glanced at the scrolls. “You’re clearly busy.”
She exhaled, a low, knowing sound. “You’re different.”
“How?”
“You don’t flinch when I look at you. You don’t cower. You don’t call me ‘my lady’ like the others.”
“Because you’re not my lady.”
“Then what am I?”
“You’re Opal.” I leaned against the table. “Daughter of Mira. Witch of the Ember Circle. Marked Queen. And the only woman who’s ever made the Black Thorn Alpha hesitate.”
Her breath stilled.
“He told you?”
“He didn’t have to.” I crossed my arms. “I’ve seen it. The way he looks at you. The way his wolf growls when you’re near. The way the bond flares when you touch.”
She looked down, her fingers tracing the edge of a scroll. “It’s not real.”
“It is.”
“It’s magic. Fate. A leash.”
“No.” I stepped closer. “It’s *choice*. And you made it when you stepped onto that dais. When you let him touch you. When you *moaned*.”
Her head snapped up. “You were *spying* on us?”
“No.” I didn’t flinch. “I felt it. The bond. It doesn’t just connect you. It *broadcasts*. And right now, it’s screaming that you’re terrified.”
She didn’t deny it.
Just looked down, her fingers tightening on the scroll. “I don’t want to need him,” she whispered. “I don’t want to *want* him. But every time he touches me—” Her voice cracked. “—I forget why I’m supposed to hate him.”
“Maybe you’re not supposed to.”
“He let my mother die.”
“He tried to save her.”
“And failed.”
“So did you.”
She froze.
“What?”
“You’ve spent twelve years hating him for failing,” I said, voice steady. “But what have *you* done? You’ve hidden. You’ve plotted. You’ve burned a few records. But have you *stopped* anything? Have you freed a single hybrid? Have you brought down one corrupt judge?” I leaned in. “No. You’ve waited. And while you waited, they kept dying.”
Her breath came faster. “I had a plan.”
“And now?”
“Now I have *him*.”
“No.” I shook my head. “Now you have *power*. The kind that comes from standing beside the Alpha of the Black Thorn Pack. The kind that comes from being the woman who made him *kneel* in front of the Council.” I stepped back. “You don’t have to choose between vengeance and love, Opal. You can have both. But only if you stop fighting him.”
She didn’t answer.
Just stared at the scroll, her chest rising and falling.
And then—
“What do you want from me?” she asked, voice low.
“I want you to fight *with* him. Not against him. Not for him. *With* him.” I turned to leave. “The war room. He’s waiting.”
She didn’t move.
But I knew she’d come.
Because the bond—this cursed, relentless thing—had already decided.
I returned to the war room, my boots silent on stone. Kaelen stood at the window, still as a statue, his hands clenched at his sides. The frost on the glass had spread again, the runes flaring faintly.
“She’s coming,” I said.
He didn’t turn. “You told her everything.”
“I told her the truth.”
“And if she refuses?”
“Then you’ll know she’s not the woman you think she is.”
He exhaled, sharp. “And if she accepts?”
“Then you’ll have to trust her.”
“I do.”
“Then stop acting like you don’t.”
He turned, his silver eyes burning. “You’ve never questioned my orders before.”
“No,” I said. “But I’ve never seen you like this. Hesitating. Doubting. *Fearing*.” I stepped closer. “You’re not just the Alpha, Kaelen. You’re a man. And if you don’t start acting like one, you’ll lose her.”
He didn’t answer.
But the frost on the window slowed. The runes dimmed. And for the first time, the bond—this cursed, relentless thing—didn’t scream.
It *waited*.
And then—
Boots on stone.
Slow. Deliberate.
Stopping at the door.
We both turned.
Opal stood there, her hair braided back, her face sharp with defiance. She wore black—tight trousers, a fitted tunic, boots laced to the knee. No gown. No submission. No mask. Just *her*. Fire and fury. The Marked Queen.
Her dark eyes locked onto Kaelen’s.
And the bond *screamed*.
Heat tore through the room—white-hot, electric, *unstoppable*. Kaelen’s hands clenched. My wolf growled low in my chest. The runes on the floor flared, sending pulses of energy through the stone.
She didn’t flinch.
Just stepped inside, her boots silent on stone. “You wanted to see me,” she said, voice low. “So talk.”
Kaelen didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
But I saw it—the way his breath caught, the way his pulse jumped, the way his eyes burned with something I couldn’t name.
Pride.
Desire.
And something deeper.
Something that felt like *love*.
And for the first time since the ritual—
I didn’t look away.