The wind howled through the Veil Woods like a dying beast, tearing at the canopy, bending the ancient oaks until their roots groaned. Rain fell in sheets, cold and relentless, turning the moss-covered earth into a slick, sucking mire. I stood at the edge of the clearing, my silver blade sheathed but my hand never far from the hilt, my storm-gray eyes scanning the darkness. The scent of pine and iron clung to the air, but beneath it—something sharper. Something alive.
They were coming.
Not the Council.
Not Nyx.
But him.
Kael.
And he wasn’t alone.
Behind me, the Free Pack waited—wolves with fire in their eyes, witches with spells at their fingertips, vampires with fangs bared, fae with thorned wings. We’d bled for this. Fought for this. Burned for this. And now—
He was here to take it from us.
***
He emerged from the shadows like a storm—shirtless, scars on display, golden eyes burning. Rain slicked his skin, traced the lines of his body, pooled in the hollow of his throat. 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 the enclave.
One moment he was across the clearing.
The next—
He was at the veil.
His hand rose, fingers spreading, magic flaring—golden and feral, wolf and storm. The silver threads of the barrier writhed, recoiled, hissed like serpents. But they held. The High Witch’s wards were ancient. Unbreakable. And she stood at the heart of the circle, her silver hair loose, her eyes closed, her hands raised. Her presence was a wall. A vow. A warning.
“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 closer, 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.
And then—
Jade stepped through the veil.
She was different.
Not in appearance. Not in stance.
In presence.
Her storm-gray eyes burned with something fiercer. Something older. The mark on her shoulder—silver thorns intertwined with crimson vines—now wrapped around her collarbone, the vines curling toward her heart. Her magic hummed beneath her skin, crimson and wild, witch and wolf entwined, pulsing in time with the bond. She didn’t look at Kael. Just walked to me, her boots silent on the wet stone, her hand rising, her fingers brushing my cheek.
“You came,” I said, my voice rough.
“You saved her,” Torin said, stepping beside me, his coat gone, his scars on display, his fangs bared. “Now he wants to take her back.”
Jade turned then, her storm-gray eyes locking onto Kael’s. “I’m not something to be taken. I’m not a prize. I’m not a weapon. I’m *yours*. But I’m also *theirs*. And if you can’t accept that—” her voice dropped, “—then you don’t get to have me at all.”
Kael didn’t flinch. Just stepped forward, his body a wall of heat and muscle. “You think I don’t see it? That I don’t *feel* it? The bond flares every time you look at them. Every time you fight beside them. Every time you call them *family*.”
“And you don’t?” she asked, stepping closer. “You don’t feel it when Torin stands beside you? When Lyra leads the Free Pack? When the pack kneels not because you demand it, but because they *choose* to?”
He didn’t answer.
Just stared at her—really stared—and for the first time, I saw it.
Doubt.
Not in her.
In *himself*.
“I’m not just your Alpha,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’m your mate. Your equal. Your *truth*. But I’m also their leader. Their storm. And if I let you walk away—” he gestured to us, “—if I let you build something *here*, something *without* me—then what am I? Just a man who clings to what he can’t control?”
My chest tightened.
Because he wasn’t wrong.
And he wasn’t right.
He was just… afraid.
***
We took them to 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 Jade. 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,” Jade said, sitting on the edge of the bed, her 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 her, his golden eyes burning. “And if you die?”
“Then I die,” she 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—” her hand rose, pressing to his chest, “—then I’ll do it. Even if it burns me alive.”
He didn’t answer.
Just pulled her against him, his arms wrapping around her, his body a wall of heat and muscle. The bond flared—hot, electric, unbearable. Her breath caught. Her magic flared. The sigils on the walls glowed, ancient power stirring, responding to the truth we’d finally spoken.
And then—
He kissed her.
Not slow. Not soft.
Hard.
Deep.
Claiming.
