The fire in the library had burned low, casting long, flickering shadows across the ancient scrolls and crumbling tomes. Dust hung in the air, stirred by our presence, catching the dim light like suspended ash. Outside, the snow fell silently over Vienna, blanketing the city in a hush that felt heavier than silence—like the world was holding its breath.
And inside, so was I.
Opal stood before me, the scroll clutched in her hands like a weapon. Her dark eyes—storm-gray, fierce, alive—locked onto mine. Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. The sigil on her collarbone pulsed faintly beneath the fabric of her tunic, a rhythm that matched my own heartbeat. The bond between us thrummed, not with heat or hunger this time, but with something deeper. Something dangerous.
Truth.
She’d found it. Not just the falsified record of her mother’s trial. Not just the lie of a unanimous verdict. But the root of it—the Oath-Book. The one secret I’d sworn never to speak of. The one truth that could destroy Mordrek.
And now she knew.
“You’re with me?” she repeated, voice low, disbelieving. “After everything? After letting me believe you’d condemned her? After letting me hate you for twelve years?”
“I didn’t let you,” I said, stepping closer. “You chose to hate me. And I didn’t stop you—because you needed to. You needed the fire. Without it, you wouldn’t have survived.”
She flinched, but didn’t look away. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I can give.”
She turned, walking to the nearest shelf, her boots silent on the stone. She placed the scroll down carefully, as if it were fragile, sacred. Then she faced me again.
“You have *truth-sense*,” she said. “I’ve heard of it. A rare Fae gift. You can detect lies. Oaths. Deception.”
“Yes.”
“Then prove it.”
“Prove what?”
“That you’re telling the truth. That you voted against her execution. That Mordrek altered the records. That my mother knew about the Oath-Book.” Her voice sharpened. “Use your gift. Let me *feel* it.”
I didn’t move. “You already know I’m not lying. The bond would’ve flared.”
“The bond reacts to emotion,” she shot back. “Not facts. Not oaths. I want *proof*.”
I exhaled, slow. She was right. The bond was tied to sincerity, to intent—but it wasn’t infallible. A well-crafted lie, wrapped in belief, could slip through. And Opal—proud, brilliant, broken—would never accept faith as evidence.
She needed certainty.
And I could give it to her.
“Fine,” I said, stepping forward. “But know this—truth-sense isn’t gentle. It doesn’t just reveal lies. It *forces* them out. If you’re hiding something, it will tear it free.”
Her jaw tightened. “I’m not afraid.”
“You should be.”
I raised my hand, palm facing her. Frostfire flickered at my fingertips, not as a weapon, but as a conduit. The air between us thickened, charged with magic. My vision sharpened, the world narrowing to her face, her breath, the pulse at the base of her throat.
Truth-sense wasn’t sight. It was *perception*. A sixth sense that tasted deception like poison on the wind.
“Tell me,” I said, voice low, commanding. “Why did you go to the Veil Market tonight?”
She didn’t hesitate. “To buy a bond-dampener.”
The magic in my palm flared—white, cold. No reaction. No lie.
Good.
“Why?”
“Because the bond is unbearable. It’s like living inside someone else’s skin. Like my body isn’t my own.” Her voice cracked. “I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I can’t—” She cut herself off, but the truth spilled out anyway. “I can’t stop wanting you.”
The magic pulsed—warm this time. Not a lie. A confession.
My chest tightened.
She hadn’t meant to say it. But truth-sense didn’t care about intention. It stripped away pretense, layer by layer, until only raw honesty remained.
“And the note,” I said. “The one you found. ‘Your mother’s trial was a lie.’ Did you believe it?”
“At first, no. I thought it was a trap. A trick.” Her fingers curled into fists. “But the handwriting… I’d know it anywhere. And then—when you confirmed the vote was falsified—I *knew*.”
No flicker in the magic. No shadow of deceit.
She believed it.
And she believed *me*.
But I wasn’t done.
“Why are you really here, Opal?” I asked, stepping closer. “Not just to expose the Council. Not just to destroy the Tribunal. Why did you come to the Winter Court?”
She stilled.
The air between us turned to ice.
“To burn it down,” she whispered.
The magic flared—sharp, bright.
Lie.
Not entirely. But not the whole truth.
“Again,” I said, voice hard. “Why are you here?”
She swallowed. Her pulse jumped. “To avenge my mother.”
Another flicker.
Close. But still not the core.
“One more time,” I said. “And this time—no shields. No pride. No lies.”
She closed her eyes. When she opened them, they were wet. Not with tears. With fury.
“I’m here,” she said, voice breaking, “to make them *pay*. Not just Mordrek. Not just the Council. *All of them*. Every Fae who sneered at hybrids. Every werewolf who called us abominations. Every vampire who fed on the weak and called it justice. I’m here to make them *suffer* like she did. To burn their courts, their laws, their *precious order*—until nothing’s left but ash.”
