OPAL

The Council Chamber wasn’t supposed to feel like a battlefield.

But it did.

It always did.

The air was thick with tension—ozone and iron, old magic and older grudges. The torches along the walls burned not with flame, but with crimson sigils, their light pulsing in time with the Blood Moon’s slow descent. The obsidian floor reflected the gathering like a dark mirror, fractured by the shadows of those who stood too close, too still, too ready to strike. 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 slow, steady waves. The bond hummed beneath my skin—not with pain, not with denial, but with something deeper now. A resonance. A rhythm. Like a second heartbeat, shared, unbroken. 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—too close—his presence a wall of heat and silence.

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

“Yes, I do,” I said, not looking at him. My fingers brushed the hilt of the moonfire dagger at my thigh—the one Lysander had stolen, the one I’d reclaimed. “They’re watching. The envoys. The elders. Even the torches—they’re too still. Too silent. If we don’t push now, they’ll see it as weakness. As fear.”

“Let them,” he said, stepping into me. “You’ve already proven yourself. In the forest. In the trial. In the fire. You don’t have to vote to be seen.”

“But I do,” I said, lifting my chin. “Not for them. For *us*. For the child. They need to see that we’re not just bonded. We’re *alive*.”

He didn’t flinch. Just reached for my hand—warm, calloused, grounding. 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 wasn’t just a queen.

I was *his*.

And he was mine.

“Then we fight,” he said, stepping into the chamber. “Not as Alpha and consort. Not as wolf and witch. As *equals*.”

I didn’t answer.

Just followed.

The crowd parted as we entered—wolves bowing, vampires inclining their heads, fae lowering their glances. No one spoke. No one moved. Just watched. Waited. 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 shift in the balance. A challenge to the old ways. A vote on the rights of hybrids.”

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 vote.

It was a test.

And I wouldn’t fail.

“Opal of the Lunar Coven,” the High Fae said, her voice cold. “You stand accused of destabilizing the truce. Of promoting hybrid supremacy. Of using your bond with the Alpha to force this vote.”

My breath stilled.

“You deny this?” she asked.

“I deny nothing,” I said, stepping forward. My voice was steady. Calm. “I *am* a hybrid. I *am* bonded to the Alpha. And I *am* using my power to force this vote. Because the old ways are killing us. The laws are unjust. The prejudice is *murder*.”

A ripple went through the chamber.

“And what of the child?” a vampire elder hissed, rising from his throne. “The offspring of a witch and a wolf? What rights will *it* have? Will it be allowed to rule? To inherit? To *live*?”

“It will have the same rights as any child born under the Blood Moon,” I said, lifting my chin. “The same rights as yours. The same rights as theirs. No more. No less.”

“And if it’s too powerful?” another voice called. A fae lord, his eyes sharp with disdain. “If it threatens the balance? If it breaks the truce?”

“Then let it,” I said, stepping forward. “Let it break the truce. Let it burn the old laws. Because the balance isn’t justice. It’s *fear*. Fear of what we are. Fear of what we could become. Fear of *truth*.”

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.

The vote began.

One by one, the Council members cast their stones—black for no, silver for yes—into the basin at the center of the table. The air grew heavier with each drop, the magic in the chamber thickening like storm clouds before a lightning strike. I watched them—each face, each flicker of doubt, each moment of hesitation. The vampire elder. The fae lord. The Northern Pack representative. The Southern Clan envoy. The High Fae herself.

And then—

Kael stepped forward.

He didn’t speak. Just placed his stone—silver—into the basin. The sound echoed like a bell.

And then—

I stepped forward.

My hand trembled as I reached into my robe, pulling out my stone—silver, etched with a crescent moon. I didn’t look at the Council. Just at the basin. At the future.

And then—

I let it fall.

It landed with a soft *clink*.

And then—

Silence.

Until the High Fae raised her staff.

“The vote is cast,” she said, her voice echoing through the chamber. “By ancient law, the decision is—”

And then—

The basin glowed.

Not with fire.

Not with blood.

With *silver light*.

And every stone—every single one—was silver.

Unanimous.

The room stilled.

No cheers. No protests. Just silence. And then—

Whispers.

Low. Urgent. *Hungry*.

“It’s done,” Kael said, stepping into me. His voice was rough. “They’ve accepted it.”

“Not just accepted,” I said, lifting my chin. “They’ve *chosen* it. They’ve chosen *us*.”

He didn’t smile. Just 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.