The Veil Woods breathed around us—ancient, endless, its towering trees arching into a canopy that swallowed the moonlight whole. The air was thick with magic—crimson and gold, witch and wolf entwined—pulsing through the roots, through the shadows, through the bond that still flared between me and Kael, even now, even here. We moved fast, silent, our boots barely touching the moss-covered earth. Lyra led the way, her silver blade sheathed but her hand never far from the hilt, her storm-gray eyes scanning the darkness. Torin was at her side, his coat gone, his scars on display, his fangs bared in a silent snarl. Behind us—the Free Pack. Wolves with fire in their eyes, witches with spells at their fingertips, vampires with fangs bared, fae with thorned wings.
We were running.
Not from fear.
From necessity.
The Council knew I was free. Nyx knew I was alive. Cassien would come for us with everything he had. And if we stayed in the open, if we lingered in the woods, they’d find us. They’d kill us. They’d burn us to ash.
But there was one place they wouldn’t touch.
One place even the Council feared to tread.
Veridia.
The Witch Enclave. Hidden deep in the Provence hills, veiled by centuries of blood magic and ancestral wards. My mentor—the High Witch—ruled there. She had taken me in when the coven cast me out. Taught me to fight. To survive. To believe. And now—
She was calling me home.
***
We crossed the border at dawn.
The Veil Woods gave way to rolling hills, their slopes thick with lavender and thyme, their air humming with the scent of earth and fire. The sun rose behind us, pale and golden, casting long, clawed shadows across the stone. The bond pulsed beneath my skin—hot, electric—but not with desire. With warning. Kael was close. Too close. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He was supposed to be hiding, regrouping, staying alive. But I could feel him—the storm of his presence, the iron of his scent, the way his magic flared like a beacon in the dark.
And then—
I saw him.
Not in the bond.
Not in the shadows.
In the flesh.
He stood at the edge of a clearing, shirtless, his scars on display, his golden eyes burning. His body was a wall of muscle and fury, his stance wide, his hands clenched into fists. Behind him—five wolves from the Blackthorn Pack, their fur silver, their eyes sharp. They didn’t bow. Didn’t kneel. Just stood there, their presence a solid wall against the silence.
And then—
He moved.
Not toward me.
Toward Lyra.
One moment he was across the clearing.
The next—
He was in her face, his voice low, dangerous. “You brought her here. You led them to her. You—”
“We saved her,” Lyra snapped, stepping forward, her silver blade flashing. “Or did you forget that part? While you were running, we were fighting. While you were hiding, we were bleeding. And while you were deciding whether to come back—” her storm-gray eyes locked onto his, “—we were the ones who pulled her out of that carriage.”
Kael didn’t flinch. Just stared at her, his golden eyes burning. “You don’t get to make that call. Not for her. Not for me.”
“And you do?” Torin asked, stepping between them, his fangs bared. “You left her. You ran. You let them take her. And now you’re here to tell us we did wrong?”
“I did what she asked,” Kael growled, stepping closer. “She told me to live. To run. To protect the pack. And I—”
“And she lied,” I said, stepping forward, my voice cutting through the silence.
They all turned.
Even Kael.
His golden eyes burned into mine, his breath unsteady, his body tense. “You told me—”
“I told you to live,” I said, stepping closer, my storm-gray eyes locking onto his. “But I never said I wanted you to obey. I never said I wanted you to leave me behind. I said run—because I knew you would. Because I knew if I asked you to stay, you’d die trying to protect me. And I couldn’t let that happen.”
His jaw tightened. “So you lied.”
“So I loved you,” I said, stepping closer, my hand rising, my fingers brushing the scar on his chest—the one from when he was a boy, when they’d tried to break him. “And loving you means making the hard choices. Even when they break me.”
He didn’t answer.
Just pulled me against him, his arms wrapping around me, his body a wall of heat and muscle. The bond flared—hot, electric, unbearable. My breath caught. My magic flared. The Free Pack didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, their presence a solid wall against the silence.
