The Spire still stands.
Not whole. Not unbroken. But standing.
Smoke curls from its shattered wings, the eastern tower a skeleton of black stone, the Eclipse Chamber buried beneath rubble and ash. The northern tower—Kaelen’s sanctuary, their haven—remains untouched, its moonlit corridors defiant, its wards intact. A mockery. A challenge.
And I am not a man who tolerates challenges.
I stand on the highest balcony of the surviving western wing, the wind biting at my robes, the scent of blood and fire thick in the air. Below, the city sprawls—human, oblivious, crawling in their ignorance. Above, the sky is clear, the moon full, its silver light spilling over the ruins like a judgment.
They think they won.
Sage and Kaelen.
They think because they survived, because they clung to each other like lovers in a storm, because he bled for her and she whispered his name like a prayer—they think they’ve triumphed.
They haven’t.
They’ve only delayed the inevitable.
The ritual was interrupted. The bond not rewritten. The Alpha’s ring still mine, though hidden now, buried beneath layers of shadow and silence. But the war is not fought in dungeons. Not in bloodstained cells or moonlit towers.
It is fought here.
In the council chamber.
Where power is not seized with fangs or fire—but with words.
The doors of the Eclipse Chamber groan open behind me. I don’t turn. Don’t need to. I know who it is—Elyra, the eldest vampire elder, her face sharp with calculation, her silver hair coiled like a serpent’s nest. She steps forward, boots silent on stone, her presence a whisper of silk and steel.
“The northern tower remains sealed,” she says. “No one enters. No one leaves. They’re hiding.”
“They’re healing,” I correct, still facing the city. “And that makes them weak.”
“And the bond?”
“Still intact.” My fingers curl around the obsidian railing, the stone cold beneath my touch. “But not unbreakable. Not after what I did. The venom lingers. The ritual’s corruption still threads through her blood. And Kaelen—” I smile, “—he gave her his magic. His life. That kind of sacrifice doesn’t heal a bond. It drains it. Makes it fragile. Makes it desperate.”
Elyra doesn’t flinch. Just studies me, her dark eyes unreadable. “And if they come before the council? If they demand justice? If they expose you?”
“Let them.” I finally turn, my robes whispering against the stone. “The council does not run on truth. It runs on fear. On power. On the illusion of control. And right now, they are afraid. They saw the Spire collapse. They felt the bond scream. They watched Kaelen carry her out like a dying queen.” I step closer, my voice low. “And they wonder—will he still be Alpha? Or has the hybrid witch broken him?”
She hesitates. “And if they believe in him?”
“Then we make them doubt.” I reach into my robe, pull out a vial—black glass, etched with runes. Inside, a single drop of crimson liquid swirls, humming with magic. Sage’s blood. Harvested before the ritual was interrupted. Before she screamed. Before she defied me. “This,” I say, holding it up to the moonlight, “is not just blood. It is proof. Proof that she is not a victim. That she is not innocent. That she is a weapon—created, not born. And that Kaelen—” my voice turns venomous, “—is not her protector. He is her accomplice.”
Elyra’s breath hitches. “You can’t expect them to believe that.”
“I don’t.” I tuck the vial away. “I expect them to fear it. Fear what she can do. Fear what he might become. Fear that if they let this bond stand, if they let this hybrid rule beside the Alpha-King, then the Pact will burn. And with it, their power.”
She says nothing.
Just bows her head and retreats.
Good.
Fear is the first step.
Now comes the second.
I raise my hand.
And I summon the council.
The Eclipse Chamber is silent when I enter.
Not empty. Not abandoned. But still. The surviving members sit in their thrones—vampires, werewolves, witches, even a Fae envoy with eyes like storm clouds—each one watching me with a mix of wariness, curiosity, and thinly veiled hunger. The air is thick with tension, with the weight of what’s coming. The northern packs are leaderless. The vampire elders divided. The witches cautious. And the Fae? They smile, as always, but their amusement is a blade.
I take my seat at the apex, the obsidian throne cool beneath me, the silver veins in the stone pulsing faintly with trapped magic. I do not speak. Do not demand attention.
