The city was burning.
Not with fire. Not with war.
With *heat.*
It rolled through Vienna like a living thing—thick, pulsing, impossible to ignore. The air shimmered above the cobblestone streets, the blood-crystals embedded in the Obsidian Court’s spires flickering erratically, their crimson glow flaring with every surge of pheromone in the wind. The humans didn’t feel it. They were blind to the supernatural currents that rippled beneath their world. But the supernaturals—especially the werewolves—knew.
The Rut had begun.
And somewhere in the Black Forest, a rogue Alpha had broken free.
—
I felt it before I heard the alarm.
A low, insistent thrum beneath my skin, like the bond itself was reacting. My magic flared, the runes on my arms glowing faintly, pulsing in time with the storm. My breath hitched. My core tightened. The scent of musk and iron filled my nose, sharp and primal, making my pulse spike. I turned to Kaelen, who stood at the war room window, his storm-gray eyes scanning the city below.
“It’s not just the Rut,” I said, stepping beside him. “It’s *targeted.*”
He didn’t look at me. Just kept his gaze on the streets, where vampire enforcers were already mobilizing, their black cloaks cutting through the haze like shadows. “A rogue Alpha,” he said. “Unmated. Unstable. His pheromones are triggering a chain reaction—werewolves going feral, witches losing control of their spells, even the fae are agitated.”
“And us?”
He finally turned to me, his jaw tight, his fangs slightly visible. “The bond’s amplifying it. We’re not immune. We’re just… better at resisting.”
“Are we?” I asked, my voice low. “Because I can feel it. Not just the heat. The *pull.* Like something’s trying to tear us apart.”
His hand found the small of my back, possessive, grounding. “Then we fight it together.”
And then the alarm sounded.
A deep, resonant chime that echoed through the Obsidian Court, vibrating in my bones. The message was clear: *Containment breach. Alpha-level threat. All enforcers, mobilize.*
Kaelen didn’t hesitate.
“We’re going,” he said, grabbing his coat.
“We?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Since when do I need you to babysit me?”
“Since your magic flares every time a werewolf so much as *thinks* about rutting,” he said, stepping into me, his voice rough. “You’re not just a witch. Not just a fae. You’re *hybrid.* And right now, your body doesn’t know whether to fight, flee, or *submit.*”
My breath caught.
He was right.
And that terrified me more than any enemy ever could.
—
We moved through the city like a storm.
Kaelen led, his presence a wall of shadow and power, his fangs bared, his coat open, his scent—jasmine and blood—cutting through the pheromone-laden air. I followed close behind, my magic flaring in pulses of crimson light, the runes on my arms glowing like embers. The bond hummed between us—low, steady, *alive*—but it wasn’t just a tether anymore.
It was a weapon.
The streets were chaos. Werewolf guards were already shifting, their golden eyes wild, their claws tearing through the cobblestones. Vampires hissed, fangs lengthening, their control slipping. Fae nobles clutched at their illusions, their faces flickering between beauty and decay. And in the alleys, witches were collapsing, their spells backfiring, their bodies trembling with arousal they couldn’t suppress.
And then I saw it.
The source.
A massive figure, half-shifted, standing at the center of the Grand Atrium’s fountain, his muscles coiled, his eyes blazing gold. His scent was overwhelming—musky, animal, *dominant.* The rogue Alpha. Unmated. Unstable. And *hunting.*
“He’s not just triggering the Rut,” I said, my voice low. “He’s *calling* it. Summoning every unmated supernatural within range.”
“Then we break the call,” Kaelen said, stepping forward. “Before he starts a war.”
“Or a *mating.*”
He turned to me, his eyes dark. “You think he’s after you?”
“I think he’s after *power,*” I said. “And a hybrid queen is the ultimate prize.”
He didn’t argue.
Just stepped in front of me, shielding me with his body. “Stay behind me.”
“Never,” I said, stepping around him. “I’m not your pet. I’m not your prisoner. I’m *yours.* And if he wants me, he goes through you first.”
His breath caught.
And then—
The Alpha roared.
Not a sound.
A *command.*
The air shattered. The fountain exploded. And every unmated supernatural within range *moved.*
—
It was war.
Not with blades. Not with blood.
With *instinct.*
The werewolves charged, their bodies half-shifted, their claws slashing through the air. Vampires lunged, fangs bared, their shadows coiling like serpents. Fae nobles unleashed their glamours—illusions of fire, of desire, of *submission.* And witches—unmated, vulnerable—collapsed, their bodies trembling, their magic spiraling out of control.
But the Alpha didn’t care.
He only had eyes for *me.*
He moved fast—too fast—his body a blur of muscle and fury. I barely had time to react before he was on me, his hand snapping out, his claws grazing my throat. I twisted, my magic flaring in a wave of crimson fire that sent him stumbling back, but not far enough.
Then Kaelen was there.