And then—
He buried his face in my neck, his breath hot against my skin. “I felt you,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “In the bond. Faint. Distant. Like a whisper. And then—” he pulled back, his golden eyes burning into mine, “—you were gone. The vial. The blood. You used it to warn me. And now—” his hand rose, pressing to the mark on my shoulder, “—you have nothing.”
I didn’t flinch. Just met his gaze, my storm-gray eyes burning. “I have you. I have the pack. I have the truth. And I have Veridia.”
He didn’t smile. Just nodded. “Then let’s go.”
***
We reached the enclave at dusk.
The veil parted like smoke—thin, silver, humming with power—as we stepped into the clearing. The air was thick with magic—crimson and wild, witch and wolf entwined—pulsing through the stone, through the roots, through the sigils carved into the earth. The enclave was a circle of ancient oaks, their trunks wrapped in silver chains, their branches heavy with glowing lanterns. At the center—
The High Witch.
She stood at the heart of the circle, her silver hair loose, her eyes closed, her hands raised. Her gown was black as midnight, her skin pale, her presence a solid wall against the silence. She didn’t open her eyes. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, her magic humming beneath her skin, the air around her crackling with power.
And then—
She spoke.
Not to me.
To Kael.
“You are not welcome here,” she said, her voice low, dangerous. “Half-fae. Half-wolf. Killer. Abomination. You have brought war to our doorstep. You have spilled blood on sacred ground. And now—” her eyes opened, silver and sharp, “—you dare to stand in our circle?”
Kael didn’t flinch. Just stepped forward, his golden eyes burning. “I’m not here for sanctuary. I’m here for *her*. And if you stand between us—” his voice dropped, “—I’ll burn this enclave to ash.”
The Free Pack murmured—wolves growling, witches raising their hands, vampires baring their fangs.
But the High Witch didn’t move.
Just smiled—slow, devastating. “You think fire frightens us? We are the daughters of flame. The sisters of storm. And if you want to challenge us—” she stepped forward, her magic flaring, “—then do it. But know this—she is not yours to claim. Not until she pays the price.”
My breath caught.
“What price?” I asked, stepping forward.
She turned to me, her silver eyes burning. “You know the law. You were cast out for breaking it. For daring to love a wolf. For carrying his mark. And now—” her gaze flicked to Kael, “—you return, not as a witch, but as a hybrid. A traitor. A weapon.”
“I’m not a weapon,” I said, stepping closer. “I’m your daughter. Your student. The one you taught to fight. To survive. To believe.”
“And now you must prove it,” she said, her voice low. “The bond is strong. The magic is fierce. But it is not enough. To stay here—to be protected—you must embrace your full power. You must become what you were always meant to be. Not just a witch. Not just a wolf. But a hybrid. A bridge. A storm.”
I didn’t flinch. Just met her gaze, my storm-gray eyes burning. “And if I do?”
“Then you will be reborn,” she said, stepping closer. “But the ritual will cost you. It will strip you of your illusions. Your lies. Your fear. And if you survive—” her hand rose, pressing to my chest, “—you will be more than you ever were. But if you fail—” her voice dropped, “—you will die.”
The bond flared—hot, electric. Kael stepped forward, his hand gripping my arm. “She’s not doing it.”
“She already has,” the High Witch said, stepping back. “The choice was made the moment she stepped into this circle. The ritual begins at midnight. And if she is not ready—” her silver eyes locked onto mine, “—she will burn.”
***
They gave us the guest hut—a small stone structure at the edge of the enclave, its walls lined with sigils, its air thick with the scent of sage and iron. No windows. No torches. Just a single bed, a basin of water, and a mirror made of black glass.
Kael didn’t speak. Just paced, his boots silent on the stone, his golden eyes burning. His body was a wall of muscle and fury, his scent storm and iron, dominance and something softer. He didn’t look at me. Just kept moving, his hands clenched into fists, his magic flaring.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said, his voice low, rough.
“I do,” I said, sitting on the edge of the bed, my boots silent on the stone. “The Council will come. Nyx will come. Cassien will come. And if I’m not strong enough—if I’m not *more*—they’ll break me. They’ll break us.”
