The heat fades like a dying breath.
Not with a roar, not with a climax, but with a slow, aching ebb—like the moonlight retreating from the obsidian floor, like the fever breaking after days of delirium. My body is limp, drenched in sweat, trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure. Kaelen’s arms are still around me, his chest rising and falling against my back, his breath warm on my neck. His hand rests low on my stomach, just above the waistband of my trousers, where his fingers had been only moments ago—stroking, claiming, driving me to the edge and back again.
I came.
Not once.
Twice.
And each time, it wasn’t just the heat. It wasn’t just the bond.
It was him.
His voice. His touch. The way he looked at me—like I was something sacred, something worth fighting for.
And now—
Now I don’t know what to do.
Because I came here to burn them all.
Not to fall in love.
Not to let him hold me like I belong to him.
Not to whisper his name like a prayer.
But I did.
And I don’t regret it.
That’s what terrifies me most.
The chamber is silent. The moonlight has shifted, painting silver streaks across the bed, across our tangled limbs. The bond hums, steady and deep, no longer a scream but a purr—a quiet, unshakable truth. We passed the test. We endured. We didn’t break. We didn’t burn.
And now?
Now the council will have to accept me.
As mate.
As queen.
As his.
But I don’t care about them.
I care about the journal.
Lyra’s journal.
It’s still in Kaelen’s pocket. Still pressed against his heart. And I need to know.
I need to know if he kept it because he cared.
Or because he wanted power.
I shift, slowly, carefully, rolling onto my side to face him. His eyes are open, silver and sharp, watching me. He doesn’t speak. Just studies me—my flushed skin, my tangled hair, the way my fingers twitch toward his chest.
“You’re thinking,” he says, voice rough.
“I’m always thinking.”
“Not like this.” He reaches up, brushes a strand of hair from my face. “You’re planning. Calculating. I can see it in your eyes.”
“Maybe I am.”
“About what?”
“The journal.”
His hand stills.
“You want to read it,” he says.
“I need to read it.”
He doesn’t move. Just watches me, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he reaches into the inner pocket of his tunic and pulls it out—the leather-bound book, scorched at the edges, the Moonblood sigil still visible beneath the ash. He holds it out to me, not as a gift, but as a challenge.
“Then read it,” he says. “But know this—once you do, there’s no going back. The truth doesn’t let you pretend anymore.”
I take it.
The weight of it is heavier than any weapon.
I sit up, pulling the covers around me, my back against the stone wall. Kaelen sits beside me, close enough that I can feel his heat, far enough that he doesn’t touch me. I open the journal to the first page—the same sentence I read in the vault, written in my mother’s hand, steady and strong.
“They will say I betrayed my kind. They will say I loved a monster. But the truth is, I loved a man who tried to save me. And the real monster sits on the council’s throne.”
My breath hitches.
I flip the page.
And then another.
And another.
The entries are dated—months, years before my birth. She writes about her love for Kaelen’s father, a quiet alliance between the Moonbloods and the Northern Packs, a dream of unity, of peace, of a world where hybrids weren’t hunted. She writes about their secret meetings, their stolen moments, their plans to dismantle the Pact of Eclipse from within.
And then—
The purge.
How Malrik discovered the alliance. How he used her pregnancy as proof of treason. How he framed her. How Kaelen’s father tried to stop it—and died for it.
And the final entry.
Dated the night before her execution.
“If you are reading this, my daughter, know this: I did not betray our blood. I did not betray our future. I was silenced. But the truth cannot die. Find the Alpha-King’s son. He carries his father’s honor. He may be your enemy now—but he is not your enemy’s ally. And if the bond awakens between you… trust it. It is not fate. It is justice.”
Tears blur my vision.
I close the journal.
And for the first time since I walked into the Spire—
I believe her.
Not because of magic.
Not because of the bond.
But because of the words.
Because of the truth in them.
Because of the woman who wrote them—my mother, who loved a man who tried to save her.
And then—
I look at Kaelen.
“You knew,” I say, voice trembling. “You knew she was innocent. You knew Malrik framed her. You knew your father died trying to stop it.”
“I did.”
“And you didn’t tell me.”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“From what?” I snap. “The truth? From knowing that the man I came here to destroy might actually be the only one who can help me?”
“From Malrik,” he says, voice low. “If he’d known I had this, he would’ve killed you before you ever stepped into the Spire. He would’ve said you were conspiring with me. That we were planning a coup. That the bond was a lie.”
“And now?”
“Now I don’t care.”
