The peace didn’t last.
It never does.
Two weeks after the birth of the new Council, after the Fae High Court had severed Maeve’s oath, after the quiet warmth beneath my skin had settled into a steady, golden pulse—two weeks of whispered promises, of Kael’s hand brushing mine in the torch-lit corridors, of his breath warm against my neck in the dead of night—two weeks of *almost believing* it was over—
And then, the howl came.
It tore through the Citadel at dawn, a sound so raw, so feral, it didn’t feel like a warning.
It felt like a *challenge*.
I sat up in bed, my breath catching, my hand instinctively pressing to my stomach. The bond flared—a surge of heat that made the ground tremble beneath our feet. Kael was already on his feet, his coat pulled tight, his golden eyes burning with the shift. He wasn’t half-shifted. Not yet. But the wolf was close, pacing beneath his skin, claws pressing against muscle, breath coming in low growls.
“It’s not Lyra,” he said, his voice rough. “It’s one of ours.”
“A mutiny?” I asked, swinging my legs over the side of the bed.
He didn’t answer. Just turned, his gaze locking onto mine. “Stay here.”
“No,” I said, standing. “I’m not hiding while you face this alone.”
“You’re carrying our child,” he growled. “I won’t risk you.”
“And I won’t let you walk into a trap without me,” I shot back, pulling on my robe. “This isn’t just your pack. It’s *ours*. And if they’re coming for you, they’re coming for me too.”
He didn’t argue. Just reached for my hand—just for a second—his fingers brushing mine, warm, grounding. The bond flared, a deeper pulse, richer, stronger. My magic rose, not in fire, not in light, but in *recognition*. As if my power knew what my mind refused to admit.
That I wasn’t just fighting for the bond.
I was fighting for *us*.
And that thought—
That thought was more dangerous than any blade.
We moved through the torch-lit corridors, the bond humming between us, the silence heavier than any words. The Citadel was already in motion—Northern Pack envoys rushing to their posts, vampire sentries taking the upper balconies, Fae glamours flickering like dying embers. The air was thick with the scent of old magic and fear. Not panic. Not chaos. But the quiet hum of a war machine waking.
“It’s Torin,” Silas said, stepping into the corridor. His dark coat was dusted with ash, his expression grim. “He’s gathered the dissenters. They’re in the courtyard. Demanding a trial by blood.”
My breath caught.
Torin. Kael’s second. His brother in all but blood. The one who had stood beside him through every battle, every betrayal, every loss. And now—
Now, he was turning.
“Why?” Kael asked, his voice low.
“They say the bond has weakened you,” Silas said. “That you’ve chosen a witch over your pack. That you’ve let a half-breed sit on the Council. That you’ve made peace with the vampires, the Fae, the *humans*—and in doing so, you’ve betrayed the old ways.”
“And what do *you* say?” I asked, stepping forward.
Silas didn’t flinch. Just met my gaze. “I say they’re afraid. Afraid of change. Afraid of truth. Afraid of what they can’t control.”
“Then we show them,” I said, lifting my chin. “We show them what the bond *really* is.”
Kael didn’t answer. Just stepped into me, his body a furnace, his hand finding mine. The bond flared—a surge of heat that made the ground tremble beneath our feet. My magic surged, rising like a tide, drawn to his like it had its own will.
“Stay close,” he said, his voice rough. “No heroics.”
“I’m not your soldier,” I said, but there was no bite in it.
“No,” he said, stepping into me. “You’re my equal. My match. And if you die, I break.”
My breath hitched.
He wasn’t just saying it to control her.
He *meant* it.
And that—
That was the most dangerous thing of all.
We reached the courtyard as the first light of dawn broke over the Citadel, painting the stone spires in blood. The air was sharp with frost, the scent of crushed pine and old magic lingering from the night’s battle. The Northern Packs stood in formation—dozens of them, their coats dark, their eyes burning with loyalty. But at the center—
Torin.
He stood on the dais, his fur bristling, his claws extended, his golden eyes locked onto Kael. He wasn’t in full shift. Not yet. But the wolf was close, pacing beneath his skin, breath coming in low growls. Behind him—twenty dissenters, their fangs bared, their stance wide, their presence a wall of defiance.
And then—
They saw us.
The crowd stilled. The whispers died. Every eye turned to the bond mark on my neck—glowing faintly, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. And then—to Kael. To his hand, still gripping mine. To the way he stood beside me, not in front, not behind, but *equal*.
“The Alpha has returned,” Torin said, his voice a growl. “But he does not come alone. He comes with *her*. The witch. The half-breed. The woman who has bound him with magic and lies.”
“She is not bound,” Kael said, stepping forward. “She is *chosen*.”
“Chosen?” Torin spat. “Or *cursed*? You were strong once, Kael. Feared. Respected. Now? You kneel to witches. You share power with vampires. You let *humans* sit on the Council. And for what? A truce? A lie?”
“It’s not a lie,” I said, stepping beside Kael. “It’s the truth.”
“Truth?” Torin laughed—a cold, hollow sound. “The truth is that the old ways are dying. That you’ve let the weak rule the strong. That you’ve let your *mate*—” he sneered the word “—dictate your decisions. And now, the packs are divided. The Southern Clans are watching. The Iron Fangs are gathering. And you? You’re too busy playing politics to see the war coming.”
“And what would you have me do?” Kael asked, his voice low. “Return to the old ways? Kill the dissenters? Burn the Council? Start a war we can’t win?”