He stopped, turning to me, his golden eyes burning. “And if you die?”
“Then I die,” I said, standing, stepping closer. “But I won’t. Because I’m not just a witch. Not just a wolf. I’m *yours*. And if loving you means becoming something fiercer, something stronger—” my hand rose, pressing to his chest, “—then I’ll do it. Even if it burns me alive.”
He didn’t answer.
Just pulled me against him, his arms wrapping around me, his body a wall of heat and muscle. The bond flared—hot, electric, unbearable. My breath caught. My magic flared. The sigils on the walls glowed, ancient power stirring, responding to the truth we’d finally spoken.
And then—
He kissed me.
Not slow. Not soft.
Hard.
Deep.
Claiming.
His mouth crashed into mine, hungry, furious, a war cry. I gasped, arching into him, my hands flying to his waist, pulling him against me. He didn’t take control. Didn’t dominate. Just kissed me—deep, aching, *fierce*—his tongue sweeping into my mouth, his fingers tangling in my hair, his body pressing against mine.
The bond exploded—light, sound, magic—crimson and gold flaring between us like a living flame. The mirror cracked. The sigils glowed. The basin of water boiled.
And then—
He broke the kiss.
“You’re not what I expected,” he said, his voice rough.
“Neither are you,” I whispered, pressing my palm to his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heartbeat.
And then—
We didn’t speak.
Didn’t move.
Just held each other, our bodies pressed together, our breaths mingling, the bond pulsing—hot, electric, alive. The sigils on the walls glowed faintly, the mirror remained cracked, the basin of water still steamed.
And then—
I felt it.
Not the bond.
Not the magic.
Time.
Midnight.
***
The ritual began in silence.
The High Witch stood at the center of the circle, her silver hair loose, her eyes closed, her hands raised. The Free Pack stood in formation—wolves with fire in their eyes, witches with spells at their fingertips, vampires with fangs bared, fae with thorned wings. Kael stood at the edge of the circle, his golden eyes burning, his body a wall of muscle and fury. He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just stood there, his presence a solid wall against the silence.
And then—
She spoke.
“Kneel.”
I did.
Not in submission.
Not in reverence.
In *readiness*.
The High Witch stepped forward, her magic flaring, her hands rising. “To embrace your full power, you must shed your illusions. Your lies. Your fear. You must become what you were always meant to be. Not just a witch. Not just a wolf. But a hybrid. A bridge. A storm.”
She raised her hands.
The sigils on the ground flared—crimson and wild, witch and wolf entwined—surging through the earth, through the roots, through my blood. The bond pulsed—hot, electric, unbearable. My breath caught. My magic flared. The mark on my shoulder burned brighter, silver thorns intertwining with crimson vines, spreading toward my heart.
And then—
She struck.
Not with a blade.
Not with fire.
With truth.
A wave of magic slammed into me—crimson and wild, witch and wolf entwined—ripping through my illusions, my lies, my fear. I screamed, my body convulsing, my magic flaring. Visions tore through me—my sister’s death, Kael’s betrayal, the Council’s lies, Silas’s betrayal. They burned, one by one, until nothing was left but the truth.
And then—
It was over.
I collapsed, my body a heap on the stone, my breath ragged, my magic humming. The mark on my shoulder burned brighter, silver thorns wrapping around my collarbone, crimson vines curling toward my heart. The sigils on the ground glowed faintly, the air thick with magic.
And then—
She spoke.
“Rise.”
I did.
Not slowly.
Not weakly.
With *force*.
My body was different—stronger, fiercer, *alive*. The bond pulsed—hot, electric, unbroken. I turned to Kael, my storm-gray eyes burning.
“You’re not what I expected,” he said, stepping closer, his voice rough.
“Neither are you,” I whispered, stepping into his arms.
And then—
The High Witch spoke.
“She has paid the price. She is reborn. And now—” her silver eyes locked onto mine, “—she is no longer just a witch. She is the storm.”