The Council Chamber wasn’t supposed to feel like a tomb.
It was built for power. For unity. For the renewal of ancient oaths beneath the Blood Moon. The walls were carved from blackthorn stone, veins of silver running through like frozen lightning. The ceiling arched high, its apex shaped like a wolf’s howl, a vampire’s fang, a fae’s crown, and a witch’s sigil—interwoven, unbroken. The floor was polished obsidian, reflecting the torches that lined the perimeter, their flames dyed crimson for the occasion. And at the center—
The Round Table.
Seven thrones carved from bone and moonstone, arranged in a perfect circle. One for each species. One for each law. One for each lie.
I stood at the edge of the chamber, my hand pressed low on my belly, where the child’s warmth pulsed in a slow, steady rhythm. The bond hummed beneath my skin, not with tension, not with pain, but with something quieter—anticipation. Kael was beside me, his coat pulled tight, his golden eyes scanning the gathering. He wasn’t in half-shift, but the wolf was close, pacing beneath his skin. His hand found mine, warm, grounding, and the bond flared—a deep, resonant pulse that made the ground tremble beneath our feet.
“They’re watching,” I murmured, my voice low. “Not just the Council. The envoys. The guards. Even the torches—they’re too still. Too silent.”
“Let them,” Kael said, stepping into me. His body was a furnace, his presence a wall. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”
“Yes, I do,” I said, lifting my chin. “Because if I don’t, they’ll see it as weakness. As fear. And if they think we’re afraid—”
“Then they’ll test us,” he finished. “And I’m not in the mood for games.”
I almost smiled. Almost.
But then I felt it.
Not the bond.
Not magic.
The child.
Its warmth flared—just for a second—like a candle catching wind. My breath caught. My fingers tightened on Kael’s hand. He felt it too. His gaze snapped to mine, his golden eyes burning.
“What is it?” he asked, his voice low.
“I don’t know,” I whispered. “It’s not pain. Not fear. It’s… *aware*.”
He didn’t flinch. Just pulled me closer, his arm sliding around my waist, holding me like I was something fragile. Something his. “Then we face it,” he said. “Together.”
And then—
The gong sounded.
Deep. Resonant. Like a heartbeat. The signal. The High Fae stepped forward, her milky eyes scanning the gathering. She wore a robe of obsidian silk, her staff of blackened bone gripped in both hands.
“By ancient law,” she declared, her voice echoing through the chamber, “we gather to uphold the truce. To reaffirm the balance. To speak truth in the presence of fire.”
The crowd murmured—low, urgent, *hungry*.
“This session,” she continued, “is called to address a matter of grave concern. A breach of the Blood Pact. A betrayal within the Council.”
Every eye turned to me.
Not in respect.
Not in loyalty.
In accusation.
Kael didn’t move. Just kept his eyes on me, his hand still gripping mine. 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 this wasn’t just a session.
It was a trap.
And I wouldn’t fall.
“Opal of the Lunar Coven,” the High Fae said, her voice cold. “You stand accused of violating the Blood Pact Archives. Of stealing sacred records. Of forging moonfire blades with forbidden intent.”
My breath stilled.
“You deny this?” she asked.
“I deny nothing,” I said, stepping forward. My voice was steady. Calm. “I took the records. I forged the blade. I used moonfire to protect my child, my mate, and this truce.”
A ripple went through the chamber.
“Then you admit guilt,” a vampire elder hissed, rising from his throne. “Theft. Defiance. Unauthorized use of lethal magic. By Council law, you are to be stripped of your title, your magic, and your bond.”
“And if I refuse?” I asked, lifting my chin.
“Then you will be executed,” the High Fae said, her voice like ice. “As a traitor to the truce.”
Laughter erupted from the shadows.
Not from the crowd.
Not from the envoys.
From the far corner of the chamber—where a figure stepped forward, cloaked in twilight, her eyes glowing with violet fire.
Lyra.
She wasn’t supposed to be here. She’d been imprisoned after her betrayal, locked in the Void Cells beneath the Citadel. And yet—
Here she stood.
Alive. Smirking. free.
“You see?” she purred, stepping into the torchlight. “I told you she was dangerous. That she couldn’t be trusted. That the bond was a curse, not a blessing.”
My pulse spiked.
She wasn’t just here to accuse.
She was here to destroy.
“And you,” I said, stepping forward. “You were supposed to be in chains. How did you escape? Who let you out?”
She didn’t answer. Just smiled—and raised her hand.
And in it—
A vial.
Small. Glass. Filled with something dark and pulsing. Etched into the glass—
The sigil of the Unseelie.
