The Oath-Book turned to ash in my hands, and with it, something deeper burned away—something I hadn’t even known was there.
Not the bond. Not the magic. Not the sigil on my collarbone that still pulsed with heat and memory.
But the lie.
The lie that I had to choose. That I had to burn one part of myself to save another. That I could only be Opal the Avenger, Opal the Outcast, Opal the Witch with Fire in Her Veins.
That I couldn’t also be… wanted.
The chamber was silent now—no screams, no spells, no hunger in the eyes of those who would use me. Just the soft crackle of dying embers where the Oath-Book had been, the scent of molten iron and old magic thick in the air. Silas and the Enforcers had taken Nyx away, her silver silk torn, her venomous smile finally broken. The others—vampires, werewolves, Fae nobles who had followed her—were either dead or fleeing, their ambitions crumbling like the ash at my feet.
And Kaelen—
He stood beside me, silent, his coat dusted with soot, his silver eyes reflecting the dim glow of the sconces. His jaw was tight. His hands were clenched. But his presence—his heat, his stillness, the way his breath matched mine—was the only thing that kept me grounded.
He hadn’t stopped me.
He hadn’t tried to take the Oath-Book. Hadn’t argued, hadn’t commanded, hadn’t even flinched when I set it alight.
He’d just stood there. Watching. Waiting. Choosing.
And when the fire died, he’d stepped forward—not to take the ashes, not to punish me, but to pull me close.
Now, his hand rested on the small of my back, warm through the fabric of my tunic. The bond flared—hot, alive, but different. Lighter. Like a chain that had been melted and reforged, not broken, but changed.
“You did it,” he said, voice low, rough.
“We did it,” I corrected, not looking at him.
He didn’t argue. Just turned me gently, his fingers brushing my jaw, forcing me to meet his eyes. “You don’t have to pretend anymore.”
“Pretend what?”
“That you don’t want this. That you don’t want me.” His thumb traced my lower lip, sending a jolt through my veins. “The bond knows. I know. And now—” He leaned in, his breath cold against my ear. “—so do you.”
My breath hitched.
He was right.
I did want him.
Not just his power. Not just his protection. Not even just the way his body moved like a storm, his hands like weapons, his voice like a blade.
I wanted him.
The man who had stood in front of the Council and called me queen. The Alpha who had let me burn the Oath-Book without hesitation. The man who had loved my mother, who had failed her, who now looked at me like I was the only thing that could save him.
And I—
I was tired of fighting it.
So I did the only thing I could.
I kissed him.
Not hard. Not desperate. Not for survival, not for silence, not for strategy.
But because I wanted to.
Because I needed to.
My hands fisted in his coat, pulling him close, my mouth crashing against his in a kiss that was fire and frost and everything in between. He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t pull back. Just answered—his hands sliding to my waist, pulling me against him, his tongue sweeping into my mouth, tasting me like he’d been starving.
The bond exploded—white-hot, electric, unstoppable. My skin flushed. My nipples hardened. My core ached. I moaned—low, broken, unfiltered—and the sound was swallowed by his kiss.
He backed me against the wall, his body pressing into mine, his thigh sliding between my legs, the friction maddening, perfect. My hands moved to his hair, pulling him deeper, my hips rocking against his, the heat between us unbearable, beautiful.
And then—
He broke the kiss.
Just enough to breathe. Just enough to look at me.
His silver eyes burned into mine, unflinching, hungry. “This isn’t a trick,” he said, voice rough. “This isn’t a game. If you do this—” His hand slid to my throat, not to choke, but to hold, to claim. “—there’s no going back.”
“I don’t want to go back,” I whispered.
“And if the bond breaks? If the magic fades?”
“Then I’ll still want you.”
His breath caught.
And then—
He kissed me again.
Slower this time. Deeper. Truer.
His mouth moved against mine, hot and sure, his hands sliding up my sides, beneath my tunic, his fingers tracing the curve of my spine, the swell of my breasts. I gasped, my back arching, my skin on fire. His thumbs brushed my nipples through the fabric, and I moaned, my hips rocking against his, the friction maddening, perfect.
“You’re trembling,” he murmured, his mouth moving to my neck, biting, sucking, marking. “Is it fear… or need?”
“It’s you,” I said, my voice breaking. “It’s always been you.”
He stilled.
Then pulled back, his eyes searching mine. “Say it again.”
“It’s always been you.”
And then—
He lifted me.
Not gently. Not carefully.
But like I was his. Like I belonged in his arms. Like I’d always belonged there.
My legs wrapped around his waist, my hands fisting in his hair, my mouth crashing against his as he carried me through the chamber, past the ruins of the Oath-Book, past the blood and ash, past the silence of the fallen. He didn’t speak. Didn’t look back. Just walked—fast, deliberate, relentless—until we reached the tunnel.
“Silas,” he said, not breaking the kiss. “Secure the den. Lock the entrances. No one enters. No one leaves.”
“Yes, Alpha,” Silas said, voice low.
And then—
We were alone.
Kaelen carried me through the tunnel, his steps sure, his grip unyielding. The sconces flickered as we passed, their light casting long shadows on the stone. The air was thick with old magic and colder stone, but all I could feel was him—his heat, his strength, the way his body moved beneath my hands, the way his breath hitched when I bit his lip.
And then—
We reached his chambers.
The door opened with a whisper of frost-runes, the fire in the hearth flaring to life as we entered. The room was as I remembered—black stone, fur-lined bed, weapons mounted on the walls, the scent of pine and iron and him thick in the air. But it felt different now. Not like a prison. Not like a battlefield.
Like a sanctuary.
