The vow burned in my hands long after the scroll turned to ash.
Not literally. I hadn’t set it alight—no, that would’ve been too easy, too clean. Instead, I’d held it until the magic in the wax unraveled, until the red seal cracked like dried blood, until the parchment crumbled to dust between my fingers. And still, the words remained. Not on paper. Not in ink.
In bone.
“I forgave him. And I thank him.”
Three sentences. That was all it took to shatter the last wall between us.
Kaelen hadn’t moved since I’d read them aloud. He stood in the center of the ruined Tribunal chamber, his coat swirling behind him like a storm frozen mid-breath, his silver eyes wide, unblinking, fixed on the spot where the scroll had disintegrated. Frost clung to his shoulders, his breath a pale mist in the cold, but he didn’t shiver. Didn’t speak. Just stood there—like a man who’d spent a lifetime carrying a weight he thought would crush him, only to find it was made of air.
And I—
I didn’t know what to do.
Not because I didn’t feel it—the shift, the rupture, the way the bond between us flared hotter than it ever had, not with lust or need, but with something deeper, something that lived in the space between breaths. I felt it. Every pulse of it. Every silent scream of it.
But I didn’t know how to hold it.
Because this wasn’t about vengeance anymore.
It wasn’t about justice.
It was about grief.
And I’d spent so long pretending I didn’t have any.
“She knew,” I said again, voice low, rough. “All this time, she knew.”
He didn’t answer.
Just turned to me—slow, deliberate, like every movement cost him. His eyes, usually so sharp, so controlled, were raw. Exposed. Like frost cracked open to reveal fire beneath.
“I tried,” he said, voice breaking. “I went to Mordrek. I argued. I begged. But the vote was sealed. The ritual was set. And when they took her—” His breath hitched. “—I was too late.”
My chest tightened.
Not with anger.
Not with betrayal.
But with recognition.
Because I’d been too late too.
The night they came for me, I’d hidden. I’d pressed my hands to my mouth and watched through the cracks in the floorboards as they dragged her away. I hadn’t fought. I hadn’t screamed. I’d just survived.
And he—
He’d tried.
He’d failed.
And he’d carried it ever since.
“You didn’t kill her,” I whispered.
“No,” he said, stepping forward, his boots silent on stone. “But I couldn’t save her.”
“And that’s what matters,” I said, stepping into him, my hands fisting in his coat. “Not that you failed. But that you tried.”
He didn’t flinch. Just cupped my face, his thumb brushing the sigil. A jolt of sensation tore through me—fire and ice, pleasure and pain. My breath hitched. My body arched toward him. “And you?” he asked, voice rough. “Can you forgive me for not being there for you?”
My breath stilled.
Because I knew.
And worse—
I didn’t need to.
“I don’t need to forgive you,” I said, pressing my palm to his chest, over his heart. “I need to know you. Not the Alpha. Not the Enforcer. Not the monster they made you. But you.” I leaned in, my lips brushing his ear. “And I do.”
He didn’t answer.
Just kissed me.
Not like before—hot, demanding, claiming—but slow. Deep. Unraveling.
His mouth moved against mine, gentle, searching, like he was learning me all over again. His hands slid from my face to my waist, pulling me against him, and the bond flared—hot, electric, alive—but not with hunger.
With truth.
I kissed him back—because he was right.
I did want him.
Not just his power. Not just his protection.
But him.
And I wasn’t going to let him go.
Not now.
Not ever.
He broke the kiss slowly, his breath ragged, his eyes burning. “Stay with me,” he murmured, voice low. “Not because of the bond. Not because of duty. But because you want to.”
My chest tightened.
Because I did.
And worse—
I wasn’t afraid to say it.
“I do,” I whispered.
And then—
The door burst open.
Not with a knock. Not with a warning.
With force.
Silas stood in the doorway, his coat dusted with frost, his expression unreadable. But his eyes—his eyes were wide. Alarmed.
“They’ve found something,” he said, voice low. “In the northern reaches. A fortress. Hidden beneath the ice. It’s not Pureblood. Not Shadow Pact. Not even Fae.”
My breath stilled.
“Then what is it?” Kaelen asked, stepping in front of me, his body a wall between me and the door.
“It’s Dusk,” Silas said. “But not as we know them. No glamour. No illusion. Just… fire. And blood. And her.”
My stomach dropped.
Because I knew.
And so did he.
“Her?” I asked, stepping around Kaelen, my spine straight, my chin high.
