I’ve killed men for less than a sideways glance.
But I’ve never knelt for anyone.
Until now.
The cold stone bites into my knee, but I don’t move. Don’t flinch. My bloodied knuckles clutch the shattered remains of the Alpha’s ring—onyx dust, silver teeth bent like broken promises. I hold them out to her, not as a gift, but as a vow. A penance. A beginning.
Sage stands above me, her breath shallow, her dark eyes wide with something I can’t name. Not just shock. Not just anger. Hope. Fragile. Trembling. Like a flame in the wind.
And when she leans down—when her lips brush mine, soft and slow and full of a quiet, aching trust—I feel it.
The crack.
Not in the bond.
In me.
Seven years I’ve ruled the Northern Packs with iron and silence. Seven years since the purge, since the blood of innocents stained my hands through inaction. Seven years of cold decisions, colder justice, and a loneliness so deep it carved hollows in my bones.
And now, one woman—this woman, this storm in a silver dress—has shattered it all with a kiss.
She pulls back, her thumb brushing my cheek, smearing the blood from my split lip. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she whispers.
“I should’ve done it sooner.”
She doesn’t answer. Just takes the broken silver from my palm, closing her fingers around it like it’s something sacred. Then she turns, walking to the stone chest where she keeps her things. I rise, my joints stiff, my body still thrumming from the weight of what I’ve done—what I’ve offered.
She opens the chest, reaches beneath the false bottom—just like I do—and pulls out a small, leather-bound book.
Her mother’s journal.
My breath catches.
She holds it to her chest, then turns to me. “You kept this hidden.”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Because if Malrik had known I had it, he would’ve killed you before you ever stepped into the Spire.”
She studies me, her gaze sharp, searching. “And now?”
“Now I don’t care.”
“You’re not afraid of him?”
“I’m afraid of losing you.”
She flinches. Then, slowly, she walks to me. Holds out the journal. “Then take it.”
I don’t move. “It’s yours.”
“No.” Her voice is firm. “It’s ours. If we’re going to fight him, we do it together. No more secrets. No more lies. No more hiding.”
I take it.
The weight of it is heavier than any crown.
And for the first time, I don’t feel like a king.
I feel like a man.
She steps back. “I need to speak with Riven. To plan. To prepare.”
“Be careful.”
“I’m always careful.”
“Not with your heart.”
She doesn’t answer. Just turns and walks to the door.
“Sage.”
She stops.
“The bite,” I say, voice low. “It’s not just a mark. It’s a promise. One I meant to give you in the light. But you asked for it in the dark. And I couldn’t say no.”
She looks at me over her shoulder. “I know.”
And then she’s gone.
The door clicks shut.
I stand there, the journal in one hand, the memory of her kiss on my lips, the ache of her absence in my chest.
And I realize—
I’m not afraid of war.
I’m afraid of peace.
Because if we win, if we burn the council and break the Pact, what then?
Will she still want me?
Will the bond be enough?
Or will she walk away, her vengeance complete, her mother’s name cleared, and leave me standing in the ashes of everything I’ve ever known?
I don’t have time to answer.
A knock at the door.
Three raps.
Taryn.
“Enter,” I say.
The door opens, and my Beta steps inside, his expression grim. “She went to see Riven.”
“I know.”
“And Lira?”
“She won’t be a problem.”
He hesitates. “She’s gone to Malrik. Told him about the bite. About the ring.”
I clench my jaw. “Then let him come.”
“He’s calling an emergency session. In the Eclipse Chamber. In one hour.”
I exhale. “Of course he is.”
“They’ll use it against her. Say the bond is corrupting her. That she’s unstable. That she’s not fit to be Alpha’s mate.”
“And what do you think?” I ask, turning to him.
He meets my gaze. “I think she’s the only one who’s ever made you hesitate. And I think that’s the most dangerous thing in this Spire.”
I almost smile. “Then you understand why I can’t lose her.”
“I do.” He steps closer. “But you need to be ready. Malrik won’t stop. He’ll twist this. He’ll say you’ve broken the ritual. That the public claiming is void. That the bond is illegitimate.”
“Let him.”
“And if he demands a trial? A blood test? A council vote?”
“Then I’ll give him one.” I open the journal, flipping to the last page—Lyra’s final words. “Because now, we have proof.”
Taryn’s eyes widen. “You have it.”
“She gave it to me.”
“And you trust her with it?”
“I trust her with my life.”
He studies me. Then nods. “Then I’ll stand with you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Yes,” he says. “I do.”
He leaves.
I close the journal and tuck it into the inner pocket of my tunic, over my heart. Then I move to the stone chest, retrieving my armor. The shadow-woven plates hiss as they unfold, wrapping around me like a second skin. I fasten the buckles, check the blades at my hips, the dagger at my throat.
And then I stop.
On the chest, half-hidden beneath a folded cloak—
Her gloves.
The ones she wore the night of the gala. Soft leather, laced with sigils. I pick them up, turning them in my hands. They still carry her scent—jasmine, iron, and something wild, something her.
I press them to my face.
And for the first time in seven years—
I breathe.
Not to survive.
But to live.
The Eclipse Chamber is already full when I arrive.
The council sits in their obsidian thrones, twelve seats carved from the same black stone as the Spire itself. Vampires on the left, their pale faces sharp with anticipation. Werewolves on the right, their Alphas cloaked in furs, eyes wary. Witches and Fae in the center, silent, calculating.
And at the apex—Malrik.
He smiles when I enter.
