The Council chamber was a tomb of silence when I arrived, the torches burning low, their flickering light casting long, jagged shadows across the obsidian floor. Seven thrones stood in a half-circle, carved from black stone, each etched with the sigil of a different species—wolf, bat, raven, serpent, stag, moth, and flame. The Supernatural Council. The self-proclaimed guardians of balance. And now, they were divided. Fractured. Ready to tear each other apart over a truth they couldn’t bear to face.
I stepped inside, my boots silent on the stone, my coat pulled tight against the unnatural chill that had settled in the air. The Blood Moon was fading, its crimson glow dissolving into silver, but the tension in the room was thicker than the magic that bound us. Opal stood at the edge of the dais, her back straight, her hands clenched at her sides. She wore a long, silver-gray robe—the ceremonial garb of the Lunar Coven—but it wasn’t the fabric that made her look like a queen.
It was the fire in her eyes.
She hadn’t slept. Not since the healing chamber. Not since the kiss.
That kiss.
It hadn’t been magic. It hadn’t been the bond. It hadn’t been desperation or denial or duty.
It had been *choice*.
And it had shattered something in me.
I hadn’t expected it. Hadn’t wanted it. Hadn’t been ready for it. But when her lips had touched mine—soft, certain, *hers*—I’d felt it. The truth. Not just in the bond, not just in the heat, but in the quiet, terrifying certainty that I would burn the world to keep her safe.
And now, she was walking into the lion’s den.
And I was going to stand beside her.
“They’re already here,” she said without turning. Her voice was steady, but I could hear the tremor beneath it. The exhaustion. The grief. “Vexis has been whispering for hours. Turning the Southern Clans against us. Claiming the bond is a lie. That I’m a threat.”
“And the Northern Packs?” I asked, stepping beside her.
“They believe in you,” she said. “But they’re afraid of me. Of what I can do. Of what I’ve already done.”
I didn’t answer. Just reached for her hand—just for a second—my fingers brushing hers, warm, grounding. The bond flared, a surge of heat that made the ground tremble beneath our feet. Her magic rose, not in anger, not in defense, but in *recognition*. As if her power knew what my mind refused to admit.
That I wasn’t just her Alpha.
I was her *equal*.
And that thought—
That thought was more dangerous than any blade.
“You don’t have to do this,” I said, my voice low. “We can leave. Go to the Northern stronghold. Rule from there. Let the Council rot in their lies.”
She turned, her silver-blue eyes burning into mine. “And let Vexis rewrite the truce? Let him erase the truth? Let him keep my mother trapped in the void?”
“Then let me fight for you,” I said, stepping closer. “Let me stand in your place.”
“You can’t,” she said, her voice breaking. “This isn’t about power. It’s about *truth*. And the only one who can speak it is me.”
My breath caught.
She wasn’t just saying it to defy me.
She *meant* it.
And that—
That was more dangerous than any lie.
Before I could respond, the doors groaned open.
The Southern Clan envoys entered first—tall, broad-shouldered werewolves with eyes like embers, their coats lined with silver thread, their presence heavy with suspicion. They didn’t look at me. Didn’t look at Opal.
They looked at the bond mark on her neck.
And they *hissed*.
Then came the vampires—House Nocturne, their faces pale, their movements too smooth, too controlled. Lyra wasn’t among them. But her absence was louder than her presence would’ve been. She’d vanished after the Archives, and no one had seen her since. But I could still smell her—fear, blood, and something darker. Betrayal.
The Fae came next—Seelie and Unseelie alike, their eyes sharp, their glamours shifting like smoke. Maeve was there, her silver hair pulled back, her hands trembling. She didn’t look at Opal. Didn’t look at me.
She looked at the floor.
And then—
Vexis.
He entered last, his ageless face pale, his eyes like shards of ice. He wore a long, flowing robe of deepest black, the sigil of the Unseelie Court embroidered over his heart. But beneath it—faint, hidden, but *there*—I could see the mark. The sigil of the Blood Moon Bond. Not forged in truth. Not born of magic.
Stolen.
He’d been using it. Feeding off it. Twisting it into a weapon.
And now, he was here to break it.
“The Council is in session,” the High Witch declared, rising from her throne. Her voice was ancient, her eyes milky with age. “We gather to address the instability of the Blood Moon Bond and the threat it poses to the truce.”
“Instability?” Opal said, stepping forward. Her voice was calm, but I could feel the fire beneath it. The moonfire. “Or *truth*?”
The chamber fell silent.
“The bond was not forged in deception,” she said, raising her hand. “It was forged in blood. In magic. In *fate*. And if you doubt its legitimacy, then let me show you the proof.”
She didn’t wait.
She raised her hand—and burned.
Moonfire erupted from her fingertips—not in a wave, not in a blast—
But in a *pulse*.
It didn’t hurt anyone. 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.
The Southern Clan envoys—normally a deep crimson—were laced with something darker. A thread of shadow, twisting through their magic like poison. And beneath it, a sigil. Faint. Hidden. But *there*.
A mark of the Unseelie Court.
They weren’t just rebels.
They were *puppets*.
And they weren’t fighting for power.
They were fighting for *him*.
Lord Vexis.
The light faded. The envoys gasped. Some fell to their knees. Others staggered back, their hands flying to their chests, as if the mark burned.
“You see?” Opal said, her voice rising. “The bond is not the curse. *He* is. Vexis has been using you. Corrupting your loyalty. Twisting your magic. And for what? To break the truce? To rule us all?”
“Lies!” one of the envoys shouted. “She’s using her magic to deceive us!”