He moved like shadow given form, his body slamming into the Alpha’s side, knocking him to the ground. The impact sent a shockwave through the square, shattering the remaining glass in the surrounding buildings. They grappled—fangs, claws, raw power—each strike sending sparks through the air.
And then—
The Alpha threw him.
Kaelen crashed into the marble column, the stone cracking beneath the impact. He didn’t move.
“Kaelen!” I screamed.
The Alpha turned to me, his golden eyes blazing, his lips curled into a snarl. He stepped forward, slow, deliberate, his scent overwhelming, his presence *dominant.* My body reacted—my breath hitched, my core tightened, my magic flared in pulses of crimson light. The bond screamed in protest, a surge of heat, of pain, of pure, unfiltered *betrayal.*
But I didn’t run.
I *fought.*
I raised my hand, my magic erupting in a wave of fire that sent him flying. He crashed into the fountain, the water turning black with blood. But he didn’t stay down. He rose, his body shifting fully, his form towering over me, his claws dripping with power.
And then—
Kaelen was behind him.
He moved like death, his fangs sinking into the Alpha’s neck, his shadows coiling around his body, *crushing.* The Alpha roared, thrashing, but Kaelen held on, his grip unbreakable, his power absolute.
And then—
It was over.
The Alpha collapsed, his body shifting back to human form, his eyes wide with shock. Kaelen stood over him, his coat torn, his face streaked with blood, his fangs bared. He didn’t speak. Just looked at me, his storm-gray eyes searching mine.
And I knew.
He hadn’t just saved me.
He’d *claimed* me.
In front of them all.
—
The square was silent.
Not the quiet of peace. Not the hush of reverence. But the stillness of a storm held at bay—tense, coiled, waiting to break. The werewolves were on their knees. The vampires bowed. The fae averted their eyes. Even the witches, trembling and exposed, looked at me with something like awe.
And I didn’t feel weak.
I didn’t feel afraid.
I felt *powerful.*
Kaelen stepped to me, his presence a wall, a storm, a vow. His hand found the small of my back, possessive, grounding. “You’re hurt,” he said, his voice low.
I hadn’t even noticed.
A deep gash ran down my arm, blood soaking through my sleeve. My magic flared, the runes pulsing, reacting to the pain, to the bond, to *him.*
“It’s nothing,” I said.
“It’s not,” he said, lifting me into his arms. “You’re bleeding. You’re exhausted. And you’re *mine.*”
“Then take care of me,” I said, my voice breaking. “Not as your queen. Not as your mate. As *me.*”
He didn’t answer.
Just carried me through the square, his body shielding mine, his scent wrapping around me like a vow. The crowd parted. No one spoke. No one dared.
And then—
I felt it.
A whisper in the dark, not from the bond, but from *me.*
You want him. I can taste it.
I didn’t fight it.
Not this time.
Because I did.
I wanted him.
Not just his touch.
Not just his body.
But *him.*
The man who’d watched my mother die.
The king who’d taken the Crown to save millions.
The vampire who’d kissed me in front of the entire Court and called me his.
I wanted him.
And I was tired of pretending I didn’t.
—
He carried me to the suite, his steps silent, his presence a storm. He laid me on the bed, his hands gentle as he peeled off my bloodied sleeve, his storm-gray eyes dark with something I couldn’t name. Not anger. Not guilt. Not regret.
Hunger.
“Let me heal you,” he said, his voice rough.
“With blood?” I asked.
“With magic,” he said, pressing his palm to the wound. “But if you want my blood, I’ll give it.”
My breath caught.
“Why?” I whispered. “Why do you keep doing this? Why do you keep *saving* me?”
He didn’t answer.
Just leaned down, his lips brushing the cut, his tongue tracing the edge of the wound. The bond flared—hot, sudden—and I felt it. Not just his arousal. His *relief.* He’d been afraid I’d die. Afraid I’d leave him. Afraid he’d fail me.
Good.
Let him be afraid.
Because I wasn’t.
Not anymore.
“You’re not cold,” I said, my voice breaking. “You’re not ruthless. You’re not the monster they say you are.”
“I am,” he said, his lips brushing mine. “But I’m also *yours.*”
And then he kissed me.
Not gently. Not softly.
A brutal, claiming thing—his mouth crashing into mine, his tongue sweeping inside, tasting, conquering. My magic flared, lighting the air between us with crimson fire. The runes on my arms glowed, reacting to the shift in my heart, in my soul.
He was choosing me.
Not because of the bond.
Not because of duty.
But because he *wanted* to.
And when he pulled back, his fangs bared, his eyes black with hunger, he whispered, “You’re not as cold as you pretend.”
“No,” I said, my voice steady. “I’m not.”
“And you never were.”
And as I leaned into him, the scent of jasmine and iron wrapping around us like a vow, I realized something:
The fire wasn’t coming to destroy me.
It was here to *remake* me.
And I was ready.