“The woman from the vow,” Silas said, stepping forward. “Seraphina’s sister. The one who vanished after the Purge. They called her the Ember Witch. And she’s been waiting.”
My breath stilled.
Because I understood.
This wasn’t just about the past.
It was about the future.
And I—
I was ready to face it.
We left at dawn.
No Enforcers. No weapons. No scent of frost or fire. Just us. Just our blood. Just our word.
The northern reaches rose like jagged teeth against the sky, their peaks cloaked in eternal snow, their valleys hidden beneath veils of mist and old magic. The air was thin, sharp with frost, the wind howling through the passes like a chorus of forgotten souls. Kaelen traveled in half-shift—his form massive, his coat torn back to reveal the frostfire pulsing beneath his skin, his claws gripping the ice with deadly precision. I rode behind him, my arms wrapped around his waist, my face pressed to his back, my breath fogging against the cold.
The bond flared—hot, electric, alive—a constant, maddening awareness of him. His heat. His strength. His truth. I could feel it in the way his muscles moved beneath my hands, in the way his breath deepened when I pressed closer, in the way his wolf growled low in his chest when I whispered, *“Faster.”*
And he obeyed.
We reached the fortress at dusk.
Not a castle. Not a stronghold.
But a tomb.
Half-buried in ice, its walls carved from black stone, its entrance sealed with runes that pulsed faintly in the dim light. No guards. No warnings. Just silence. Stillness. Waiting.
“They know we’re here,” I said, sliding from Kaelen’s back, my boots crunching on frost-rimed stone.
“Of course they do,” he replied, shifting back to full form, his coat swirling behind him like a storm. “This is a sanctuary of seers. They’ve seen you coming since the moment you burned the Tribunal.”
I didn’t flinch. Just stepped forward, my dagger strapped to my thigh, my tunic tight against my skin. The sigil pulsed beneath the fabric, a slow, rhythmic throb that matched my heartbeat. The bond flared—hot, electric, alive—but it wasn’t screaming. It was… anchored. Like a fire that had finally found its hearth.
The door opened before I reached it.
Not with a creak. Not with a groan.
With silence.
And then—
She stepped out.
Not a ghost.
Not a memory.
But a storm.
She was tall—nearly as tall as Kaelen—her hair white as snow, her eyes black as ash, her skin pale with inherited magic. She wore a tunic of black leather, its hem stitched with runes that shimmered in the dim light. Her hands were calloused, her fingers marked with old burns. And her gaze—her gaze was sharp, assessing, knowing.
“You’re late,” she said, voice low, cutting through the wind. “I’ve been waiting.”
My breath stilled.
Because I knew.
And so did she.
“You’re her,” I said, stepping forward. “The Ember Witch.”
“And you’re mine,” she replied, not flinching. “The queen of fire.”
“I’m Opal.”
“And I’m Lysandra,” she said, stepping closer. “Daughter of the Ember Circle. Heir of flame. Sister of fire.”
My hands clenched.
Not in rage.
Not in grief.
But in recognition.
Because it wasn’t just about the vow.
It was about me.
“You were hidden,” I said. “After the Purge. Like I was.”
“I was,” she said, not unkindly. “But not by choice. They took me. From my sister. From my home. From my fire.” She turned, gesturing to the fortress. “They thought they could extinguish me. But fire doesn’t die. It waits.”
My chest tightened.
Because she was right.
And worse—
I saw myself in her.
“And now?” I asked, voice low.
“Now I rise,” she said, stepping into me, her dark eyes locking onto mine. “Not to burn you. Not to crown you. But to join you.”
My breath stilled.
Because I knew.
And so did he.
Kaelen stepped forward then, his presence a storm in the stillness. He didn’t speak. Didn’t growl. Just walked to her—his coat swirling behind him like a storm, his silver eyes burning. Frost clung to his shoulders, his breath a pale mist in the cold.
“You’ve seen us,” he said, voice low. “In your visions. In your dreams.”
“I have,” Lysandra said, not flinching. “The Alpha of Frost. The Queen of Fire. The bond that defied fate. The war that broke the world.” She turned to me. “And the sister who was never lost.”
My breath caught.
Because she was right.
And worse—
I believed her.
“You’re not here to kill me,” I said.
“No,” she said. “I’m here to fight beside you.”
“And if I say no?”
“Then I’ll burn your fortress to the ground and crown myself in the ashes.”
A slow, dangerous smile curved my lips.
Because she was mine.
And I was hers.
We didn’t go inside.
Not yet.
