The tunnels beneath the Fae Court of Thorns were a tomb carved from living shadow—stone walls slick with moss, arches twisted like broken bones, sigils glowing faintly silver in the dark. The air was thick with the scent of decay and ancient magic, the silence broken only by the echo of our footsteps and the relentless pulse of the bond. It hummed beneath my skin, warm and insistent, a tether that had once felt like a chain, now something fiercer. Something alive.
Kael’s hand was locked in mine, his grip unyielding, his heat seeping into my skin. The mark on my shoulder still burned—silver thorns intertwined with crimson vines, pulsing in time with my heartbeat—a brand not of submission, but of survival. Of union. He had bitten me. Claimed me. And in doing so, he had saved us.
But we weren’t safe yet.
Elira was preparing the final ritual. A spell to sever the Shadow Fate. To break the bond. To take our power.
And if she succeeded—
We would die.
“The throne chamber is close,” Kael murmured, his voice low, rough. “Two turns ahead. Then up the central stair.”
I nodded, my breath steady, my magic flaring at my fingertips—crimson sparks dancing like embers. My body still hummed from the mark, from the surge of power, from the way our souls had fused in that moment of pain and pleasure. I could feel him—his pulse, his heat, the way his wolf prowled just beneath the surface, ready to tear through flesh and stone to protect me.
And I was ready to do the same.
We turned the next corner—silent, swift—and there it was: a massive obsidian staircase spiraling upward, its steps carved with fae script that pulsed with restrained power. The air grew heavier with every step, thick with the scent of blood and incense, the hum of magic building like a storm on the horizon.
But we weren’t alone.
Guards.
Not six this time.
Twelve.
They stood in formation at the base of the stairs, cloaked in shadow, their eyes glowing silver, their hands crackling with fae magic. They didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just waited—like sentinels, like executioners.
“They’re bound by oath,” I whispered, my fingers tightening around Kael’s. “Not just loyalty. *Blood magic*.”
He didn’t look at me. Just stepped forward, his body a wall of muscle and fury, his scent flaring—pine and iron, storm and something darker. “Then we break the oath.”
And he moved.
Not with hesitation. Not with strategy.
With *violence*.
His body shifted—partial, controlled—claws erupting from his fingers, fangs bared, golden eyes blazing. He lunged, a blur of motion, and the first guard went down with a scream, his throat torn out before he could raise his hand. The second tried to cast—a pulse of silver light—but Kael was already on him, his claws slashing across the fae’s chest, sending him crashing into the wall.
Then the others attacked.
Light—blinding, searing—flashed through the corridor, but I was already moving. My magic erupted—crimson and wild, witch and wolf entwined—a wave of fire that arced toward the left flank. Two guards screamed as the flames consumed them, their bodies collapsing into ash. Another tried to flank me, but I spun, my hand shooting out, a bolt of energy slamming into his chest, sending him flying backward, his spine cracking against the stone.
Kael was a storm.
Claws. Fangs. Rage.
He tore through them—three, four, five—his movements precise, brutal, unstoppable. Blood sprayed the walls. Bones cracked. Magic flared and died.
But they kept coming.
Two more fell to my fire. One to Kael’s claws. Another I disarmed with a pulse of magic, then shattered his skull with a rock summoned from the wall. The last two tried to retreat, but Kael was faster—he leapt, his body shifting mid-air, and landed on one, his fangs sinking into the fae’s neck. The other turned to run, but I raised my hand.
“Stop.”
He froze.
Not from fear.
From the bond.
It pulsed—hot, electric—and I felt it, deep in my bones. The connection. The power. The way our magic had merged, how it now responded to my will like an extension of my own body.
I stepped forward, my boots silent on the blood-slick stone. “Where is Elira?”
He didn’t answer. Just stared, his silver eyes wide, his chest heaving.
“Tell me,” I said, my voice low, dangerous, “or I’ll let him finish you.”
Kael growled, his fangs still buried in the other guard’s neck, his golden eyes locked on mine. A silent promise.
The fae swallowed. “The throne chamber. She’s… weaving the severing spell. Using the bond’s energy to fuel it.”
My stomach dropped.
“How long?”
“Minutes. Maybe less.”
I looked at Kael. He nodded once.
And then—
I snapped the fae’s neck.
No hesitation. No mercy.
He had served Elira. He had tried to kill us. And in this war—
There was no room for weakness.
“We go now,” I said, stepping over the bodies. “Before she completes the ritual.”
Kael wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes still glowing. “Together.”
And we ran.
***
The throne chamber was a cathedral of darkness—soaring ceilings lost in shadow, black stone walls carved with writhing sigils, a massive dais at the far end where a throne of bone and thorn rose like a jagged crown. The air was thick with the scent of blood and ozone, the hum of magic building like a storm on the verge of breaking.
And there—on the dais—
Elira.
She stood at the center of a massive sigil, her silver hair coiled like a crown, her hands raised, her voice chanting in ancient fae. The air around her shimmered, silver threads weaving through the space, pulling from invisible sources—*us*. I could feel it—the tug in my chest, the way the bond trembled, as if something were trying to unravel it, thread by thread.
“She’s siphoning the bond,” I whispered, my magic flaring. “Using our energy to power the severing spell.”
Kael’s jaw tightened. “Then we give her something else to feed on.”
Before I could respond, she turned.
Her eyes—sharp as glass—locked onto us. And she *smiled*.
“You’re too late,” she said, her voice smooth, ancient. “The bond is already fraying. The Shadow Fate will be broken. And when it is—” she stepped forward, her gown trailing like smoke, “—you will die. Slowly. Painfully. And I will take what remains.”
