The full moon rose over the northern cliffs like a silver promise, casting long, clawed shadows across the stone of Blackthorn Keep. The air was thick with magic—crimson and gold, witch and wolf entwined—pulsing through the keep, through the bond, through my blood. It had been three nights since Lyra declared the Free Pack. Three nights since the first battle. Three nights since the world began to tilt on its axis and settle into something new.
And tonight—
It would change again.
I stood at the edge of the ruins—a circle of broken stone and ancient sigils, half-buried in the wild heather and thorned brambles at the base of the cliffs. The wind howled through the gaps, carrying the scent of pine and iron, of fire and something darker—*us*. The mark on my shoulder burned, silver thorns intertwined with crimson vines, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. The bond flared beneath my skin, hot and electric, a tether that no longer felt like a chain, but a vow.
Kael stood beside me, shirtless, his scars on display, his golden eyes glowing with the shift. He hadn’t spoken since we left the keep. Just walked beside me, his presence a solid wall against the silence. His hand found mine, fingers lacing, the bond flaring—hot, insistent, alive. He didn’t need to say it.
He felt it too.
The pull.
The need.
The way the moon called to our magic, to our blood, to the truth we’d buried beneath lies and vengeance and hate.
“This is where it began,” I said, my voice low, rough. “The Shadow Fate. The ritual. The moment you looked at me and I knew—” I turned to him, my storm-gray eyes locking onto his, “—I was either going to destroy you… or fall in love with you.”
He didn’t smile. Just cupped my face, his thumb brushing my lower lip, the bond flaring—hot, electric. “And now?”
“Now,” I said, stepping closer, my body pressing against his, “I don’t have to choose.”
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.
The bond exploded—light, sound, magic—crimson and gold flaring between us like a living flame. The sigils on the ruins glowed, ancient power stirring, responding to the truth we’d finally spoken. The wind howled, the heather bent, the thorned brambles parted like a path.
And then—
He broke the kiss.
“Take me,” he growled, his voice raw, feral. “Not as your Alpha. Not as your mate. But as the man who’s yours. The man who *chose* you.”
My breath caught.
Because he wasn’t asking for submission.
He was asking for surrender.
And I would give it to him.
***
I didn’t speak.
Didn’t need to.
The moon knew. The magic knew. The bond knew.
I turned, walking to the center of the ruin, the broken stone cool beneath my bare feet. The wind tugged at my tunic, at my hair, at the edge of the mark on my shoulder. I didn’t fight it. Just let it strip me—layer by layer—until I stood before him, bare, marked, *his*.
He watched me—really watched—his golden eyes burning, his breath unsteady. Not with hunger. Not with dominance.
With *awe*.
“You’re not what I expected,” he said, stepping closer, his voice rough.
“Neither are you,” I whispered, reaching for him.
And then—
I pulled him down.
Not gently. Not slowly.
With *force*.
My hands gripped his shoulders, my body pressing against his, my mouth crashing into his. He groaned, his hands sliding to my waist, lifting me, carrying me to the center of the ruin. The broken stone was cold, but I didn’t feel it. Just the heat of his body, the storm of his scent, the way his magic flared beneath his skin.
He laid me down, his hands trailing my arms, my ribs, the curve of my hips. Not fast. Not rough.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Like worship.
His lips pressed to my collarbone, then lower, to the swell of my breast, his tongue swirling around the peak. I gasped, arching into him, my fingers tangling in his hair. 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 moaned, my body trembling, my magic flaring—crimson and wild, witch and wolf entwined—surging through me, through the ruins, through the sigils carved into the stone.
“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.
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 ruins, through the sigils, flaring like a supernova. The stones trembled. The wind howled. The moonlight poured down, silver and cold, casting long, clawed shadows.
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—
I flipped him.
Not gently. Not slowly.
With *force*.
One moment he was above me.
The next—
I was on top.
My hands pressed to his chest, my body straddling his, my core pressing against his cock—thick, heavy, glistening with pre-come. He didn’t resist. Just watched me, his golden eyes burning, his breath unsteady.
“This changes nothing,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.
He smiled—slow, devastating. “It changes everything.”
And then—
I took him.
Not fast. Not rough.
Slow.
Deliberate.
A vow.
I lowered myself onto him, inch by inch, my body stretching to accommodate him, my magic flaring, the bond screaming. He didn’t stop me. Just let me take control, his hands sliding to my hips, holding me, guiding me.
“Jade,” he gasped, his voice breaking. “You’re so tight. So damn perfect.”
I didn’t answer.
Just rocked my hips, setting the pace, slow at first, then faster, deeper, harder. His cock stroked that spot inside me that made me see stars. I moaned, arching into him, my fingers digging into his chest, 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 gripped my hips, 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 ruins glowed brighter, ancient power awakening, responding to the truth we’d finally spoken.
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. The ruins trembled. The wind howled. The moonlight poured down, silver and cold, casting long, clawed shadows.
And then—
I collapsed on top of him, my 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.
***
We didn’t speak.
Didn’t move.
Just lay there, tangled in each other, the bond pulsing between us—warm, unbroken, alive. The wind had died. The ruins were silent. The moon hung low in the sky, silver and cold, casting long, clawed shadows.
And then—
I felt it.
Not the bond.
Not the magic.
Them.
“They’re here,” I said, lifting my head.
Kael didn’t flinch. Just turned his head, his golden eyes scanning the darkness. “The Free Pack.”
“And the keep,” I said, sitting up, my body still humming with magic. “They felt it. The surge. The power.”
He sat up too, pulling me against his chest, his arms wrapping around me. “Let them feel it,” he said, his voice low, dangerous. “Let them know what we are.”
And then—
They emerged.
From the shadows. From the heather. From the brambles.
Lyra first—her silver blade at her hip, her dark braid coiled like a serpent, her eyes sharp. Torin beside her—his coat gone, his scars on display, his expression unreadable. Behind them—wolves with fire in their eyes, witches with spells at their fingertips, vampires with fangs bared, fae with thorned wings.
The Free Pack.
My storm.
My truth.
They didn’t speak. Didn’t bow. Just stood there, their eyes sharp, their breaths even, their presence a solid wall against the silence.
And then—
Lyra stepped forward.
“The Council has issued a decree,” she said, her voice loud, clear. “They’re calling it rebellion. They’re calling for your arrest.”
Kael didn’t flinch. Just held me tighter, his breath warm against my neck. “Let them.”
“And Cassien?” I asked, turning in his arms.
“He’s gathering forces in Prague,” Torin said, stepping forward. “The Blood Markets are alive with whispers. He’s offering rewards. For your head. For hers.”
“Then let him come,” Kael said, standing, pulling me with him. “We’ll be ready.”
Lyra didn’t flinch. Just nodded. “Then we fight.”
“Not just fight,” I said, stepping forward, my hand in Kael’s, the bond flaring—hot, electric. “We *burn*.”
The Free Pack murmured—wolves growling, witches raising their hands, vampires baring their fangs.
And then—
They stepped forward.
Not in silence.
Not in shadow.
In the open.
***
That night, back in the war room, the maps were spread, the plans drawn in blood-red ink. The Free Pack had claimed the lower tunnels. The hybrids were rallying. The Southern Witches’ Conclave had sent envoys. The vampire citadel was listening.
And Cassien?
He would come.
But this time—
We wouldn’t run.
We wouldn’t hide.
We would ride the moon.
And when the time came—
We would burn the world down.
Outside, the keep was silent.
But inside—
There was only us.
And the fire that would burn the world down.