OPAL

The training grounds of the Northern Packs were not built for witches.

They were built for wolves.

Raw earth packed down by centuries of paws and boots. Stone dummies carved with claw marks. Target posts splintered by fang and fire. The air smelled of iron, old blood, and the faint, ever-present musk of dominance. This was where Alphas were forged. Where loyalty was tested. Where weakness was culled.

And now—

It was mine.

I stood at the center of the ring, barefoot, my robe of silver-blue linen tied loosely at the waist. The morning sun cut through the mist rising off the frozen wilds, painting the spires of the Citadel in pale gold. My hair was pulled back, my hands steady, my breath even. But beneath it all—

The bond hummed.

Not with pain. Not with denial. But with something deeper now. A resonance. A rhythm. Like a second heartbeat, steady, strong, shared. Kael stood at the edge of the ring, arms crossed, his golden eyes scanning me with the precision of a predator. He wasn’t in half-shift. Not today. But the wolf was close—too close—his presence a wall of heat and silence.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said, his voice low. “Not yet.”

“Yes, I do,” I said, not looking at him. My fingers brushed the hilt of the moonfire dagger at my thigh—Lysander’s theft still a wound, even though I’d reclaimed it last night in the scrying chamber. “The trial is in three days. The Fae High Court will demand a demonstration of power. Of loyalty. Of control.”

“And if you lose control?” he asked. “If the child—”

“Then you’ll be here,” I said, finally meeting his gaze. “Just like you were in the forest. Just like you were in the fire. You’ll catch me. You’ll hold me. You’ll protect me.”

He didn’t flinch. Just stepped into the ring, his boots silent on the packed earth. “And if I can’t?”

My breath caught.

He wasn’t just asking about strength.

He was asking about trust.

And that—

That was more dangerous than any blade.

“Then I’ll break it,” he said, not hesitating. “Before I let you die.”

My pulse spiked.

He wasn’t just saying it to control me.

He meant it.

And that—

That was more dangerous than any lie.

Because I wasn’t just fighting for my mother anymore.

I wasn’t just fighting for the truth.

I was fighting for a life.

And I didn’t know how to come back from that.

“Begin,” I said, stepping back. “Show me what the packs teach their young.”

He didn’t argue. Just nodded—and moved.

Fast. Brutal. No magic. No fire. Just raw, physical dominance. He came at me low, a feint to the left, a strike to the ribs. I twisted—too slow—his forearm slamming into my side. Pain flared, white-hot, but I didn’t fall. Just rolled with the blow, using the momentum to spin and kick at his knee. He blocked—effortless—and countered with a sweep that sent me to the ground.

“You’re stiff,” he said, not offering a hand. “You’re thinking too much.”

“I’m not a wolf,” I said, pushing myself up. “I don’t fight like one.”

“No,” he said, stepping into me. “But you’re not just a witch either. You’re something else. And if you want to survive the trial, you need to stop fighting like you’re human.”

My jaw tightened.

He wasn’t wrong.

I’d spent my life relying on magic. On ritual. On precision. But this—this was different. This was instinct. This was survival. This was the raw, unfiltered truth of who I’d become.

And I was afraid of it.

“Again,” I said, lifting my hands.

He didn’t hesitate.

This time, I didn’t wait for him to strike.

I moved first.

Not with magic. Not with fire. With my body. I lunged, aiming for his throat, my fingers curved like claws. He caught my wrist—just like before—but this time, I didn’t pull back. I twisted, using his grip to pivot, my other hand driving toward his solar plexus. He grunted, stumbling back, but recovered fast—too fast—his leg sweeping mine out from under me.

I hit the ground hard.

But this time, I didn’t stay down.

I rolled, came up on one knee, and pulled.

Not on the bond.

On the child.

Its warmth flared—just for a second—like a candle catching wind. And then—

Moonfire erupted from my palms.

Not in a wave. Not in a blast.

In a pulse.

It didn’t burn the earth. Didn’t scorch the stone.

It revealed.

For a single, blinding second, the entire training grounds were 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 scars. His fears. His love.

And mine.

The hatred. The vengeance. The grief.

All of it—laid bare.

And then—

The light faded.

The ring stilled.

And Kael—

He didn’t attack.

Just stared at me, his golden eyes burning with something I couldn’t name—wonder, maybe. Or pride.

“That,” he said, his voice rough, “wasn’t just magic.”

“No,” I said, breathing hard. “It was truth.”

He stepped forward, his hand reaching for mine. The bond flared—a surge of heat that made the ground tremble beneath our feet. 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 a witch.

I was a queen.

“You’re ready,” he said, pulling me into his chest. His arms locked around me, holding me like I was something fragile. Something his. “You don’t need the trial. You don’t need their approval. You just need to know who you are.”