“This,” she said, holding it up, “is proof. Proof that Opal conspired with Vexis. That she sought to break the truce. That she planned to use the child’s magic to overthrow the Council.”
My breath caught.
“Liar,” I said, stepping forward. “That’s a glamour. A mimic. You’re using his magic to frame me.”
“And if it’s not?” Lyra asked, stepping closer. “If the child’s power is unstable? If it threatens the balance? Then the Council has the right to intervene. To *protect* the truce.”
“You don’t give a damn about the truce,” I said, stepping forward. “You’re here because you want Kael. Because you think you can take him. Because you think you can break us.”
She didn’t deny it. Just uncorked the vial and poured the dark liquid into the scrying pool at the center of the chamber.
The water turned black.
And then—
It *spoke*.
Not in words.
Not in sound.
In *images*.
Me.
Standing in the Obsidian Chamber.
But not with Kael.
With Vexis.
His hand on my waist. My head tilted. His lips brushing my throat. The bond mark on my neck—fading, crumbling, turning to ash. And then—
Me, kneeling before the Fae High Court.
Swearing loyalty.
Swearing *obedience*.
And then—
The child.
Not in my arms.
But in *his*.
Its veins threaded with moonfire, its eyes glowing with void-light. And Vexis—
Smiling.
My breath came in ragged gasps.
It wasn’t real.
It was a lie. A trick. A glamour.
But the child—
The child flared.
Not pain.
Not fear.
Recognition.Its warmth surged, rising like a tide, syncing with the vision, with the vial, with *him*. My magic erupted—not in defense, not in attack—
But in *connection*.
And then—
Kael stepped in front of me.
“Enough,” he growled, his voice low. “You’ve said your piece. Now leave.”
Lyra didn’t flinch. Just smiled. “I haven’t finished. There’s one more thing.”
She reached into her cloak—and pulled out a dagger.
Not just any dagger.
Mine.
The one I’d forged after the dream. The one etched with lunar sigils. The one I’d hidden beneath the floorboards of our chambers.
“You’ve been busy,” she said, holding it up. “Moonfire blades. Blood rituals. Forbidden magic. Tell me, Opal—how many more secrets are you keeping from your mate?”
My breath stilled.
How had she gotten it?
Who had betrayed me?
And then—
She did the unthinkable.
She pressed the blade to her palm—and cut.
Blood welled—dark, thick, *vampire*—and dripped into the scrying pool.
And then—
The water turned silver.
And I saw it.
Not a memory.
Not a vision.
A *future*.
Me.
Standing in the Obsidian Chamber.
But not with Kael.
With Lyra.
Her hand on his chest. His eyes closed. Her lips brushing his throat. The bond mark on my neck—fading, crumbling, turning to ash. And then—
Me, kneeling before the Fae High Court.
Swearing loyalty.
Swearing *obedience*.
And then—
The child.
Not in my arms.
But in *hers*.
Its veins threaded with moonfire, its eyes glowing with vampire light. And Lyra—
Smiling.
“The future is not set,” she said, her voice soft. “But it *can* be. If you choose wisely.”
My breath came in ragged gasps.
She wasn’t just threatening me.
She was offering me something.
Power. Protection. A way out.
And for a single, terrible second—
I *wanted* it.
Because I was tired.
Tired of fighting. Tired of lying. Tired of wondering if I’d made the right choice.
And then—
Kael’s hand found mine.
Warm. Grounding. *Real*.
“Don’t,” he said, his voice rough. “Don’t even think it.”
I didn’t answer.
Just pressed my hand to my stomach, where the child’s warmth pulsed—steady, calm, *unbroken*.
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 fingers tightened on Kael’s hand. My breath steadied. My magic rose—not in anger, not in fear—but in *truth*.
“You want a trial?” I said, stepping forward. “Then give it. But know this—when I stand before the Fae High Court and they see the truth in my blood, in my magic, in my child—you will be the one who looks weak.”
Lyra didn’t flinch. Just smiled. “Then let the trial begin.”
And then—
She turned and walked into the shadows, her cloak flaring behind her.
And I—
I stood there.
Not helpless.
Not weak.
But *waiting*.
Because this wasn’t just her fight.
It was *ours*.
And I wasn’t going to lose.
We didn’t speak as we moved through the torch-lit corridors, the bond humming between us, the silence heavier than any words. My hand stayed low on my belly, my fingers pressed to that quiet warmth, that golden pulse. Kael walked beside me, his presence a wall, his silence heavier than any vow. He didn’t ask. Didn’t question. Just stayed. Watched. Waited.
And then—
We reached our chambers.
The fire roared to life as we crossed the threshold, the flames turning silver for a single, blinding second—*moonfire*, responding to the bond, to the truth, to *us*. 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 her 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.