The first time I truly let go, it wasn’t with a scream.
Not with a fight.
Not with fire or fury or vengeance.
It was with a breath.
Soft.
Slow.
And full of something I hadn’t allowed myself in years.
Trust.
We’d returned to the Spire—what was left of it. The eastern wing had collapsed, the Eclipse Chamber sealed beneath rubble, the obsidian halls now scarred with cracks and ash. But the northern tower still stood, untouched by Malrik’s final curse, its moonlit corridors quiet, its wards intact. It was here, in a chamber high above the ruins, that Kaelen brought me—not as a prisoner, not as a pawn, but as his mate.
And it was here that I stopped running.
The room was simple—stone walls, a wide bed draped in black fur, a hearth where firelight danced across the floor. No chains. No sigils. No magic bindings. Just warmth. Just silence. Just us.
He didn’t speak when he closed the door. Didn’t touch me. Just stood there, his shadow-woven armor gleaming in the low light, his silver eyes watching me like I was the only thing in the world worth seeing.
“You don’t have to stay,” he said, voice rough. “You can leave. Walk out. Start over. I won’t stop you.”
I didn’t move.
Just looked at him—really looked. At the scars on his face, the shadows beneath his eyes, the way his hand trembled slightly at his side. He’d bled for me. Fought for me. Nearly died for me. And still, he was giving me a choice.
Not because the bond demanded it.
Not because the council required it.
Because he wanted it.
“And if I stay?” I asked.
He didn’t answer right away. Just stepped closer, slow, deliberate, until he was close enough that I could feel the heat of him, smell the pine and smoke and wildness that was uniquely his.
“Then you stay,” he said. “Not as my captive. Not as my duty. Not as my mate because fate says so.” His hand lifted, hovered near my face. “But because you want to. Because you choose me. Because you’re ready.”
My breath hitched.
Because I wasn’t sure I was.
Not ready.
Not whole.
Not free of the rage that had carried me here, the grief that had shaped me, the vengeance that had defined me.
But I was tired.
Tired of fighting.
Tired of hating.
Tired of being afraid that if I let myself feel, I’d forget why I came.
And then—
I reached up.
And I took his hand.
Not to pull him in.
Not to test him.
But to hold on.
And he didn’t move. Just let me—his fingers warm, his pulse steady, his eyes searching mine.
“I came here to burn them all,” I whispered.
“I know.”
“I came to destroy you.”
“I know.”
“And now?”
He didn’t look away. Just stepped closer, until our bodies were almost touching, until his breath was warm on my skin, until the bond hummed between us like a living thing.
“Now,” he said, voice low, “you get to decide what comes next.”
And I did.
I stood on my toes.
And I kissed him.
Not like before—desperate, furious, aching.
Not like the rain-soaked clash in the courtyard, not like the fevered surrender in the ritual chamber.
This was different.
Slow.
Deep.
And full of something I hadn’t felt in years.
Peace.
His lips were warm. His hands found my waist, not to claim, not to control, but to hold. He didn’t rush. Didn’t push. Just let me lead, let me set the pace, let me decide how far.
And I decided all the way.
I pulled back just enough to whisper, “Take off your armor.”
He didn’t hesitate.
Just stepped back, unbuckled the shadow-woven plates, let them fall to the floor with a soft clink. His tunic followed—dark, close-fitting, torn in places from battle. And then he was bare-chested, his scars on display, his body a map of war and survival.
And I wanted every inch of him.
“Now you,” he said, voice rough.
I didn’t argue.
Just unfastened my gloves, let them drop, revealing the sigils beneath—faint now, dormant. My tunic came next, then my trousers, each piece falling away until I stood before him in nothing but my skin, the bond mark glowing faintly on my collarbone, the bite still tender on my shoulder.
He didn’t speak.
Just looked at me—his silver eyes dark, intense, his breath shallow.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, voice raw.
“Liar.”
“No.” He stepped closer, his hand trailing down my arm, over my ribs, around my waist. “You’re not just beautiful. You’re alive. After everything. After Malrik. After the venom. After the fire. You’re still here. Still fighting. Still you.”
My breath hitches.
And then—
I pulled him down.
Not gently.
Not carefully.
With need.
My mouth crashed over his, not soft, not slow, but hungry. He groaned, his hands tightening on my hips, his body pressing me back until the edge of the bed hit the back of my thighs.
“Sage,” he growled, breaking the kiss, his forehead pressed to mine. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want you,” I panted. “All of you. Now.”
“And if I hurt you?”
“Then hurt me.”
He didn’t answer.
Just lifted me, laid me down on the fur, and covered me with his body—his weight delicious, his heat searing, his arousal a hard line against my core. His mouth found mine again, deeper this time, slower, savoring. His hands moved—over my ribs, around my breast, his thumb brushing my nipple—and I arched into him, a moan tearing from my throat.