“And who is that?” I whispered, my fingers pressing to my stomach, where the child’s warmth pulsed—steady, calm, *unbroken*.

He didn’t answer.

Just kissed me.

Slow. Deep. Real.

No force. No magic. No bond.

Just need.

And then—

They came.

Not the Northern Packs. Not the vampires. Not even the Fae.

Witches.

Young ones. Dozens of them. From the Ember Circle, the Shadow Weavers, even the Lunar Coven—those who’d survived the raid, who’d hidden in the wilds, who’d waited for me to return. They stood at the edge of the ring, their robes the colors of fire and smoke, their eyes wide, their breath shallow.

And then—

They knelt.

Not to me.

Not to the bond.

To the truth.

My breath caught.

Kael stepped back, his hand still gripping mine, his presence a wall. “They’ve been asking for you,” he said, his voice low. “Since the festival. Since the fire spoke. They want to learn. From you.”

“Me?” I asked, my voice breaking. “I’m not a teacher. I’m a weapon.”

“And now,” he said, stepping into me, “you’re both.”

I didn’t answer.

Just walked to them.

Not as a conqueror. Not as a queen.

As a survivor.

“Stand,” I said, my voice clear. “You don’t kneel to me. You rise with me.”

They obeyed.

And then—

I began.

Not with spells. Not with rituals.

With truth.

“Magic isn’t in the words,” I said, stepping into the center of the ring. “It’s in the blood. In the bone. In the fire that burns when you’re told you’re not enough. When you’re told you’re too much. When you’re told you don’t belong.”

They listened.

Not with awe.

Not with fear.

With recognition.

“The moonfire,” I continued, “doesn’t come from the sky. It comes from *you*. From the pain. From the loss. From the love that refuses to die.”

I raised my hands.

And then—

It came.

Not forced. Not summoned.

Given.

Silver flame curled from my fingertips, not burning, not scorching—but revealing. It spiraled into the air, forming a ring of light above the training grounds. And then—

I stepped into it.

“Feel it,” I said, my voice low. “Not with your hands. Not with your eyes. With your *soul*.”

One by one, they stepped forward.

A young Ember witch, her hands stained with soot, reached into the flame.

It didn’t burn.

It answered.

Fire erupted from her palms—gold, then crimson, then silver—merging with mine. A Shadow Weaver gasped as her glamour flickered, then stabilized, stronger than before. A Lunar witch wept as the sigils on her arms glowed—not with ritual, but with *memory*.

And then—

The child flared.

Not pain.

Not fear.

Recognition.

Its warmth surged, rising like a tide, syncing with the fire, with the bond, with *me*. My magic erupted—not in defense, not in attack—

But in harmony.

The flames turned pure silver, not burning, not scorching—but uniting. The runes on the ground glowed, not with crimson, not with black—but with *gold*. The air hummed with power. Not dominance. Not control.

Truth.

And then—

They began to chant.

Not in unison. Not in ritual.

In *memory*.

The old words. The lost spells. The names of those we’d lost. My mother’s voice rose in my mind—“You are more than they say. You are more than they fear. You are the fire that burns in the dark.”

Tears burned in my eyes.

But I didn’t wipe them away.

Let them see.

Let them know.

I wasn’t just their leader.

I was their proof.

The training lasted until dusk.

Witches came and went. Some stayed. Some left. But all of them carried something with them—fire in their veins, truth in their hearts. And when the last one stepped back, her eyes glowing with silver light, I knew—

This wasn’t just about survival.

It wasn’t just about power.

It was about legacy.

Kael waited until they were gone.

Then he stepped into me, his body a furnace, his breath warm against my neck. “You were magnificent,” he said, his voice rough.

“I was terrified,” I said, pressing my hand to my stomach. The child’s warmth pulsed—slow, steady, *calm*. As if it knew. As if it trusted us.

“So was I,” he said, pulling me into his chest. “But not of them.”

“Then what?” I asked, lifting my head.

“Of becoming you,” he said, brushing his thumb along the bond mark on my neck. “Of losing myself in the fight. Of forgetting why I started this in the first place.”

I didn’t answer.

Just reached up and brushed my thumb along the scar on his jaw—the one from the Iron Fangs’ ambush. The one he’d earned protecting me.

And then—

I kissed him.

Not in magic.

Not in fire.

Not in desperation.

But in truth.

Slow. Soft. Deep.

No force. No dominance. No bond.

Just need.

His hands found my waist, pulling me closer, his body pressing against mine. The bond flared—a surge of heat that made the ground tremble beneath our feet. My magic rose, not to burn, not to fight, but to soothe. To heal. To claim.

And when he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against mine, his fingers tangling in my hair, I didn’t pull away.

I *arched* into him.

Because for the first time in my life—

I wasn’t just surviving.

I was living.

And I wasn’t alone.