“Ah, Alpha-King. We were just discussing your… indiscretion.”
I don’t bow. Don’t speak. I take my seat and fold my hands in my lap.
“It seems,” he continues, steepling his fingers, “that you’ve taken certain… liberties with the claiming ritual.”
“I’ve done nothing the bond didn’t demand.”
“The bond demands a public marking. A ritual. A final seal.”
“And I’ll give it to her. In front of you all. When the time comes.”
“But you’ve already marked her,” snaps a vampire elder, her voice like glass. “In the dark. Without witnesses. Without consent.”
“She asked for it,” I say, cold. “And I gave it to her.”
“Then she’s compromised,” says a witch, her eyes narrow. “The bond is corrupting her. She’s unstable. Unfit.”
“She’s stronger than any of you,” I growl. “And she’s not your pawn.”
“She’s a hybrid,” Malrik says, voice smooth. “A weapon. And weapons don’t choose their masters.”
“She’s not a weapon,” I say. “She’s my mate.”
“Then prove it.”
I don’t move. “What do you want?”
“A trial,” he says. “By blood. By magic. By council decree. We’ll test the bond. We’ll test her loyalty. And if she fails—” his eyes gleam, “—she’ll be executed for treason. And you, Alpha-King, will be replaced.”
A ripple runs through the chamber.
Even the Fae stir.
“And if I refuse?” I ask.
“Then you’re already guilty.”
I rise. “Then let the trial begin.”
“Not yet,” Malrik says. “We must gather the evidence. Prepare the ritual. In three days.”
“Three days,” I repeat. “And Sage?”
“She remains under guard. No visitors. No contact. Until the trial.”
“She’s not a prisoner.”
“She is now.”
I don’t argue. I turn and walk out, my boots striking the stone with finality.
Three days.
Three days to prepare her.
Three days to keep her alive.
And three days to decide—
Whether I’m ready to burn the world for her.
I return to the suite slowly, my mind racing. The door opens silently, and I step inside.
She’s not there.
The room is empty. The bed untouched. Her things still in the chest. But she’s gone.
My pulse spikes.
Then—
A sound.
From the bath chamber.
Steam rises from the doorway, curling into the air like mist. The scent of lavender and sage fills the room—her scent. I move toward it, my boots silent on stone.
And then I see her.
Sage.
Standing in the shallow pool, the water rising to her thighs, her back to me. Her tunic is gone. Her trousers are soaked, clinging to her skin. Her hair is loose, cascading down her back, wet and dark. And on her shoulder—
The bite.
Swollen. Red. Oozing faintly.
And around it—
A sigil.
Not just a wound.
A spell.
My breath catches.
She’s trying to bind it.
“What are you doing?” I ask, voice low.
She doesn’t turn. “Stabilizing the mark. The bond is too deep. Too fast. If I don’t anchor it, it could consume me.”
“Let me help.”
“No.”
“Sage—”
“I said no.” She turns, her eyes blazing. “You don’t get to touch me like you own me. Not after what they’re planning.”
“I’m not trying to own you. I’m trying to protect you.”
“By letting them lock me away? By letting them call me unstable? By letting them—” her voice cracks, “—by letting them say I’m not yours?”
“You are mine.”
“Then act like it.”
I step forward. “I knelt for you. I shattered the ring. I gave you her journal. What more do you want?”
“I want you to fight for me,” she whispers. “Not just with your body. With your power. With your voice. With your truth.”
My breath hitches.
“They’re going to put me on trial,” she says. “In three days. They’ll say the bond is corrupt. That I’m a threat. That I need to be executed.”
“And I’ll stand with you.”
“No.” She steps closer, water rippling around her. “You’ll do more than stand. You’ll speak. You’ll tell them the truth. About the purge. About your father. About how you tried to stop it. About how you kept her journal. About how you’ve been waiting for her.”
“And if I do?”
“Then I’ll fight beside you.”
I stare at her.
And in that moment—
I know.
This isn’t just about survival.
It’s about trust.
And I’ve spent seven years building walls.
Now, I have to tear them down.
“I’ll do it,” I say, voice raw. “I’ll tell them everything. But you have to promise me one thing.”
“What?”
“You won’t run. You won’t fight alone. You’ll let me stand with you. Even if it means I fall.”
She doesn’t answer.
Just steps forward, water rising to her waist, her body close enough that I can feel the heat of her skin, smell the lavender on her breath.
And then—
She reaches up.
Her fingers brush my cheek.
“I won’t run,” she whispers. “Because you’re not just my Alpha. You’re my mate. And I’m not letting you face them alone.”
My breath stops.
And for the first time—
I believe in us.
Not because of the bond.
Not because of fate.
But because she chose me.
And that’s a power no council can take away.
She steps back, water rippling around her. “Now, help me with this mark. Before it consumes me.”
I don’t hesitate.
I strip off my tunic, step into the pool, and move behind her. My hands hover over the bite—
And then I press my palms to her skin.
Power floods into her, raw and lupine, pouring from my hands, seeping into the wound, binding the magic. She gasps, arching into me, her back pressing against my chest, her breath coming in ragged gasps.
“Does it hurt?” I ask.
“Yes,” she whispers. “But not like you think.”
And I know.
It’s not the pain of the mark.
It’s the pain of trust.
Of surrender.
Of love.
And as I pour my energy into her, as the sigil stabilizes, as the bond hums between us—
I realize—
The war isn’t coming.
It’s already here.
And this time—
We’re fighting it together.