The Council chamber was a furnace of whispers, eyes sharp as daggers, accusations thick in the air.
Lyra stood in the center like a queen crowned in lies, her fingers still smeared with my blood, Kael’s shirt clutched in her grip like a trophy. The torn fabric, the damp hair, the mating mark on her collarbone—it was all too perfect. Too calculated. She hadn’t just come to accuse me. She’d come to destroy me.
And she was succeeding.
“You expect us to believe,” a vampire elder said, his voice like cracked stone, “that the witch did not attack Lyra Nocturne? That she didn’t tear the shirt from her own Alpha’s back in a fit of jealousy?”
“I didn’t touch her,” I said, my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands. “I was with Kael the entire time. The ritual. The bond. Ask Silas. Ask the guards. I never left his side.”
“And yet,” the fae lord sneered, “your blood is on her hands. His shirt is in her possession. And she bears his mark—older than yours.”
“The bond supersedes all prior claims,” Silas said, stepping forward. His voice was calm, but his dark eyes were sharp. “Lyra was never consort. She was a political liaison. A feeding partner. Nothing more.”
“Then why does she have his blood?” another voice snapped.
“Because I cut myself during the ritual,” I said, lifting my hand. The wound on my palm had sealed, but the memory of it burned. “To save Kael’s life. That’s where the blood came from. Not from some midnight tryst.”
“Convenient,” Lyra purred, stepping closer. “So you expect us to believe you just *happened* to cut yourself, and I *just happened* to find his shirt in my chambers? That I *just happened* to be attacked?”
“You weren’t attacked,” I said, stepping forward. “You staged this. You stole his shirt. You smeared my blood on your hands. You’re trying to turn the Council against us.”
“Against *you*,” she corrected, her smile venomous. “Not him. He’s still their Alpha. But you? You’re the witch who came to kill him. The infiltrator. The liar. And now, the jealous lover.”
My breath caught.
She was right.
Not about the attack. Not about the tryst.
But about how I looked.
Like a threat. Like a woman unhinged by love—or obsession.
Kael stepped in front of me, his presence a wall. “Enough,” he growled. “Lyra, you’ve made your play. It’s transparent. You’re not fooling anyone.”
“Am I not?” she asked, lifting the shirt. “Then explain this. Explain why it’s in my chambers. Why it’s torn. Why it’s stained with blood.”
“I can’t,” he said, voice cold. “But I know you. I know your games. And I know you’re desperate.”
“Desperate?” she laughed. “Or honest? Maybe I’m the only one brave enough to speak the truth. That you don’t *want* her. That you only tolerate her because of the bond. That when the moon is high, you come to *me*.”
“That’s a lie,” I said, my voice low. “And you know it.”
“Do I?” she asked, stepping closer. “Then why does he still flinch when you touch him? Why does he still look at me like he remembers what it felt like to feed from my throat? To taste my blood? To let me soothe his heat?”
My pulse spiked.
Kael didn’t move. Didn’t deny it.
And that was worse than any lie.
The Council erupted—voices rising, arguments clashing. Some called for my removal. Others demanded Kael explain himself. A few remained silent, watching, calculating.
And then—
The bond flared.
Not pain. Not heat.
But something deeper. Something *older*.
A current of power surged through me, sudden and violent, like a dam breaking. My vision whited out. My knees buckled. I gasped, clutching at my chest as fire raced through my veins—not the fever of the bond, but something purer, brighter. Silver. Wild.
“Opal?” Kael’s voice. Distant. Muffled.
I couldn’t answer.
My skin burned. My magic—dormant for years—rose like a storm, not in response to him, but to *itself*. To something deep in my blood, something that had been sleeping, waiting.
And then—
I saw her.
Mother.
Not as she’d been in life. Not as a memory.
But as a whisper in the void. A flicker of light in the dark. Her silver-blue eyes, so like mine, filled with sorrow. Her voice, soft but urgent, echoing in my mind.
“Your bloodline is not broken, Opal. It is sleeping. And it is waking now.”
I screamed.
Not from pain. From *recognition*.
The power surged again, and this time, I didn’t fight it. I let it rise, let it fill me, let it burn through every lie, every fear, every doubt. My hands flew to my neck, to the bond mark—and it *glowed*. Not gold. Not crimson.
Silver.
And then—
The ward above the Council doors shattered.
Not with a crash. Not with a blast.
But with a *scream*.
The ancient sigil—etched into the stone to keep out intruders, to seal the chamber—cracked down the center, then exploded outward in a burst of silver flame. The shockwave threw everyone back. Envoys stumbled. Guards fell. Lyra shrieked, dropping the shirt as the fire licked at her robes.
And I stood in the center of it.
Unharmed.
Unbroken.
Alight.
My arms were raised, my palms facing the ceiling, streams of silver fire curling from my fingertips like living tendrils. My hair floated around me, defying gravity. My eyes—my *eyes*—glowed, not with the bond’s gold, but with something older. Something *true*.
“What… is this?” the High Priestess whispered, her voice trembling.
No one answered.
They couldn’t.
Because they knew.
As I did.
This wasn’t just magic.
This was moonfire.
The lost power of the Lunar Coven. The birthright of the High Witches. The force that could burn through wards, shatter illusions, and—
Break bonds.
The fire died as quickly as it had come, sinking back into my skin, leaving only the faintest shimmer beneath the surface. My arms dropped. My breath came fast. My body trembled.