“Then test it,” I said, stepping forward. My voice was low, dangerous. “Break the bond. If it’s false, it will shatter. If it’s real—”
“It will destroy her,” Vexis said, stepping into the light. His voice was like cracked stone. “And you know it, Kael. You’ve seen it. Felt it. The pain. The fever. The madness. The bond is killing her. And you’re letting it happen.”
My breath stilled.
He wasn’t wrong.
Not entirely.
The bond *was* painful. It *did* cause fever. It *had* driven her to the edge of madness.
But it wasn’t killing her.
It was *awakening* her.
“The bond doesn’t kill,” Opal said, stepping beside me. “It *transforms*. And if you think I’m afraid of pain, then you don’t know me at all.”
“Then prove it,” Vexis said, spreading his hands. “Let the Council sever the bond. Let the ritual be performed. If it holds, then you are innocent. If it breaks—”
“Then I die,” she said, lifting her chin. “And you win. So go ahead. Try.”
The chamber fell silent.
The High Witch turned to the others. “The ritual of severance can be performed. But it will require blood. Pain. And if the bond is true, the consequences will be fatal.”
“Do it,” Opal said. “Now.”
My breath caught.
“Opal—” I started.
“No,” she said, turning to me. Her eyes were silver and burning. “This ends *now*. No more lies. No more shadows. No more hiding. If the bond is real, then let it survive. If it’s not, then let me die knowing I fought for the truth.”
My chest tightened.
She wasn’t just saying it to defy Vexis.
She *meant* it.
And that—
That was the most dangerous thing of all.
The High Witch nodded. “Then the ritual begins.”
They brought the altar—black stone, etched with runes that pulsed with ancient magic. Opal stepped forward, her boots silent on the stone. They slit her palm—deep, clean—and let the blood spill onto the altar. Crimson, bright, alive.
Then they turned to me.
“The bond is mutual,” the High Witch said. “Both must bleed.”
I didn’t hesitate.
I drew my dagger and cut my palm, letting my gold-tinged blood mix with hers. The runes flared. The magic built. The air thickened.
And then—
The pain hit.
Not a wave. Not a surge.
But a *crash*.
Like a dam breaking. Like a storm erupting. The bond flared—violent, uncontrollable—and Opal staggered, her hands flying to her head, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her eyes rolled back. Her body convulsed.
“Opal!” I shouted, lunging toward her.
But the runes held. The magic surged. The severance ritual was designed to *break* the bond. To tear it apart. And it was working.
Her moonfire erupted—not in defense, not in attack—
But in *protest*.
Silver flame curled from her skin, not burning, not scorching—but *resisting*. The runes cracked. The altar trembled. The magic screamed.
And then—
The bond flared.
Not in pain.
Not in fire.
But in *truth*.
The runes shattered. The altar exploded. The chamber trembled. And Opal—
She was on her knees, her breath coming in shallow gasps, her hands pressed to the stone.
But she was *alive*.
And the bond—
The bond was *stronger*.
“It’s real,” the High Witch whispered, her voice trembling. “The bond is real.”
The chamber erupted in chaos.
The Southern Clan envoys fell to their knees, the Unseelie mark burning from their skin. The vampires stepped back, their eyes wide with fear. The Fae—both Seelie and Unseelie—bowed their heads.
And Vexis—
He didn’t move. Just smiled, slow, knowing, venomous.
“You think this changes anything?” he said, stepping forward. “You think a little magic can expose what darkness has claimed?”
“I don’t think,” Opal said, standing. Her voice was steady. Calm. “I *know*.”
“Then know this,” he said, his voice low. “The bond is still a curse. And you—”
He stepped closer.
“—are still mine.”
I didn’t flinch.
Just stepped between them, my body a wall, my claws bared. “She’s not yours,” I growled. “She’s *mine*.”
“And what are you?” he asked, his voice sharp. “A broken Alpha? A man who let his father’s shadow consume him? A coward who hides behind a bond he doesn’t understand?”
My breath stilled.
He wasn’t just attacking her.
He was attacking *me*.
And he was right.
I *was* afraid. Afraid of becoming my father. Afraid of losing control. Afraid of hurting her.
But not anymore.
“I am Kael Arcturus,” I said, stepping forward. “Alpha of the Northern Packs. Enforcer of the truce. And the man who loves Opal with every breath in his body.”
The chamber fell silent.
Opal’s breath caught.
And Vexis—
He didn’t move. Just smiled.
“Then you’re already dead,” he said. “Because love is weakness. And weakness is death.”
He turned—and vanished into the shadows.
Like smoke.
Like a lie.
And then—
The chamber was silent.
The truth was ours.
Opal stepped forward, her hand finding mine, not in possession, not in control, but in *solidarity*. Her silver-blue eyes burned into mine, not with suspicion, but with something raw. Something I couldn’t name.
“You didn’t have to say that,” she said. “You didn’t have to claim me.”
“I didn’t claim you,” I said, pulling her into my chest. “I *chose* you. And I’ll choose you every day for the rest of my life.”
She didn’t fight.
Just buried her face in my coat, her breath trembling, her heart breaking.
And in that moment—
I knew.
The game had changed.
Because now, it wasn’t just about revenge.
It wasn’t just about the bond.
It was about *truth*.
And I would burn the world to get it.
But as I held her, her body pressed against mine, her magic curling around mine like a living thing—
I couldn’t shake the feeling that the real danger wasn’t out there in the frozen wilds.
It was standing right beside me.
And I wasn’t sure if I wanted to kill him anymore.
Or keep him.