“You’re not afraid of him?”
“I’m afraid of losing you.”
My breath hitches.
“Then why keep it hidden?” I whisper. “Why let me hate you? Why let me think you were the monster?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just looks at me, his silver eyes dark, intense. Then, slowly, he reaches out and takes the journal from my hands. Flips to the last page. Runs his thumb over my mother’s final words.
“Because I was afraid,” he says, voice raw. “Afraid that if you knew the truth, you’d still hate me. That you’d still see me as the man who signed the order. That you’d never believe I tried to stop it.”
“And now?”
“Now?” He looks at me. “Now I know you do.”
My breath stops.
“You saw the truth in her words,” he says. “Just like I did. You saw that she wasn’t a traitor. That she was a woman who loved too much. That she was silenced.” His voice drops. “And you saw that I wasn’t the one who killed her. That I tried to save her. That I’ve been waiting for you.”
Tears burn behind my eyes.
“Then why didn’t you tell me?” I whisper.
“Because I wanted you to see it for yourself. I wanted you to read her words and believe them—not because I said so, but because they were true.” He closes the journal, holds it to his chest. “I didn’t want to give you answers. I wanted you to find them.”
My breath hitches.
And then—
I do something I haven’t done in years.
I cry.
Not silently. Not with restraint.
But openly. Freely. A sob rips from my throat, raw and broken, and I collapse into his arms, my face pressed into his chest, my hands clutching his tunic. He holds me, his arms tight around me, his breath warm on my hair, his voice a low murmur in my ear.
“It’s okay,” he says. “You don’t have to be strong anymore. Not for me. Not for the mission. Not for the war. You can just… be.”
And I do.
I let go.
I let myself feel it—the grief, the rage, the relief, the love.
And when the sobs finally stop, when my breath steadies, when my body stops trembling—he pulls back, cups my face, his thumbs brushing my cheeks, smearing the tears.
“You’re not just a weapon,” he says, voice rough. “You’re not just a pawn. You’re not just a hybrid. You’re Sage. My mate. My queen. And I will spend the rest of my life proving that to you.”
My breath hitches.
“And if I don’t believe you?” I whisper.
“Then I’ll keep trying.” He leans in, his lips brushing mine, soft and slow and full of something I haven’t felt in years.
Hope.
And when he pulls back, he whispers—
“Prove it.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just takes my hand.
And leads me to the bed.
Not to claim me.
Not to mark me.
But to hold me.
And for the first time—
I let him.
The next morning, I wake to sunlight.
Not gray dawn. Not silver moonlight.
Golden, warm, streaming through the high windows of the suite, painting the obsidian floor in honeyed light. The air is still thick with magic, with the lingering pulse of the bond, with the scent of pine and smoke and sweat.
And Kaelen?
He’s gone.
Not far.
Standing by the hearth, his back to me, his shadow-woven armor gleaming in the low light, his silver eyes scanning the room. He turns when he hears me move, his expression unreadable.
“You’re awake,” he says.
“You’re dressed.”
“I had a meeting with Taryn.”
“About?”
“Malrik.”
My breath hitches.
“He’s calling another session,” Kaelen says. “In the Eclipse Chamber. In one hour.”
“Of course he is.”
“He’ll try to discredit us. Say the heat trial was manipulated. That the bond is still unstable.”
“And what will you do?”
“We’ll go.” He steps closer, his voice low. “We’ll stand before them. Together. And we’ll tell them the truth.”
“About the journal?”
“About everything.”
My breath stops.
“You’re ready?” I whisper.
“I’ve been ready.” He reaches into his tunic, pulls out the journal, holds it out to me. “But this? This is yours. You should be the one to speak. To expose him. To reclaim your mother’s name.”
I take it.
And for the first time—
I feel it.
Not just the weight of the book.
But the weight of the truth.
And the power in it.
“Then let’s burn him,” I say, voice steady. “Let’s burn them all.”
He doesn’t smile.
Just nods.
And takes my hand.
And as we walk to the Eclipse Chamber, as the council waits, as Malrik’s smile sharpens like a blade—
I know.
The war isn’t just coming.
It’s already here.
And this time—
I’m not just fighting for revenge.
I’m fighting for justice.
For my mother.
For the truth.
And for the man who’s holding my hand—
Not as my captor.
Not as my warden.
But as my mate.
As my equal.
As my future.
And when I step into the chamber, when I raise the journal, when I say, “This is the truth,”—
I don’t feel fear.
I feel fire.
And I know—
It will be enough.