The night after Torin knelt, the keep changed.
Not in stone. Not in law.
In air.
It was subtle—just a shift, a breath, a scent on the wind—but I felt it the moment I stepped into the war room. Wolves no longer lowered their eyes when Kael entered. Fae attendants didn’t flinch at his growl. Even the vampires in the solarium paused their whispers, their sharp eyes flickering toward him with something that wasn’t fear.
Respect.
Not just for the Alpha.
For the man.
The one who had stood before his pack, bared his truth, and demanded loyalty not through fear, but through honesty. The one who had killed his own blood to protect me. The one who had broken Cassien’s bond with a thought and still called me *his equal*.
And yet—
He wasn’t sleeping.
I knew because I wasn’t either.
Every night since we’d consummated the bond, I’d wake to find him gone—standing at the balcony, shirtless, his scars lit by moonlight, his golden eyes burning with something I couldn’t name. Not rage. Not guilt.
Fear.
Not of the pack. Not of the Council.
Of *me*.
Of what he’d become. Of what I’d made him. Of the way his wolf now listened to my voice before his own. Of the way his magic answered to the bond before his will.
And tonight—
He was gone again.
I slipped from the bed, barefoot, the sheets tangled from dreams I couldn’t remember. The fire had burned low, embers glowing like dying stars in the hearth. The mark on my shoulder still burned—silver thorns intertwined with crimson vines, pulsing in time with my heartbeat—but it felt distant tonight. Like a memory, not a vow.
I found him on the balcony, his back to the door, his body a silhouette against the moon. The northern cliffs stretched below, bathed in silver, the forest a sea of shadow. He didn’t turn. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, his hands gripping the stone railing, his breath slow, even.
But I could feel it.
The tension. The storm.
“You’re not what I expected,” I said, stepping beside him.
He didn’t look at me. Just stared at the horizon, his golden eyes reflecting the moon. “Neither are you.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“I say it like it’s the only truth worth speaking.”
I pressed my palm to the scar on his chest—the one from when he was a boy, when they’d tried to break him. He sucked in a breath, his body tensing, but he didn’t pull away. Just let me touch him, his breath hitching as my fingers traced the jagged line.
“You think I don’t see it?” I asked, my voice soft. “The way you pull away. The way you don’t let me hold you. The way you stand here every night, like you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
He didn’t answer.
Just turned his head, his profile sharp in the moonlight. “I’m not pulling away. I’m *protecting* you.”
“From what?”
“From *me*.”
My breath caught.
“You don’t have to protect me,” I said, stepping closer, my body pressing against his side. “I’m not fragile. I’m not weak. I came here to destroy you, remember? I’ve faced worse than your guilt.”
“And now you’re stuck with it,” he said, his voice rough. “With *me*. The half-fae abomination. The killer. The man who let Cassien bite you because he was too proud to follow you.”
“You came,” I said, pressing my palm to his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heartbeat. “You broke the bond. You saved me. And if you think I’d trade that for some perfect, untouchable Alpha who never makes mistakes—” I stepped in front of him, forcing him to look at me, “—then you don’t know me at all.”
He stared at me—really stared—and for the first time, I saw it.
Doubt.
Not in me.
In *himself*.
“I don’t know who I am anymore,” he said, his voice breaking. “I was the Alpha. The killer. The wolf who didn’t need anyone. And now—” he gestured between us, “—I’m *this*. I’m yours. I *listen* to you. I *follow* you. I *feel* you in my bones, in my magic, in my damn *soul*. And I don’t know if I’m strong enough to be what you need.”
My heart cracked.
Not from pity.
From love.
Because this—this raw, broken, *honest* man—was the one I’d fallen for. Not the Alpha. Not the killer. Not the monster.
The one who had chosen me.
Even when he thought he was unworthy.
“You think strength is silence?” I asked, stepping closer, my hands rising to his face. “Isolation? Control? Kael, I’ve seen you at your worst. I’ve felt your rage. I’ve tasted your blood. And I’m still here. I’m still *yours*. Not because you’re perfect. Not because you’re untouchable. But because you’re *real*. Because you fight. Because you bleed. Because you *feel*.”
