The night after Jade’s rebirth in Veridia, the world didn’t change.
It ignited.
Not with fire. Not with war.
With silence.
Not the suffocating kind—the kind that pressed down like stone, the kind that had lived in my chest since I was a boy, since my mother died screaming in a fae prison, since I learned that strength meant silence, that love meant weakness, that vulnerability was a death sentence.
No.
This silence was different.
It was alive.
It hummed beneath my skin, pulsed in the bond, echoed in the space between our breaths as we stood at the edge of the enclave, staring at the moonlit hills. The wind carried the scent of lavender and iron, of witch and wolf, of her. Jade. My mate. My equal. The storm.
And I was afraid.
Not of the Council. Not of Cassien. Not of the war that was coming.
Of this.
Of the way her storm-gray eyes had burned when she rose from the ritual, stronger, fiercer, more. Of the way she had stepped into my arms without hesitation, without fear, as if she knew—knew that I would catch her, that I would hold her, that I would burn the world down before I let her fall.
And I would.
But what if that wasn’t enough?
What if I wasn’t enough?
***
We took shelter in the guest hut—small, stone, warded. The sigils on the walls still glowed faintly from the ritual, their crimson light pulsing in time with the bond. The mirror was cracked. The basin of water still steamed. And Jade—
She sat on the edge of the bed, her boots silent on the stone, her hands resting on her thighs. She didn’t look at me. Just stared at the floor, her storm-gray eyes burning with something I couldn’t name.
“You’re thinking,” I said, stepping inside, the door clicking shut behind me.
She didn’t answer.
Just exhaled, slow, deliberate, her shoulders dropping. “I’m remembering.”
“The ritual?”
“Everything.”
Her voice was low, rough. Not broken. Not weak. But raw. Like the truth had been carved into her flesh and she was still learning how to carry it.
“You saw it all,” she said, lifting her head. “When the High Witch struck. When the magic tore through me. I saw my sister’s spine snap. I saw Elira standing over her. I saw Silas handing over the ledger. I saw the Council branding me a traitor. I saw—” her voice cracked, “—you. Thinking I’d betrayed you. Thinking I’d used magic to manipulate you. And I didn’t hate you for it.”
My breath caught.
“You should have.”
“No,” she said, standing, stepping closer. “Because I knew. I knew what you’d been through. What they’d done to you. What you’d survived. And if I could hate anyone—” her hand rose, pressing to the scar on my chest, the one from when I was twelve, when they’d tried to break me, “—it would be the ones who made you believe love was weakness.”
My body tensed.
Not from pain.
From fear.
Because no one touched the scars.
Not even Lyra.
Not even Torin.
They knew better.
But Jade—
She didn’t pull away.
Just pressed her palm flat, her fingers spreading, her breath steady. “You think I don’t see it?” she asked, her voice soft. “The way you pull away. The way you don’t let me hold you. The way you stand at the edge of every room, like you’re waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
“I’m not pulling away,” I said, my voice rough. “I’m protecting you.”
“From what?”
“From me.”
She didn’t flinch.
Just stepped closer, her body pressing against mine, her storm-gray eyes locking onto mine. “You don’t have to protect me. 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,” I said, my voice breaking. “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,” she said, pressing her palm to my chest, feeling the steady thud of my 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—” she stepped in front of me, forcing me to look at her, “—then you don’t know me at all.”
My chest cracked.
Not from pity.
From love.
Because this—this raw, broken, honest woman—was the one I’d fallen for. Not the avenger. Not the hybrid. Not the queen.
The one who had chosen me.
Even when she thought I was the monster.
And now—
She was asking me to choose her back.
Not as her Alpha.
Not as her mate.
As the man who had been broken and rebuilt.
As the one who could finally stop hiding.
***
I didn’t speak.
Didn’t move.
Just stood there, my body a wall of muscle and fury, my breath unsteady, my magic flaring beneath my skin. The bond pulsed—hot, electric, unbearable. And then—
She kissed me.
Not slow. Not soft.
Hard.
Deep.
Claiming.