“You’re so responsive,” he murmured against my lips. “Like your body’s been waiting for me.”
“It has.”
And it was true.
Every denial, every fight, every moment I’d spent hating him—it had all been a lie. Because my body had known the truth from the start.
I was his.
And he was mine.
His hand slid down my stomach, under the waistband of my underclothes, his fingers brushing the curls between my thighs. I gasped, my hips lifting, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
“You’re wet,” he growled. “I can smell it.”
“Then do something about it.”
He didn’t hesitate.
Just slipped a finger inside me—slow, deep, deliberate—and I cried out, my back arching, my fingers clawing at his back. He didn’t stop. Just added another, curling them just right, stroking me with a rhythm that made my vision blur.
“Kaelen—”
“Look at me,” he growled.
I did.
And in his eyes—silver, blazing, possessive—I saw it.
Not just desire.
Not just need.
Love.
And then—
I came.
Not quietly. Not with restraint.
With a scream—raw, broken, unmistakable—my body convulsing around his fingers, my hips bucking, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
He didn’t stop.
Just watched me, his thumb brushing my clit, drawing out the waves, making me shatter over and over until I was trembling, drenched in sweat, my body limp beneath him.
And then—
He pulled back.
Stripped off his trousers.
And knelt between my thighs.
His cock was thick, heavy, veined with silver—beautiful, intimidating, mine. He didn’t push. Didn’t rush. Just ran the tip along my folds, teasing, torturing, making me whimper.
“Tell me,” he growled. “Tell me you want this.”
“I want you,” I gasped. “I want you inside me. I want you to claim me.”
“And if I do?”
“Then you’d better mean it.”
He didn’t smile.
Just pressed the head of his cock against my entrance—just enough to make me gasp, just enough to make me beg.
“Say it,” he demanded.
“Please,” I whispered. “Please, Kaelen. I need you. I need you to be mine. To make me yours. To finish this.”
And then—
He entered me.
Slow.
Deep.
One inch at a time.
I cried out—part pain, part pleasure, part something deeper, something primal. He was big. Too big. And I was tight. Too tight. But I didn’t want him to stop. Didn’t want him to go slow. I wanted it all. Every inch. Every thrust. Every moment of this.
“You feel so good,” he groaned, his voice breaking. “So fucking tight. So mine.”
“I am,” I gasped. “I’ve always been.”
And then—
He moved.
Not fast.
Not hard.
But deep.
Each stroke a promise. Each thrust a vow. His hands gripped my hips, holding me in place, his body covering mine, his breath hot on my neck. I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him deeper, meeting him thrust for thrust, my nails raking down his back.
“You’re so beautiful,” he growled. “So strong. So mine.”
“And you’re mine,” I panted. “Say it. Say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” he groaned. “Always. Fucking always.”
And then—
The bond flared.
Not a whisper.
Not a hum.
A roar.
Like lightning through my veins, like fire in my blood, like the moon itself had reached down and claimed us both. My magic surged—wild, uncontrolled—and the sigils on my skin glowed, pulsing with light, feeding into the bond, feeding into him.
He felt it too.
His wolf-mark flared, his fangs elongated, his eyes blazing silver. He didn’t stop. Just thrust deeper, faster, harder, his groans turning into growls, his hands possessive, his body claiming every inch of me.
“Sage,” he snarled. “I’m not going to last. Not like this. Not with you clenching around me like that.”
“Then don’t,” I gasped. “Come inside me. Mark me. Claim me.”
He didn’t answer.
Just slammed into me—once, twice, three times—and then he was coming, his body shuddering, his cock pulsing inside me, his roar echoing in the chamber.
And I followed.
Not with a whimper.
Not with a sigh.
With a scream—raw, animal, primal—my body convulsing around him, my magic flaring, the bond sealing.
And when it was over—when we were both limp, drenched in sweat, trembling with aftershocks—he didn’t pull out.
Just rolled onto his back, pulling me with him, my head on his chest, his arms around me, his heart a drum against my ear.
“You’re mine,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to my forehead.
“And you’re mine,” I whispered, nuzzling into him.
And for the first time since I walked into the Spire—
I believed it.
Not because of the bond.
Not because of fate.
But because of the way he held me.
Like I was something sacred.
Like I was his everything.
The next morning, I wake to sunlight.
Golden. Warm. Streaming through the high windows, painting the stone floor in honeyed light. Kaelen is beside me, his head on my chest, his breath steady, his body relaxed. The journal lies on the stone chest, closed, silent.
And I know.
The war isn’t over.
Malrik is still a threat.
The council still a prison.
But we’re not fighting alone.
We’re not just a weapon.
We’re not just a pawn.
We’re not just a hybrid.
We’re Sage and Kaelen.
And we are unstoppable.