He didn’t answer.
Just closed his eyes, his breath unsteady.
And then—
I kissed him.
Not slow. Not soft.
Hard.
Deep.
Claiming.
My mouth crashed into his, hungry, furious, a war cry. He gasped, arching into me, his hands flying to my waist, pulling me against him. I didn’t let him take control. Didn’t let him dominate. Just kissed him—deep, aching, *fierce*—my tongue sweeping into his mouth, my fingers tangling in his hair, my body pressing against his.
And then—
He broke.
His hands slid to my back, gripping me like I was the only thing keeping him from falling, his body trembling, his breath ragged. He didn’t kiss me back. Not at first. Just held me, his forehead pressed to mine, his breath hot against my lips.
“I hate that I need you,” he whispered, his voice breaking.
“Then hate me forever,” I said, kissing him again.
And this time—
He answered.
His mouth moved with mine, desperate, aching, his tongue sweeping into my mouth, his hands sliding down to my ass, lifting me against him. I wrapped my legs around his waist, my body arching, my magic flaring—crimson and wild, witch and wolf entwined—surging between us like a storm given form.
The bond pulsed—hot, electric, unbearable. Our pulses synced. Our breaths tangled. The moonlight poured through the balcony, casting silver light across his skin, across mine, across the mark on my shoulder.
And then—
He carried me.
Not to the bed.
Not to the tub.
To the war room.
His boots were silent on the stone, his grip unyielding, his breath hot on my neck. The fire in the hearth had burned down to embers, glowing like dying stars in the black stone. The air was thick with the scent of pine and iron, of magic and something darker—*us*.
He laid me on the war table—cold, hard, carved with the sigils of the Northern Packs—and stood over me, his golden eyes burning, his chest heaving. “You don’t get to walk away,” he growled, his voice raw. “Not tonight. Not ever.”
“I’m not walking away,” I said, sitting up, my hands finding the buttons of his trousers. “I’m *staying*.”
He didn’t stop me. Just watched me, his breath unsteady, his body tense. One by one, I undid the buttons, revealing the sharp V of his pelvis, the trail of dark hair leading below the waistband.
My mouth went dry.
But I didn’t hesitate.
I slid the fabric down his hips, letting it pool at his feet. He stepped out of it, bare before me—muscle and scar, power and pain. His cock was already half-hard, thick and heavy, pressing against his stomach. I didn’t look away. Just reached for it, my fingers brushing the tip, feeling the heat, the pulse.
He sucked in a breath, his body tensing. “Jade—”
“Shh,” I said, pressing a finger to his lips. “Let me do this.”
And then—
I knelt.
Not in submission. Not in reverence.
In *care*.
My hands slid up his thighs, over the scars, the old wounds, the places where he’d been broken and rebuilt. I pressed my lips to his hip, then lower, trailing kisses down the inside of his thigh. He trembled, his fingers tangling in my hair, his breath ragged.
And then—
I took him in my mouth.
Not deep. Not fast.
Slow.
Deliberate.
A vow.
My lips closed around the head of his cock, my tongue tracing the slit, tasting salt and power. He groaned, his hips bucking, his fingers tightening in my hair. I took more—inch by inch—until he was fully in my mouth, the tip brushing the back of my throat. I didn’t gag. Didn’t pull away. Just took him, my hands sliding to his ass, holding him in place.
“Jade,” he gasped, his voice breaking. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” I said, pulling back, my lips brushing the head. “I want to taste you. To feel you. To *know* you.”
And then—
I did it again.
Deeper this time. Faster. My mouth moving over him, my tongue swirling, my hands gripping his ass. He groaned, his body trembling, his magic flaring—golden and feral, wolf and storm. The bond pulsed—hot, electric—and I could feel it, deep in my bones. The connection. The power. The way our magic merged, how it now responded to my will like an extension of my own body.