The magic in my palm dimmed.
Truth.
Raw. Unfiltered. Devastating.
I lowered my hand, the frostfire fading. My chest ached. Not from the magic. From *her*. From the pain in her voice, the fire in her soul, the weight of a grief that had shaped her into a weapon.
And I had helped forge her.
“You feel it, don’t you?” she said, stepping forward. “My lie. My truth. My *rage*.”
“I do,” I admitted.
“And yet you still say you’re with me.”
“Because I am.”
She laughed, bitter. “You don’t even know what that means. You’re the Alpha of the Black Thorn Pack. Enforcer of the Winter Court. You uphold the very system I’m trying to destroy.”
“I upheld it,” I corrected. “Until tonight. Until I saw you—running through the Veil Market, fighting for your life, *burning* with the truth.” I stepped closer, close enough to feel the heat of her skin. “I’ve spent my life enforcing laws I knew were unjust. Protecting a Council that executes innocents. Pretending loyalty to a man who murdered the woman I loved.”
Her breath caught.
“You loved her,” she whispered. “My mother.”
“Yes.” The word tore from me, raw, unguarded. “Not in the way the Fae love—with cold oaths and colder promises. But in the way a man loves a woman he can never have. In the way a wolf loves the moon—desperate, aching, *forever out of reach*.”
She didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
But the bond—this cursed, relentless bond—flared between us, not with heat, but with *recognition*. As if it had known all along. As if it had bound us not by fate, but by *memory*.
“And now,” I said, voice low, “I’ve found her daughter. Fierce. Brilliant. *Mine*. And I won’t make the same mistake twice. I won’t stand by while she’s destroyed. I won’t let Mordrek win.”
She looked at me—long, hard, searching. “And if I don’t want your help?”
“You do,” I said. “You just don’t want to need it.”
She turned away, walking to the window. Outside, the snow continued to fall, blanketing the world in white. “You don’t know me,” she said. “You don’t know what I’ve done. What I’m capable of.”
“I know you saved my life,” I said. “I know you burned a man’s hands off to escape. I know you carry a dagger strapped to your thigh and don’t hesitate to use it.” I stepped closer. “And I know you dream of me. That you whispered *‘only if you’re mine too’* in your sleep.”
She stiffened. “You had no right to invade my dreams.”
“The bond has no rights,” I said. “It has no rules. It shows us what we hide. And you—you’re hiding *everything*.”
She whirled on me. “And what about you? You think I don’t feel it? The guilt? The grief? The way your wolf growls when I’m near? You think I don’t know you want me?”
“I never said I didn’t.”
“Then why?” she demanded. “Why push me away? Why pin me to the wall and whisper threats when all I can smell is your desire?”
“Because I’m trying to protect you,” I said. “From the Court. From Mordrek. From *myself*.”
“I don’t need protection.”
“You do.” I closed the distance between us, my voice dropping. “Because if I stopped fighting it—if I let myself take what I want—you wouldn’t survive it. The bond would consume you. My wolf would claim you. And I—” I hesitated. “I would lose you.”
She stared at me. “You think I’m afraid of you?”
“I think you’re afraid of *this*.” I reached out, my fingers brushing the sigil on her collarbone. A jolt of sensation tore through us both. Her breath hitched. My cock hardened. “The heat. The need. The way your body betrays you every time I touch you.”
“It doesn’t betray me,” she whispered. “It *remembers*.”
And then—
She kissed me.
Not like in my chambers. Not hard, not possessive.
Soft. Slow. *Yielding*.
Her lips parted beneath mine, warm and sweet, tasting of fire and fury and *her*. My hands found her waist, pulling her against me, her body fitting against mine like it had been carved for me. The bond exploded—heat, light, *connection*—flooding my veins, my mind, my soul.
I deepened the kiss, my tongue sweeping into her mouth, claiming, devouring. She moaned, low and broken, her fingers tangling in my hair, pulling me closer. Her hips rocked against mine, the friction maddening, *perfect*.
And then—
She burned me.
Not hard. Not punishing.
Just a spark. A warning.
I broke the kiss, breathing hard, my lips swollen, my body aching. The burn on my neck was small, precise—hers. A mark. A message.
“You’ll pay for that,” I growled.
“I already have,” she whispered.
And she had.
Because the bond was no longer just magic.
It was *trust*.
It was *truth*.
It was *us*.
I stepped back, my chest rising and falling. “One more lie,” I said, voice rough. “One more deception—and I’ll lock you in the Spire. No more Veil Markets. No more secrets. No more running.”
She smiled, slow, dangerous. “Then you’ll have to keep me chained, Alpha. Because I’m not done yet.”
“Neither am I,” I said.
And as I turned to leave, the bond pulsed between us—hot, alive, *unbroken*.
She wasn’t just my mate.
She was my rebellion.
And this war?
It had only just begun.