The Citadel’s central courtyard wasn’t built for speeches.
It was built for fire.
For blood.
For the clash of fang and flame under the Blood Moon.
But today, it would hold something else.
Something new.
I stood at the edge of the square, 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 tension, 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 speak 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 stand before them to be seen.”
“But I do,” I said, lifting my chin. “Not for them. For *us*. For the child. They need to hear it from me. Not from the vote. Not from the law. From *me*.”
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 speak,” he said, stepping into the courtyard. “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 silence deepened.
Not from fear.
Not from reverence.
From anticipation.
I stepped onto the dais—a low platform of blackthorn stone, etched with lunar sigils, its surface warm to the touch. The bonfire roared at the center of the square, its flames not orange, not crimson, but deep indigo, crackling with streaks of moonfire—fed by enchanted logs from the Northern Wilds, blessed by the Lunar Coven, and bound with Northern runes. The air smelled of pine, iron, and something older—oaths, blood, memory.
I didn’t reach for a scroll.
Didn’t consult notes.
Just stepped forward—and spoke.
“You think this is about power,” I began, my voice clear, carrying across the courtyard. “You think this vote—this law—is about dominance. About who rules. About who survives.”
A ripple went through the gathering.
“It’s not,” I said, lifting my chin. “It’s about *life*. About the child growing inside me. About the human medic who bled to save a vampire. About the witch who fought beside a wolf. About the fae who chose mercy over vengeance.”
My gaze swept the crowd—past the Northern Pack envoys, past the Southern Clan elders, past the High Fae herself, standing in the shadows with her staff of blackened bone.
“You call us unstable,” I said. “You call us dangerous. You say we threaten the balance. But tell me—what is balance? Is it fear? Is it silence? Is it the old laws that let Hunters slaughter hybrids in the dark while the Council looked away?”
“We are not the threat,” I said, my voice rising. “We are the *future*. The child I carry is not a weapon. Not a curse. Not a mistake. She is *proof*. Proof that love is stronger than fear. That truth is stronger than lies. That we are not meant to be divided—wolf and witch, vampire and fae, human and hybrid—but *united*.”
The fire roared, its flames turning silver, casting long shadows on the walls. The bond flared—not in pain, not in fire—but in *harmony*. My magic surged, not to dominate, not to control, but to *soothe*. To *heal*. To *claim*.
“You want to know why we fought for this?” I asked, my voice softer now. “It’s not because we crave power. It’s because we’ve seen what happens when we don’t have it. When we’re hunted. When we’re silenced. When we’re told we don’t belong.”
I pressed my hand to my belly, where the child’s warmth pulsed—steady, calm, *aware*.
“I was told I didn’t belong,” I said. “That I was too witch to be fae. Too fae to be witch. Too human to be supernatural. Too powerful to be trusted. Too dangerous to be loved.”
I turned to Kael, standing at the edge of the dais, his golden eyes burning.
“And then I met him,” I said. “Not as Alpha. Not as enemy. Not as mate. As *man*. A man who saw me—not as a weapon, not as a curse, not as a pawn—but as *Opal*.”
A murmur went through the crowd.
“The bond didn’t make me love him,” I said. “It didn’t force me. It didn’t control me. It *revealed* me. It showed me what I was afraid to see—that I wasn’t just vengeance. I wasn’t just hate. I wasn’t just loss. I was *love*. I was *truth*. I was *alive*.”
I stepped forward, my voice rising.
“And so are you,” I said. “Every one of you. The hybrid who hides her magic. The vampire who fears his thirst. The wolf who fights his rage. The fae who doubts her loyalty. The human who dares to believe.”
I raised my hands.
And then—
Moonfire erupted from my palms.
Not in a wave.
Not in a blast.
In a pulse.
It didn’t burn the courtyard.
It revealed it.
For a single, blinding second, the entire square 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 scars. His fears. His love.
And mine.
The hatred. The vengeance. The grief.
All of it—laid bare.
And then—
The light faded.
The courtyard stilled.
And the silence—
Was no longer heavy.
It was *holy*.
“This isn’t just about rights,” I said, my voice soft now. “It’s about *recognition*. About seeing each other. Not as species. Not as factions. Not as enemies. As *people*. As *family*.”
I looked at the young witch from the Ember Circle, standing at the edge of the crowd, her hand in that of a Southern Clan wolf. At the vampire elder, nodding slowly, his cold eyes no longer sharp with disdain. At the High Fae, her milky gaze fixed on me, unreadable.
“The truce isn’t a cage,” I said. “It’s a *bridge*. And we are not meant to stand on opposite sides. We are meant to cross it. Together.”
I stepped back.
Not in defeat.
Not in retreat.
In *invitation*.
“So if you’re afraid,” I said, “stand with us. If you’re angry, fight with us. If you’re lost, find us. Because this isn’t just my fight. It’s *ours*.”
And then—
I turned to Kael.
Not as Alpha.
Not as mate.
As *partner*.
“We don’t have to be perfect,” I said, my voice breaking. “We don’t have to be strong. We just have to be *true*. To ourselves. To each other. To the future.”
He didn’t speak.
Just stepped forward—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 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.
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 courtyard 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.