His mouth crashed into hers, hungry, furious, a war cry. She gasped, arching into him, her hands flying to his waist, pulling him against her. He didn’t take control. Didn’t dominate. Just kissed her—deep, aching, *fierce*—his tongue sweeping into her mouth, his fingers tangling in her hair, his body pressing against hers.
The bond exploded—light, sound, magic—crimson and gold flaring between them 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,” she whispered, pressing her palm to his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heartbeat.
And then—
They didn’t speak.
Didn’t move.
Just held each other, their bodies pressed together, their 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.”
Jade 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 Jade’s blood. The bond pulsed—hot, electric, unbearable. Her breath caught. Her magic flared. The mark on her shoulder burned brighter, silver thorns intertwining with crimson vines, spreading toward her heart.
And then—
She struck.
Not with a blade.
Not with fire.
With truth.
A wave of magic slammed into her—crimson and wild, witch and wolf entwined—ripping through her illusions, her lies, her fear. She screamed, her body convulsing, her magic flaring. Visions tore through her—her 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.
She collapsed, her body a heap on the stone, her breath ragged, her magic humming. The mark on her shoulder burned brighter, silver thorns wrapping around her collarbone, crimson vines curling toward her heart. The sigils on the ground glowed faintly, the air thick with magic.
And then—
She spoke.
“Rise.”
She did.
Not slowly.
Not weakly.
With *force*.
Her body was different—stronger, fiercer, *alive*. The bond pulsed—hot, electric, unbroken. She turned to Kael, her storm-gray eyes burning.
“You’re not what I expected,” he said, stepping closer, his voice rough.
“Neither are you,” she 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 Jade’s, “—she is no longer just a witch. She is the storm.”
***
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 Jade. 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,” Jade said, sitting on the edge of the bed, her 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 her, his golden eyes burning. “And if you die?”
“Then I die,” she 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—” her hand rose, pressing to his chest, “—then I’ll do it. Even if it burns me alive.”
He didn’t answer.
Just pulled her against him, his arms wrapping around her, his body a wall of heat and muscle. The bond flared—hot, electric, unbearable. Her breath caught. Her magic flared. The sigils on the walls glowed, ancient power stirring, responding to the truth we’d finally spoken.
And then—
He kissed her.
Not slow. Not soft.
Hard.
Deep.
Claiming.
His mouth crashed into hers, hungry, furious, a war cry. She gasped, arching into him, her hands flying to his waist, pulling him against her. He didn’t take control. Didn’t dominate. Just kissed her—deep, aching, *fierce*—his tongue sweeping into her mouth, his fingers tangling in her hair, his body pressing against hers.
The bond exploded—light, sound, magic—crimson and gold flaring between them 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,” she whispered, pressing her palm to his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heartbeat.
And then—
We didn’t speak.
Didn’t move.
Just held each other, their bodies pressed together, their 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.”
Jade 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 her blood. The bond pulsed—hot, electric, unbearable. Her breath caught. Her magic flared. The mark on her shoulder burned brighter, silver thorns intertwining with crimson vines, spreading toward her heart.
And then—
She struck.
Not with a blade.
Not with fire.
With truth.
A wave of magic slammed into her—crimson and wild, witch and wolf entwined—ripping through her illusions, her lies, her fear. She screamed, her body convulsing, her magic flaring. Visions tore through her—her 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.
She collapsed, her body a heap on the stone, her breath ragged, her magic humming. The mark on her shoulder burned brighter, silver thorns wrapping around her collarbone, crimson vines curling toward her heart. The sigils on the ground glowed faintly, the air thick with magic.
And then—
She spoke.
“Rise.”
She did.
Not slowly.
Not weakly.
With *force*.
Her body was different—stronger, fiercer, *alive*. The bond pulsed—hot, electric, unbroken. She turned to Kael, her storm-gray eyes burning.
“You’re not what I expected,” he said, stepping closer, his voice rough.
“Neither are you,” she 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 hers, “—she is no longer just a witch. She is the storm.”