We returned to the Citadel as the first light of dawn broke over the mountains, painting the stone spires in blood. The torches flared to life as we approached, their flames turning silver for a single, blinding second—moonfire, responding to the bond, to the truth, to us. The Northern Packs stood in formation, their presence a wall of loyalty. The vampires watched from the upper balconies, their faces impassive. The Fae lingered in the shadows, their glamours shifting like smoke.

And then—

They saw us.

The crowd stilled. The whispers died. Every eye turned to my hand, still pressed to my stomach. To Kael, his arm around my waist, his presence a wall. To the way he stood beside me, not in front, not behind, but equal.

“She’s with child,” a Northern Pack envoy murmured as we passed. His eyes flickered to my belly, to the faint glow beneath my robe. “The bond is evolving.”

“Let them talk,” I said, lifting my chin. “I don’t care what they believe.”

“You should,” Kael said, his voice low. “Rumors have power. Especially when they’re laced with truth.”

I didn’t answer.

Because he was right.

The truth was the most dangerous weapon of all.

We reached our chambers as the sun rose over the Citadel, its light warm on my skin. The fire roared to life as we crossed the threshold, the flames turning silver again, casting long shadows on the walls. Kael closed the door behind us, the lock clicking into place. The bond hummed between us, not as a curse.

But as a promise.

He didn’t speak. Just turned and pulled me into his chest, his arms locking around me, holding me like I was something fragile. Something his. My breath trembled. My heart broke. My fingers found the buttons of his coat, undoing them one by one. His skin was warm beneath my touch, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. He didn’t stop me. Just watched me, his gold eyes burning, his hands gripping my hips like I was something sacred. Something ours.

“Say it,” he whispered, his voice rough. “Say you want this. Say you want us.”

“I want you,” I said, my voice breaking. “I want this. I want everything.”

He didn’t hesitate.

He kissed me slow, deep, his hands tangling in my hair, his body pressing against mine. The bond flared—a surge of heat that made the ground tremble beneath our feet. My magic erupted, not in fire, not in light, but in pulse. Silver energy curled from my skin, not burning, not scorching—but revealing.

For a single, blinding second, the entire room 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.

His scars. His fears. His love.

And mine.

The hatred. The vengeance. The grief.

All of it—laid bare.

And then—

The light faded.

The room stilled.

And he was above me, his body a furnace, his eyes gold and burning. “Then let it burn,” he whispered. “Let it break. Let it remake us.”

“And if it destroys us?” I whispered.

“Then we’ll burn together,” he said, stepping closer. “But I won’t live in the dark.”

And then—

The bond flared.

Not in pain.

Not in fire.

But in need.

It wasn’t the heat cycle. Not the moon’s pull. Not magic.

It was us.

And for the first time, I didn’t fight it.

I just… let go.

My hands found his face, my fingers brushing his jaw, his scars, the rough edge of his stubble. His breath hitched. His body stilled. And then—

He kissed me back.

Slow. Soft. Deep.

No force. No magic. No bond.

Just need.

And as the fire burned low, its flames turning silver again, casting long shadows on the walls, 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 lay beside Kael, his arms locked around me, his heartbeat syncing with mine—

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.

Opal’s Blood Moon

The Blood Moon rises over the Blackthorn Citadel, its crimson glow painting the stone spires in blood. Inside the Obsidian Chamber, Opal stands disguised in ceremonial robes, her pulse steady, her fingers brushing the hidden dagger at her thigh. She came to kill the Alpha. Not to be bound to him. But when the ritual begins—meant to renew the truce between species—her blood spills onto the altar… and his. The moment their essences mix, the runes ignite. A shockwave throws them together. His mouth crashes against hers—not in passion, but in agony. Their souls twist, fuse, burn. The council screams. The bond is forged. Now, Opal is no longer a spy. She is Kael’s Blood-Marked Consort—a political liability, a magical anomaly, and the only woman who can trigger his primal heat. He wants to control her. She wants to destroy him. But the bond punishes denial: fever, pain, hallucinations. And when the moon swells, their bodies betray them—pressed together in fevered dreams, his teeth grazing her throat, her nails scoring his back, neither knowing if it’s real or magic. A shadow looms—the real mastermind behind her mother’s death still walks free, manipulating both packs and courts. And Kael may be the only one strong enough to protect her… or the final obstacle to her revenge. From the first chapter, Opal’s goal is clear: break the bond, kill the Alpha, reclaim her birthright. But by Chapter 3, she’s forced into a public alliance. By Chapter 8, she’s fighting jealousy, a seductive vampire mistress, and her own body’s betrayal—when a midnight mission ends with her straddling Kael’s lap, breathless, his hand under her shirt, the door slamming shut behind them. Their love will be forged in fire, blood, and the heat of the Blood Moon.