They come to me.
First, the werewolf elder, a grizzled Gamma with scars across his face. “Malrik,” he growls. “You called us. Where is the Alpha-King?”
“Recovering,” I say, voice smooth. “As is his mate.”
“And the bond?”
“Still unbroken.” I lean forward. “But unstable. Corrupted. The hybrid witch was subjected to dark rituals. Venom. Blood magic. And Kaelen—” I let the name hang, “—he poured his magic into her. His life. That kind of sacrifice doesn’t strengthen a bond. It poisons it. Makes it desperate. Makes it dangerous.”
“You’re saying the bond is false?”
“I’m saying it is tainted.” I rise, my black robes whispering against the stone. “And a tainted bond is a threat. To the packs. To the council. To the Pact itself.”
“And what do you propose?”
“A trial.” I turn to the chamber. “Not for her crimes—though she has many. Not for his failure—though he has shown weakness. But for the bond. For its legitimacy. For its stability. Let the council decide—does this union serve peace? Or does it invite chaos?”
A murmur ripples through the chamber.
Good.
Doubt is the second step.
Then—
The doors burst open.
And they walk in.
Sage and Kaelen.
She is pale. Weak. Leaning slightly on his arm, her dark hair loose, her eyes blazing silver with defiance. She wears black—tight trousers, a high-collared tunic, her gloves unlaced at the wrists, the sigils beneath glowing faintly. The bond mark on her collarbone pulses, faint but unbroken. And on her shoulder? The bite. My bite. A lie. A trap. But they don’t know that yet.
Kaelen is beside her, his shadow-woven armor repaired, his fangs bared, his silver eyes sharp. He doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t speak. Just walks straight to the center of the chamber, his presence a storm at her back, his boots striking the stone with finality.
“You called us,” Sage says, voice clear, steady. “Now let’s begin.”
“You have no right to speak,” I say, not rising. “You are accused.”
“Of what?” she snaps. “Loving him? Surviving you? Refusing to be your puppet?”
“Of corruption,” I say, voice smooth. “Of tainting the Alpha-King. Of using forbidden magic to manipulate the bond. Of being a weapon, not a woman.”
“And you?” she spits. “You’re the one who tortured me. Who poisoned me. Who tried to rewrite the bond with blood and venom. And now you stand there, pretending to care about the Pact?”
“I care about order,” I say. “About stability. About the truth.” I rise, slowly, deliberately. “And the truth is, you are not what you seem. You are not just a hybrid. You are not just a witch. You are a construct—created to destroy the balance. And Kaelen—” I turn to him, “—you are not her protector. You are her enabler. You gave her your blood. Your magic. Your life. And for what? So she could twist the bond? So she could control you?”
He doesn’t flinch. Just steps forward, his voice a blade. “I gave her my blood because she was dying. Because I love her. Because the bond is not something to be feared—it is something to be honored.”
“Love?” I laugh. “You call that love? You call bleeding for her love? You call sacrificing your strength, your power, your Alpha status for a woman who came here to destroy you?” I turn to the council. “Look at him. Look at what she’s done to him. He is no longer the king we anointed. He is no longer the warrior we feared. He is hers.”
A murmur.
Good.
Doubt grows.
“And what about me?” Sage steps forward, her voice sharp. “You chained me. You whipped me. You poisoned me. You tried to rewrite the bond. And now you say I’m the threat?”
“You survived,” I say. “And that makes you dangerous. You are not just a victim. You are not just a pawn. You are a force. And forces like you—” I step closer, “—must be controlled.”
“Or killed?” she whispers.
“Or exposed.” I reach into my robe, pull out the vial. “This is your blood, Sage Moonblood. Harvested before the ritual was interrupted. Before you screamed. Before you defied me.” I hold it up. “And it tells a story. A story of forbidden magic. Of hybrid corruption. Of a bond not born of fate—but of manipulation.”
She freezes.
And for the first time—
I see it.
Fear.
Not of death.
Not of pain.
But of losing him.