And then—
Kael was there.
Not in front of me. Not shielding me.
But beside me.
His hand found mine, not in possession, not in control, but in *solidarity*. His gold eyes burned into mine, not with suspicion, but with something raw. Something I couldn’t name.
“You knew,” I whispered. “You knew this was in me.”
He didn’t deny it. Just nodded. “I felt it the moment our blood fused. A power sleeping. Waiting. I didn’t know what it was. Not until now.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“Would you have believed me?” he asked. “You came here to kill me. You didn’t trust me. You didn’t trust *anything*.”
He was right.
And that made it worse.
“You could’ve warned me,” I said, my voice breaking. “You could’ve prepared me.”
“And if I had,” he said, stepping closer, “would you have let it wake? Or would you have buried it deeper, like you’ve buried everything else?”
I didn’t answer.
Because he was right.
I would’ve fought it. Feared it. Tried to suppress it.
Just like I’d suppressed my grief. My rage. My *need* for him.
“She’s dangerous,” a vampire lord said, stepping forward. “That power—moonfire—it’s forbidden. It was banned after the last Blood Moon War. It burns through magic. Through *bonds*.”
“Then she’s exactly what we need,” Silas said, his voice calm. “If the Iron Fangs attack again, if the truce breaks, we’ll need every weapon we have.”
“She’s not a weapon,” Kael said, his voice low, dangerous. “She’s my consort. And she’s just proven she’s more than a witch. She’s a force.”
“A force we can’t control,” the fae lord said.
“Then don’t try,” I said, stepping forward. My voice was steady. Strong. “I’m not here to be controlled. I’m here to find the truth. About my mother. About the ritual. About who *really* killed her.”
“And if the truth destroys the truce?” the High Priestess asked.
“Then it should be destroyed,” I said. “Because a peace built on lies isn’t peace. It’s slavery.”
Whispers rose. Kael didn’t flinch. Just stood beside me, his presence a silent vow.
And then—
Lyra laughed.
Not a scream. Not a shriek.
A slow, knowing laugh that cut through the tension like a blade.
“Oh, Opal,” she said, stepping forward, her eyes gleaming. “You think this changes anything? You think a little fire makes you powerful? You’re still just a witch who came to kill the Alpha. And now? Now you’re a *threat* to us all.”
“And you’re still just a vampire who clings to the past,” I said, turning to her. “A woman who wears his scars like trophies. But you’re not his. You never were. And you never will be.”
Her smile vanished.
“Careful, witch,” she said, stepping closer. “You’re not the only one with power. And not the only one who can make it burn.”
Before I could react, she lunged.
Not at me.
At Kael.
Her hand shot out, fangs bared, aiming for his throat—
And I moved.
Not with magic.
Not with fire.
With my body.
I stepped in front of him, my arms spreading, shielding him. Her hand slammed into my chest, knocking me back, but I didn’t fall. I *burned*.
Moonfire erupted from my skin, not in a wave, not in a blast—
But in a *pulse*.
It didn’t hurt her. Didn’t burn.
It *revealed*.
For a single, blinding second, the entire chamber was flooded with silver light—and in that light, I saw it.
The truth.
Lyra’s aura—normally a deep crimson—was laced with something darker. A thread of shadow, twisting through her magic like poison. And beneath it, a sigil. Faint. Hidden. But *there*.
A mark of the Unseelie Court.
She wasn’t just a vampire.
She was a *spy*.
And she wasn’t working for the Council.
She was working for *him*.
Lord Vexis.
The realization hit like a blade.
She’d been sent to destabilize the truce. To turn Kael against me. To make the Council doubt the bond. And now, with my power awakened, she’d tried to provoke me—
And failed.
The light faded. Lyra stumbled back, her eyes wide, her face pale. She didn’t look at me. Didn’t look at Kael.
She looked at the door.
And then—
She ran.
“Stop her!” Kael roared.
Guards moved, but she was fast—vampire speed, fueled by panic. She vanished into the corridor, her footsteps echoing like a scream.
“She’s Vexis’s agent,” I said, turning to Kael. “I saw it. His mark on her magic.”
He didn’t look surprised. Just nodded. “I suspected. But I needed proof.”
“And now you have it,” Silas said. “She’ll go to ground. But she’ll come back. And when she does—”
“We’ll be ready,” I said.
Kael turned to me, his gold eyes burning. “You saved me.”
“I saved *us*,” I corrected. “And I’m not done.”
He didn’t answer.
Just reached up and brushed his thumb along the bond mark on my neck.
Fire shot through me.
But this time, it wasn’t just the bond.
It was *me*.
My power. My blood. My truth.
And for the first time, I didn’t fight it.
“The bond is changing,” I said, my voice low. “It’s not just tying us together. It’s *awakening* us.”
“Then let it,” he said, stepping closer. “Let it burn. Let it break. Let it remake us.”
“And if it destroys us?” I whispered.
“Then we’ll burn together,” he said, his voice rough. “But I won’t live in the dark.”
And then—
A voice.
Not from the chamber.
Not from the corridor.
From *inside* my mind.
“Opal.”
Soft. Familiar. Laced with sorrow.
“Your mother’s soul is still alive.”
My breath caught.
Kael froze.
Because he’d heard it too.
And I knew—
The game had changed.
Because now, it wasn’t just about revenge.
It was about *rescue*.
And I would burn the world to get her back.