The truth had settled into my bones like winter frost—silent, deep, irreversible. Kael was innocent. The ledger was a forgery. Elira had orchestrated it all, using my grief, my rage, my bond with Kael as weapons in a war she’d been waging long before I’d ever stepped foot in Blackthorn Keep. And I had nearly destroyed the only person who could help me win it.
But now, we were no longer enemies.
We were allies.
Partners.
Mates.
The word still sent a shiver through me—not of fear, but of something darker, hotter. Something that coiled low in my belly and pulsed in time with the bond. I didn’t say it out loud. Didn’t even think it too clearly. But I could feel it—the way my body responded to his presence, the way my breath hitched when he touched me, the way my magic flared when our pulses synced. It wasn’t just the bond. It wasn’t just biology. It was us.
And I was done fighting it.
***
We spent the next two days in the archives, poring over every scroll, every ledger, every sealed report that might contain a clue to Elira’s next move. The keep was quiet—too quiet. The kind of silence that comes before a storm. Wolves moved through the corridors like shadows. Fae attendants whispered behind closed doors. Vampires lingered in the solarium, their smiles too sharp.
They knew.
Something had changed.
And they were waiting to see what would happen next.
Kael didn’t speak much. Just worked—his jaw tight, his scent flaring whenever a fae noble passed too close, his hand never far from mine. He was waiting. Watching. And so was I.
But the bond didn’t wait.
It pulsed between us—hot, insistent—feeding on the tension, on the truth, on the unspoken thing that had grown between us since the fire, since the kiss, since the moment I’d said, *“We face her together.”*
And now, it demanded more.
***
It started with a whisper.
Not from the keep. Not from the wind.
From the bond.
A low, insistent throb beneath my skin, a pull in my chest, a heat coiling in my core. I was in the suite, standing at the window, watching the northern cliffs where the storm had scoured the earth clean. The sun was high, pale light creeping through the glass, but I felt none of its warmth. Only the fever. The hunger. The need.
“Jade.”
Kael’s voice hit me like a physical blow.
I turned.
He stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the dim light, his coat gone, his sleeves rolled up, revealing the scars on his forearms—old wounds, deep and jagged. His eyes glowed faintly gold, wolf-light. His scent—storm and iron, dominance and something darker—flooded the room, making my knees weak.
“You feel it,” he said, stepping closer.
It wasn’t a question.
“The bond,” I said, my voice tight. “It’s reacting to the stress. The truth. The—”
“No,” he interrupted, stopping just inches from me. “It’s reacting to us. To what we’ve been holding back.”
My breath hitched.
He was right.
We’d kissed. We’d claimed each other in front of the keep. We’d stood together in the archives, blood mingling, magic flaring, the truth revealed. But we hadn’t touched. Not really. Not since the bath. Not since the fever. Not since I’d let him hold me, let him wash me, let him press against me and make me want.
And now, the bond was screaming.
“We need another truth ritual,” he said, his voice low. “Deeper this time. To confirm the handwriting on the ledger. To prove it was Elira.”
My stomach dropped.
“You know what it requires,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.
He didn’t flinch. Just nodded. “Skin-to-skin contact. Sustained. For at least ten minutes. And—” His gaze dropped to my lips. “Arousal. To activate the magic.”
My breath caught.
Truth magic was volatile. Unpredictable. It required intimacy—real, raw, unfiltered. And arousal. Not just physical. Emotional. The magic fed on desire, on need, on the pulse of the bond. And if we weren’t careful, it would spiral. Would consume us.
But we had no choice.
Because if we didn’t prove it was Elira—if we didn’t have undeniable proof—the Council would never believe us. She’d twist it. Say the first ritual was corrupted. Say we’d forced each other. Say the bond had clouded our judgment.
We needed this.
And the bond knew it.
“I’ll prepare the chamber,” Kael said, turning toward the door. “Be ready in ten minutes.”
And just like that, he was gone.
***
The ritual chamber was in the east wing—a small, circular room lined with black stone, a sunken basin in the center filled with enchanted water, sigils carved into the floor in ancient fae script. The air was thick with the scent of myrrh and iron, the silence broken only by the soft hum of magic.
Kael stood at the edge of the basin, already shirtless, his body a map of power—broad shoulders, corded arms, a chest carved from stone. His boots were gone. His trousers hung low on his hips, revealing the sharp V of his pelvis, the trail of dark hair leading below the waistband.
My mouth went dry.
He turned, golden eyes locking onto mine. “Take off your clothes,” he said, voice low, rough. “All of them.”
My breath hitched.
“You don’t have to,” he added, softer now. “But if you do, I’ll make it worth your while.”
I didn’t answer.
Just reached for the buttons of my tunic.