“You don’t get to have him,” I said, stepping forward, my hands rising, magic flaring at my fingertips. “You don’t get to have *us*.”
She laughed—low, mocking. “You think love makes you strong? That this *bond* makes you equals? You are nothing. A hybrid witch. A half-fae abomination. You don’t belong in this world. And you never will.”
“Maybe not,” I said, my voice steady. “But we belong to each other. And that’s more than you’ll ever have.”
Her smile vanished.
And then—
She struck.
Not with magic.
With *memory*.
A wave of silver light erupted from her palms, but it didn’t hit us. It *wrapped* around us—visions, flashes, pouring into my mind like poison.
Kael, as a boy, cowering in a cell, his mother’s blood on the floor.
Me, kneeling beside my sister’s body, her spine snapped, her eyes wide with betrayal.
The first time he pinned me against the wall, his voice low: *“You don’t get to die before I decide what to do with you.”*
The kiss in the corridor—desperate, furious, a war cry.
The bath—his hands on my skin, his hardness pressing against me, the way I’d *wanted* it.
The mark—his fangs in my shoulder, the pain, the pleasure, the way I’d screamed his name.
The visions came faster, sharper, tearing through me like knives. I gasped, stumbling, my hands flying to my temples. The bond screamed, a living thing caught in the crossfire, fraying at the edges.
“Jade!”
Kael was at my side in an instant, his arm wrapping around me, his body a wall against the assault. “Don’t let her in,” he growled, his voice rough. “The magic feeds on emotion. On pain. On *doubt*.”
But it was hard.
So hard.
Because the memories weren’t lies.
They were *truth*.
And the truth was that I had come here to destroy him.
That I had hated him.
That I had nearly burned him alive.
And now—
Now I loved him.
Not just as my mate.
But as my equal. My partner. My *truth*.
And that was the one thing Elira could never understand.
I lifted my head, my storm-gray eyes locking onto hers. “You think you can break us with *memories*?” I said, my voice steady, raw. “You think you can use our past to destroy our future?”
She didn’t answer. Just raised her hands again, the silver threads tightening around us.
But this time—
I was ready.
“Kael,” I said, not looking at him. “We need to sever the connection. Not the bond. The *spell*.”
“How?”
“Blood magic,” I said, my fingers finding his. “Our blood. Mixed. Offered as one.”
He didn’t hesitate. Just pulled the silver dagger from his belt and sliced a deep cut across his palm. Dark, rich blood welled up, dripping onto the stone. I uncorked the vial at my throat—the last remnant of my sister’s blood—and let it mix with his, the crimson liquid pooling between us.
And then—
We stepped into the sigil.
Elira’s eyes widened. “No—!”
But it was too late.
We raised our hands—our bloodied palms facing each other—and the magic *exploded*.
Light—crimson and gold—flared between us, witch and wolf entwined, surging into the sigil, into the silver threads, into the very fabric of the spell. The bond pulsed—hot, blinding, unbearable—our pulses syncing, our breaths tangled, our souls fusing.
And then—
The spell *shattered*.
The silver threads snapped. The sigil cracked. The air screamed as the magic collapsed in on itself, a wave of energy tearing through the chamber, throwing Elira backward, her body slamming into the throne.
I stumbled, but Kael caught me, his arms wrapping around me, his body pressing against mine. The bond was still there—warm, unbroken, alive.
We had done it.
We had broken *her* spell.
But she wasn’t done.
She rose slowly, her gown torn, her hair loose, her eyes burning with fury. “You think this changes anything?” she spat. “You think love makes you invincible?”
“No,” I said, stepping forward, my magic flaring. “But it makes me *unstoppable*.”
She raised her hands again—but this time, Kael moved first.
He lunged, a blur of motion, his claws slashing across her chest, sending her crashing to the ground. Before she could rise, he was on her, his fangs bared, his body shifting—partial, controlled—his golden eyes blazing.
“You used my mother,” he growled, his voice raw. “You used Jade. You used the bond. You used *everything*.”
She laughed, blood on her lips. “And I would do it again. You are *mine*, Kael. My blood. My weapon. My heir.”
“No,” he said, his voice low, final. “I am *hers*.”
And then—
He bit her.
Not to kill.
Not to mark.
But to *sever*.
His fangs sank into her throat, and she screamed—high, piercing—as the bond between them—the blood tie, the fae lineage—*shattered*. Her magic flickered. Her body convulsed. And then—
She went still.
Dead.
Kael pulled back, his mouth bloodied, his chest heaving. The throne chamber fell silent. The sigils dimmed. The air stilled.
And then—
He turned to me.
His golden eyes burned into mine. “It’s over.”
I didn’t speak.
Just stepped forward, my hands rising, my fingers brushing the blood from his lips. He didn’t flinch. Just leaned into my touch, his breath warm against my skin.
“You’re not what I expected,” I whispered.
“Neither are you,” he said, his voice rough. “But I wouldn’t change a damn thing.”
And then—
He kissed me.
Not desperate. Not furious.
Slow.
Deep.
Theirs.
The bond flared—hot, blinding, unbearable. Magic surged between us, crimson and gold, witch and wolf, flaring like a living flame. The world stopped. The keep, the Council, Elira—none of it mattered.
Only this.
Only us.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested on mine, his breath warm against my lips. “You’re mine,” he growled, voice rough. “And I’m yours. No more lies. No more games. No more running.”
“No more running,” I agreed, my hands tightening on his shoulders. “We face the future together.”
He nodded. “And when the time comes—” His eyes flashed gold. “We burn it down.”
I smiled—small, fierce, real.
“Together.”
Outside, the whispers continued.
But inside—
There was only us.
And the fire that would burn the world down.