“You’re lying,” Kaelen growls.
“Am I?” I uncork the vial. “Then let the council see. Let them test it. Let them decide—was the bond tainted? Was she using magic to control you? Was she never your true mate?”
Silence.
Heavy. Thick. Like the breath before a scream.
And then—
“I’ll do it.”
Riven.
The Fae prince steps from the shadows, his silver hair gleaming, his eyes sharp with amusement. He doesn’t look at me. Just walks to the center, takes the vial, and holds it up to the light.
“A blood test,” he says, voice smooth. “To determine the truth of the bond. To see if it was manipulated. To see if Sage Moonblood used magic to control the Alpha-King.” He smiles. “And if she did?”
“Then she is guilty,” I say. “Of corruption. Of treason. Of violating the Pact.”
“And if she didn’t?”
“Then I will accept the bond as true.”
He nods.
And begins.
The chamber hums with magic as he works—fingers tracing sigils, whispers in the old tongue, the vial glowing faintly. Sage stands beside Kaelen, her body tense, her breath shallow. He doesn’t touch her. Just stands there, a fortress at her back, his eyes locked on Riven.
And then—
The vial flares.
Not red.
Not black.
Silver.
Riven looks up, his eyes sharp. “The blood is pure,” he says. “No traces of manipulation. No foreign magic. No coercion.” He turns to the council. “The bond is true. It was not tainted. It was not forced. It is fated.”
A gasp.
Then silence.
And then—
“Liar.”
I step forward, my voice a whip. “You think I don’t know Fae magic? You think I don’t know how easily truth can be twisted?” I snatch the vial from Riven’s hand. “This test is invalid. He is her ally. Her mentor. He would lie to protect her.”
“Then do your own test,” Sage says, voice steady. “Use your own magic. Test it yourself. And when it says the same thing—when it proves I didn’t manipulate him, when it proves the bond is real—” her eyes blaze, “—then you’ll have no choice. No lies. No games. Just the truth.”
I don’t answer.
Just turn to the council.
And I see it.
They believe her.
They believe the bond is true.
And in that moment—
I know.
The war is not over.
But it is no longer mine to win.
“Very well,” I say, voice calm. “Let the test be repeated. By neutral hands. By the high witch of the northern coven.”
They agree.
The witch comes.
She tests the blood.
And again—
Silver.
“The bond is true,” she says. “Untainted. Unbroken. Fated.”
The council murmurs.
Some nod.
Some look away.
Some—like the werewolf elder—step forward.
“Then it is settled,” he says. “The bond is true. Kaelen Dain remains Alpha-King. Sage Moonblood is his mate. And the Pact—” he looks at me, “—will not be used to destroy them.”
I don’t move.
Don’t speak.
Just smile.
Because they think this is the end.
They think truth has won.
But truth is not power.
And I am not finished.
“Then let it be so,” I say, bowing my head. “The bond is true. The Alpha-King remains. The hybrid is his mate.” I turn to Sage, my voice soft. “And may you live long in your victory.”
She doesn’t answer.
Just stares at me—her eyes sharp, her chin lifted, her body still.
And I know.
This is not over.
Because I still have the ring.
And I still have the venom.
And I still have her blood.
And one day—
When they are weakest.
When they are most in love.
When they believe they are safe—
I will make them burn.
But for now?
For now, I play the good elder.
And I wait.
The chamber empties.
Sage and Kaelen leave together, their hands clasped, their bond humming between them. Riven follows, his smirk sharp, his eyes knowing. The others disperse, murmuring, calculating, already shifting alliances.
And I remain.
On my throne.
In the silence.
Until the last shadow fades.
Then I rise.
And I go to the vault.
Deep beneath the Spire, where the old rituals were held, where the blood altars still drip with ancient power, where the walls remember every scream.
And there—
I open the chest.
And I take out the ring.
The Alpha’s ring.
Silver. Onyx. Pulsing with dark magic.
I slide it onto my finger.
And I smile.
Because the bond may be true.
But power?
Power is mine.
And soon—
So will they be.