Instead, we stood in the ring of standing stones—me, Kaelen, Lysandra—our boots silent on frost-rimed stone, our breaths slow, controlled. The bond flared between us—hot, electric, alive—but it wasn’t just magic anymore. It was something deeper. Something that lived in the space between our breaths, in the way her fingers laced through mine, in the way my body leaned into Kaelen’s without thought.
“You’ve been watching,” I said, turning to her. “All this time.”
“I have,” she said. “Through the fire. Through the dreams. Through the blood.” She pressed her palm to her collarbone—where a sigil should have been, but wasn’t. “I don’t have a bond. I don’t have a pack. I don’t have a court. But I have fire. And I have truth. And I have *this*.” She held up a dagger—its blade glowing with runes she’d carved herself. “And I’m not afraid anymore.”
My breath stilled.
Because she was right.
And worse—
I loved her for it.
“You’re not just a sister,” I said, stepping into her, my hands fisting in her tunic. “You’re a weapon. A storm. A revolution.”
“And you’re not just a queen,” she said, stepping into me, her dark eyes locking onto mine. “You’re a daughter. A leader. A fire.”
And then—
We kissed.
Not on the mouth.
Not with desire.
But on the forehead.
Slow. Deep. Claiming.
Her lips pressed to my skin, hot and sure, her breath cold against my brow. The bond flared—white-hot, electric, unstoppable. My skin flushed. My breath hitched. My core ached. I moaned—low, broken, unfiltered—and the sound was swallowed by the wind.
And then—
We broke apart.
“You’re not alone,” she said, stepping back, her breath coming fast.
“Neither are you,” I replied.
Kaelen didn’t flinch. Just stepped forward, his coat swirling behind him, his silver eyes burning. “Then we fight together.”
“Always,” Lysandra said.
“Always,” I echoed.
The fortress was warm—its fire pit roaring, its walls lined with shelves of old tomes, dried herbs, and vials of glowing liquid. The air was thick with the scent of sage and old magic, the runes on the floor pulsing faintly in the dim light. Lysandra sat across from me, her hands resting on a worn wooden staff, her eyes sharp, assessing. Kaelen sat beside me, his coat swirling behind him like a storm, his silver eyes burning. Frost clung to his shoulders, his breath a pale mist in the cold.
“You’ve changed,” she said, voice low. “The fire is stronger. But so is the fear.”
“I’m not afraid,” I said.
“You are,” she replied. “Not of battle. Not of death. But of being seen. Of being loved. Of being *known*.”
My breath stilled.
Because she was right.
And worse—
I couldn’t lie to her.
“I had to be strong,” I said, voice breaking. “I had to be cold. I had to be fire.”
“And now?”
“Now I don’t know how to be anything else.”
She didn’t flinch. Just leaned forward, her staff tapping the floor. “Then learn. Not from me. Not from the coven. From him.” She turned to Kaelen. “He sees you. Not just the queen. Not just the fire. The girl who hid in the shadows. The woman who burned the Oath-Book. The one who still dreams of her mother’s voice.”
I didn’t answer.
Just turned to him.
And he looked back.
Not with desire.
Not with possession.
But with truth.
“You’re not alone,” he said, voice low. “You never were.”
And then—
I broke.
Not with tears.
Not with screams.
But with silence.
A single breath. A single tremor. A single moment where the fire in my chest faltered, and the girl beneath the queen rose.
And he caught me.
Not with words.
Not with magic.
But with arms.
His arms wrapped around me, his breath warm against my neck, his frostfire cooling the heat, sealing the wound. The bond flared—hot, electric, unstoppable. My skin flushed. My breath hitched. My core ached.
And then—
I let it burn.
That night, I dreamed of her.
Not the fortress. Not the mountains.
But my mother.
Not in fire.
Not in ash.
But in light.
And this time—
They dreamed with me.
Kaelen. Lysandra. Me.
Together.
“Still hate me?” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.
“Only,” I whispered, pressing my palm to the sigil, “when you’re late to bed, King.”
He laughed—low, throaty, dangerous—and rolled us over, so I was on top, straddling him, his cock still inside me. I didn’t move. Just looked down at him—silver eyes burning, jaw tight, lips parted. And then—
I kissed him.
Slow. Deep. Claiming.
Because he was right.
I did want him.
Not just his power. Not just his protection.
But him.
And I wasn’t going to let him go.
Not now.
Not ever.
The bond flared—hot, alive, unbroken.
And for the first time since the ritual—
I didn’t fight it.
I just let it burn.
And in my room, on the pillow beside me—
Lay a single frost-lily.
Pure white.
Unbroken.
And mine.