One by one, I undid them, revealing the smooth curve of my collarbone, the rapid rise and fall of my chest. My fingers trembled. Not from fear. From need. From the way his gaze darkened, the way his breath caught, the way his scent flared—storm and iron, dominance and something softer, something that made my chest ache.
I slid the fabric from my shoulders, letting it pool at my feet.
Then the trousers.
Then the boots.
And then I was bare before him.
No illusions. No pretense. Just skin. Warm. Flawless. His.
He didn’t move. Just watched me, his gaze tracing every line, every curve, every scar. And then—
He stepped forward.
One hand lifted, slow, deliberate, and he traced the line of my jaw, his thumb brushing my lower lip. The bond flared—hot, electric. My breath caught. My pulse raced.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice a dark caress. “Every damn inch of you.”
I looked away. But not before I saw the flush deepen on my neck. The way my body arched into his touch, betraying me.
“Get in,” he said, stepping back. “The water’s warm. It’ll help.”
I hesitated. Then, slowly, I stepped into the basin, the enchanted water rising to mid-thigh. It was hot—almost scalding—but not enough to burn. The sigils on the floor flared faintly, reacting to our presence, to the bond, to the magic that hummed beneath our skin.
Kael stepped in beside me, his body a wall of heat and muscle. He didn’t touch me. Not yet. Just stood there, his chest brushing my back, his breath warm against my neck.
“Sit,” he said, his voice low. “On my lap.”
My breath caught.
“It’s the only way,” he said, reading my hesitation. “The magic needs full contact. Skin. Heat. Pulse. And—” His hand slid to my hip, guiding me down. “Arousal.”
I lowered myself slowly, my body sinking onto his lap, my back pressing against his chest. His arms wrapped around me, holding me close, his hands splayed across my stomach. His cock—hard, thick—pressed against my lower back, a silent promise.
“Breathe,” he murmured, pressing his lips to my temple. “Let the magic rise.”
I closed my eyes.
And then—
It began.
The sigils on the floor flared brighter, crimson and gold, witch and wolf, flaring like a living flame. The water rippled, not from movement, but from power. The bond pulsed—hot, insistent—feeding on the contact, on the heat, on the way my body still remembered the bath, the way it still wanted him.
“Focus,” Kael said, his voice a rough caress. “On the ledger. On the handwriting. On the truth.”
I tried.
But it was impossible.
Because he was touching me.
His hands—calloused, strong—trailed lower, following the dip of my spine, the curve of my waist. He didn’t rush. Didn’t push. Just touched me—slow, deliberate, aching. And then—
One hand slid between my thighs.
Not inside. Not yet.
Just there. Pressing gently, heat flooding my core. I gasped, arching into him, my fingers digging into his arms.
“You feel it,” he murmured, his breath warm against my ear. “The magic. The bond. The way your body knows me.”
I didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
Because he was right.
My magic flared—crimson and wild, witch and wolf entwined—surging through me, through the water, through the sigils. The ledger, sealed in its case, sat on the stone bench beside the basin. And then—
It flew open.
The page turned.
And the handwriting—
It burned.
Not with fire.
With rejection.
The ink writhed, the letters shifting, warping, reforming into something new—sharp, angular, unmistakable.
Elira’s handwriting.
Proven.
Confirmed.
And then—
Kael moved.
His fingers slid inside me—slow, deliberate, a single finger pressing deep. I cried out, arching into him, my head falling back against his shoulder, my magic flaring, the bond screaming with need.
“You’re not lying,” I gasped, my voice breaking. “The magic—it knows. It sees the truth.”
He didn’t answer.
Just added another finger, curling them just right, his thumb pressing against my clit. I moaned, my body trembling, my core clenching around him.
“I’ve never wanted to be yours more,” he growled, his voice rough, dark. “Not as your Alpha. Not as your mate. But as your equal. Your partner. Your truth.”
Tears burned in my eyes.
Because he wasn’t just saying it.
He was proving it.
With every touch. Every breath. Every pulse of the bond.
And then—
I came.
Not hard. Not violent.
But deep. Shattering. A wave of heat and light and magic that tore through me, through the water, through the sigils, flaring like a supernova. The ledger slammed shut. The chamber trembled. The bond pulsed—hot, blinding, unbearable.
And when I came back to myself, his arms were still around me, his body still pressed against mine, his breath still warm against my neck.
“You’re not what I expected,” I whispered, my voice rough.
He pressed a kiss to my temple. “Neither are you.”
And then—
He lifted me, carried me from the basin, and laid me on the stone bench. Water dripped from our bodies, pooling beneath us. He knelt between my legs, his golden eyes burning into mine.
“This changes nothing,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.
He smiled—slow, devastating. “It changes everything.”
And then he kissed me.
Not desperate. Not furious.
Slow.
Deep.
Theirs.
Outside, the keep was silent.
But inside—
The storm had only just begun.