“I’m close,” he said, his voice raw. “I don’t want to come like this. Not here. Not on the war table.”
I pulled back, my lips swollen, my breath ragged. “Then make it last.”
He didn’t answer.
Just lifted me, carried me to the bed, and laid me down.
And then—
He stripped me.
Not fast. Not rough.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Like worship.
His hands traced every curve, every scar, every piece of me that had been broken and rebuilt. He kissed my collarbone, my breasts, the dip of my waist. He didn’t rush. Didn’t push. Just touched me—slow, aching, reverent. And when he reached the apex of my thighs, he didn’t go inside.
Just there.
Pressing gently, heat flooding my core. I gasped, arching into him, my fingers digging into the sheets.
“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 sheets, through the sigils carved into the bedframe. 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.
And then—
He moved.
His fingers slid inside me—slow, deliberate, a single finger pressing deep. I cried out, arching into him, my head falling back, 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 bed, through the sigils, flaring like a supernova. The room trembled. The bond pulsed—hot, blinding, unbearable.
And when I came back to myself, he was still there, his fingers still inside me, his thumb still on my clit, his golden eyes burning into mine.
“You’re not what I expected,” I whispered, my voice rough.
He pressed a kiss to my temple. “Neither are you.”
And then—
He positioned himself between my thighs.
His cock—thick, heavy, glistening with pre-come—pressed against my entrance. I didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. Just looked at him, my storm-gray eyes locking onto his.
“This changes nothing,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.
He smiled—slow, devastating. “It changes everything.”
And then—
He pushed in.
Not fast. Not rough.
Slow.
Deliberate.
A vow.
I gasped, my body stretching to accommodate him, my magic flaring, the bond screaming. He didn’t stop. Just kept going—inch by inch—until he was fully inside me, buried to the hilt, his hips pressed against mine.
“Jade,” he gasped, his voice breaking. “You’re so tight. So damn perfect.”
I didn’t answer.
Just wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.
And then—
He moved.
Slow at first. Then faster. Deeper. Harder. His hips rolled, his cock stroking that spot inside me that made me see stars. I moaned, arching into him, my fingers digging into his back, my magic flaring, the bond pulsing—hot, electric, unbearable.
“You’re mine,” he growled, his mouth crashing into mine, his tongue sweeping into my mouth. “No one else. Not Mira. Not Elira. Not the Council. You’re mine.”
“And you’re mine,” I gasped, biting his lip. “Not because of the bond. Not because of fate. But because you *chose* me. And I choose you. Every damn day.”
He didn’t answer.
Just fucked me harder, his thrusts deep, his body a wall of heat and muscle. The magic surged between us—crimson and gold, witch and wolf, flaring like a living flame. The sigils on the bedframe glowed, the sheets tangled, the fire in the hearth roared to life.
And then—
I came.
Hard.
Violent.
A scream tore from my throat, my body convulsing, my core clenching around him. He followed—growling, his hips stuttering, his cock pulsing as he came inside me, hot and thick, filling me, claiming me.
The bond exploded—light, sound, magic—crimson and gold flaring between us like a supernova. The mark on my shoulder burned brighter, spreading, the silver thorns wrapping around my collarbone, the crimson vines curling toward my heart.
And then—
He collapsed on top of me, his body a wall of heat and muscle, his breath ragged against my neck.
I didn’t push him away.
Just held him, my hands sliding to his back, my fingers tracing the scars, the old wounds, the places where he’d been broken and rebuilt.
And when he lifted his head, his golden eyes burning into mine, I knew.
This wasn’t just sex.
This wasn’t just magic.
This was *love*.
And it was ours.
“You’re not what I expected,” I whispered, my voice rough.
He pressed a kiss to my temple. “Neither are you.”
And then—
He kissed me.
Not desperate. Not furious.
Slow.
Deep.
Theirs.
Outside, the keep was silent.
But inside—
There was only us.
And the fire that would burn the world down.