“No,” Torin said. “I would have you *lead*. Not follow. Not kneel. Not *beg* for peace like a weakling. You are the Blood Moon Alpha. You are the strongest of us. And if you won’t act, then we will.”
“Then you challenge me,” Kael said, not a question.
“I do,” Torin said, stepping down from the dais. “By the old laws. Trial by blood. If I win, I take the mantle. If you win—”
“Then you kneel,” Kael said. “And you swear loyalty. Not just to me. To the *Council*. To the truce. To the future.”
Torin didn’t flinch. Just nodded. “Then let the trial begin.”
The courtyard erupted in chaos.
Some roared. Some hissed. Some stepped back in fear.
But I didn’t flinch.
Just reached for Kael’s hand—warm, grounding. The bond flared, a surge of heat that made the ground tremble beneath our feet.
“You don’t have to do this,” I said, my voice low. “We can end this without blood.”
“No,” he said, turning to me. “This isn’t just about power. It’s about *trust*. And if I can’t hold my own pack, I can’t protect you. I can’t protect *us*.”
My breath caught.
He wasn’t just saying it to control me.
He *meant* it.
And that—
That was more dangerous than any lie.
The trial began at dawn.
No weapons. No magic. Just claws, fangs, and the raw strength of the wolf. The rules were simple: first to draw blood wins. First to yield loses. First to die—
Doesn’t matter.
Kael stripped off his coat, his movements slow, deliberate. He wasn’t afraid. Not of Torin. Not of the fight. But of what came after. Of what this meant. Of what it would cost.
And then—
He shifted.
Not fully. Just enough. His bones cracked, his muscles swelled, his coat darkened to the color of midnight. His claws extended, his fangs bared, his golden eyes burning with the fire of the Alpha. He didn’t growl. Didn’t snarl. Just stood there, a wall of power, a force of nature.
Torin followed.
But he went further.
Full shift.
His body erupted in fur, his spine arching, his jaw snapping as his muzzle elongated. He was bigger than Kael. Stronger. Faster. But Kael—
Kael was *calm*.
They circled each other, low growls rumbling through the courtyard. The air was thick with tension, the silence heavier than any words. And then—
Torin lunged.
Fast. Brutal. Aimed for the throat.
Kael dodged—just enough—his shoulder taking the brunt of the blow. They crashed into the stone, claws scraping, fangs snapping. The crowd roared. The ground trembled. And I—
I stood there.
Not helpless.
Not weak.
But *waiting*.
Because this wasn’t just their fight.
It was *ours*.
They broke apart, circling again. Blood dripped from Kael’s shoulder, dark and thick. Torin’s muzzle was split, his breath coming in ragged gasps. But neither yielded. Neither backed down.
And then—
Torin lunged again.
This time, he went for the leg.
Kael twisted—too slow—his thigh tearing under the force of the bite. He snarled, pain flashing across his face. But he didn’t fall. Didn’t flinch. Just turned, his claws raking across Torin’s side, drawing first blood.
The crowd stilled.
One drop.
One scar.
One victory.
But Torin didn’t yield.
Just roared—and charged.
They collided in a blur of fur and fang, rolling across the stone, claws tearing, fangs snapping. Blood sprayed. The ground trembled. And I—
I stepped forward.
Not to fight.
Not to interfere.
But to *witness*.
Because this wasn’t just about power.
It was about *truth*.
And the truth was—
Kael was holding back.
He could have ended it. Could have torn Torin’s throat out. Could have crushed his spine. But he didn’t.
Because Torin wasn’t just a rival.
He was a brother.
And Kael wouldn’t kill family.
But Torin—
Torin had no such mercy.
He broke free, lunging for Kael’s exposed neck—
And I moved.
Not with magic.
Not with fire.
With my body.
I stepped between them, my arms wide, my breath steady. The bond flared—a surge of heat that made the ground tremble beneath our feet. My magic rose, not in anger, not in defense, but in *recognition*. As if my power knew what my mind refused to admit.
That I wasn’t just a witch.
I was a *queen*.
“Stop,” I said, my voice calm. “This ends now.”
Torin didn’t stop.
Just snarled—and lunged.
And then—
I burned.
Moonfire erupted from my fingertips—not in a wave, not in a blast—
But in a *pulse*.
It didn’t hurt him.
Didn’t burn.
It *revealed*.
For a single, blinding second, the entire courtyard was flooded with silver light—and in that light, I saw it.
The truth.
Not just in the bond.
Not just in the magic.
But in *us*.
Kael’s loyalty. His strength. His love.
And Torin’s fear. His doubt. His pain.
All of it—laid bare.
And then—
The light faded.
The courtyard stilled.
And Torin—
He fell to his knees.
Not in defeat.
But in *understanding*.
Kael stepped forward, his coat still dark, his claws still extended. But he didn’t attack. Just placed a hand on Torin’s shoulder. A silent promise. A quiet forgiveness.
“You don’t have to kneel,” Kael said, his voice rough. “You just have to *see*.”
Torin didn’t answer. Just lowered his head, his body trembling.
And then—
He shifted back.
Human again. Bloodied. Broken. But *alive*.
“I see,” he whispered. “I see now.”
The crowd erupted.
Not in anger.
Not in fear.
From *belief*.
The Northern Packs roared. The vampires nodded. The Fae bowed. And the High Witch—
She didn’t speak.
Just stepped back.
And in that silence—
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 her back.
But as I stood beside Kael, his hand brushing mine, his presence a shadow at my back—
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.