He set me down slowly, his hands sliding from my waist to my hips, holding me in place. The bond flared—hot, electric, alive—a pulse of heat that matched my heartbeat. My breath came faster. My skin flushed. My core ached.
“This is your last chance,” he said, voice low. “Walk away now, and I won’t follow.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I won’t let you go.”
“Good.” I stepped forward, pressing my body against his, my hands sliding up his chest, my mouth near his ear. “Because I’m done running.”
And then—
I undid his coat.
Slow. Deliberate. Relentless.
The buttons gave way one by one, the fabric sliding from his shoulders, revealing the hard lines of his chest, the scars that marked him, the power that lived in his veins. I pushed it off, letting it fall to the floor, then stepped back, my eyes roaming his body—his broad shoulders, his tight abdomen, the way his muscles flexed as he breathed.
“You’re beautiful,” I whispered.
He didn’t smile. Didn’t laugh. Just stepped forward, his hands rising to the hem of my tunic. “So are you.”
And then—
He pulled it over my head.
The fabric caught on my braid, tugged at my dagger, but he didn’t care. Just yanked it free, tossing it aside, his eyes darkening as they roamed my body—the curve of my breasts, the flush of my skin, the sigil glowing on my collarbone.
“You’re mine,” he said, voice rough.
“Only,” I said, stepping forward, my hands on his chest, “if you’re mine too.”
He didn’t answer.
Just kissed me.
Hard. Deep. Claiming.
His mouth crashed against mine, hot and demanding, his tongue sweeping into my mouth, tasting fire and fury and her. My hands fisted in his hair, pulling him closer, my body arching into his. The bond exploded—white-hot, electric, unstoppable. My hips rocked against his, the friction maddening, perfect. I moaned—low, broken, unfiltered—and the sound was swallowed by his kiss.
His hands slid down, fingers tracing the curve of my spine, the swell of my ass, then gripping, pulling me against him, the hard length of him pressing against my core. I gasped, my breath coming in ragged gasps, my skin on fire. His mouth moved to my neck, biting, sucking, marking. The sigil burned. My core throbbed. My thighs clenched.
And then—
He dropped to his knees.
Not in submission.
But in worship.
His hands slid to my boots, unlacing them slowly, his fingers brushing the sensitive skin of my calves as he pulled them off. Then my trousers—unlacing, sliding down, his breath hot against my thighs as he peeled them away. And then—
My panties.
Just the edge. Just a brush of his fingers.
And I shattered.
My hands fisted in his hair, my breath coming in ragged gasps, my body trembling. He looked up, his silver eyes burning, his breath hot against my skin. “You’re beautiful,” he said, voice rough. “You’re mine.”
And then—
He kissed me.
Not my mouth.
Not my neck.
But there.
His mouth was hot, wet, relentless, his tongue sweeping through my folds, tasting me like I was his to keep. I cried out, my hands fisting in his hair, my hips rocking against his mouth, the pleasure building, unstoppable. His fingers slid inside me—two, then three—stretching, filling, moving in time with his tongue. I moaned—low, broken, unfiltered—and the sound echoed through the chamber, through the bond, through the very air.
And then—
He stopped.
Just before I came.
Just when I was on the edge.
“No,” I gasped, my voice breaking. “Don’t stop.”
He stood slowly, his hands sliding up my thighs, his mouth near my ear. “Not yet,” he said, voice dark. “I want to feel you come on my cock.”
My breath stilled.
And then—
He lifted me.
Again.
Carrying me to the bed, laying me down with a gentleness that belied the fire in his eyes. He stripped off his shirt, his boots, his trousers, revealing the hard lines of his body, the scars that marked him, the power that lived in his veins. And then—
He was above me.
His hands on either side of my head, his body pressing into mine, his cock—thick, hard, ready—brushing against my entrance.
“Look at me,” he said, voice rough.
I did.
And then—
He entered me.
Slow. Deep. Complete.
I gasped, my body stretching to take him, my hands fisting in the sheets, my breath coming in ragged gasps. He didn’t move. Just stayed there—deep inside me, his forehead pressed to mine, his breath hot against my lips. The bond flared—hot, electric, unstoppable. My skin flushed. My core ached. My heart pounded.
“You’re mine,” he whispered.
“Only,” I said, lifting my hips, “if you’re mine too.”
And then—
He moved.
Slow at first. Then faster. Deeper. Relentless.
His hips rocked against mine, his cock filling me, stretching me, claiming me. I moaned—low, broken, unfiltered—and the sound was swallowed by his kiss. His hands slid to my waist, pulling me closer, his mouth moving to my neck, biting, sucking, marking. The sigil burned. My core throbbed. My thighs clenched.
And then—
I came.
Hard. Fast. Unstoppable.
My body arched, my hands fisting in his hair, my mouth falling open in a silent scream. He didn’t stop. Just kept moving, his thrusts deep, his rhythm unyielding, his mouth on mine, swallowing every sound, every breath, every piece of me.
And then—
He came.
With a growl, his body tensing, his cock pulsing inside me, his seed filling me, marking me, claiming me. I held him—tight, close, forever—my hands in his hair, my legs wrapped around his waist, my mouth on his neck, biting, sucking, marking.
And then—
He collapsed.
Not on me.
But beside me.
Rolling to his side, pulling me with him, his arm wrapping around my waist, his hand settling on my hip. The bond flared—hot, alive, unbroken. My breath came slow, controlled. My skin was slick with sweat. My body was humming with satisfaction.
And then—
He spoke.
“Still hate me, Queen?” he murmured, his breath warm against my neck.
I didn’t answer.
Just turned, pressing my body against his, my head on his chest, my hand over his heart. The bond pulsed between us—hot, alive, unbroken.
And for the first time since the ritual—
I didn’t fight it.
I just let it burn.