Her mouth crashed into mine, hungry, furious, a war cry. I gasped, arching into her, my hands flying to her waist, pulling her against me. She didn’t let me take control. Didn’t let me dominate. Just kissed me—deep, aching, fierce—her tongue sweeping into my mouth, her fingers tangling in my hair, her body pressing against mine.
The bond exploded—light, sound, magic—crimson and gold flaring between us like a living flame. The sigils on the walls glowed brighter. The mirror cracked further. The basin of water boiled over.
And then—
She broke the kiss.
“You’re not what I expected,” she whispered, her voice rough.
“Neither are you,” I said, my breath unsteady.
And then—
She stepped back.
Not to leave.
But to see.
Her storm-gray eyes burned as she looked at me—really looked—her gaze tracing the scars on my chest, my arms, my back. The ones from the fae. The ones from the pack. The ones from the war. The ones I’d never let anyone touch.
And then—
She reached for the hem of my shirt.
“Take it off,” she said, her voice low.
“Jade—”
“Take it off,” she repeated, her voice firm. “I want to see you. All of you. Not just the Alpha. Not just the killer. The man.”
My hands trembled.
Not from weakness.
From fear.
But I did it.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
I pulled the shirt over my head, letting it fall to the floor. The air was cool against my skin, but I didn’t flinch. Just stood there, bare, marked, hers.
And then—
She stepped forward.
Not to kiss me.
Not to touch my face.
To the scars.
Her fingers rose, trembling, and pressed to the jagged line across my chest—the one from when I was twelve, when they’d tried to break me. I sucked in a breath, my body tensing, but I didn’t pull away. Just let her touch me, my breath hitching as her fingers traced the old wound.
“This one,” she said, her voice soft, “was from the fae. When they held your mother prisoner. When they tried to make you obey.”
I didn’t answer.
Just nodded.
“And this one,” she said, her fingers trailing lower, to the scar on my abdomen, “was from the pack. When they challenged you for the Alpha title.”
“Before I killed their leader,” I said, my voice rough.
She didn’t flinch.
Just kept going—her fingers tracing the scars on my arms, my back, my shoulders. Each one a memory. Each one a battle. Each one a lie I’d told myself: that pain was strength. That silence was power. That love was weakness.
And then—
She stopped.
At the worst one.
The one on my lower back—the deep, jagged gash from when I was sixteen, when I’d tried to escape the fae prison. When they’d caught me. When they’d carved into me with a moonsteel blade and told me I’d never be free.
Her fingers hovered.
Then—
She pressed her palm flat.
And I broke.
Not with a growl. Not with a snarl.
With a sound I hadn’t made since I was a boy.
A sob.
My body trembled, my breath ragged, my hands flying to her waist, pulling her against me. She didn’t let me hide. Didn’t let me turn away. Just held me, her fingers still pressed to the scar, her storm-gray eyes burning into mine.
“You don’t have to be strong for me,” she said, her voice soft. “You don’t have to be the Alpha. You don’t have to be the killer. You just have to be you. The man who chose me. The man who fights for me. The man who feels.”
“I’m afraid,” I whispered, my voice breaking.
“Of what?”
“Of losing you.”
“You won’t,” she said, pressing her forehead to mine. “Because I’m not going anywhere. Not after everything we’ve been through. Not after everything we’ve survived. And if you think I’d let you carry this pain alone—” her hand rose, pressing to my chest, “—then you don’t know me at all.”
My heart cracked.
Not from grief.
From love.
Because she wasn’t just seeing me.
She was healing me.
With every touch. Every breath. Every pulse of the bond.
And then—
I kissed her.
Not desperate. Not furious.
Slow.
Deep.
Theirs.
My mouth moved with hers, gentle, aching, my tongue sweeping into her mouth, my hands sliding to her back, pulling her against me. She didn’t fight. Didn’t resist. Just let me lead, her body arching into mine, her magic flaring, the bond pulsing—warm, unbroken, alive.
And when I pulled back, my forehead rested on hers, my breath warm against her lips. “You’re not what I expected,” I murmured.
“Neither are you,” she whispered.
And then—
She pulled me onto the bed.
Not fast. Not rough.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Like worship.
Her hands traced every curve, every scar, every piece of me that had been broken and rebuilt. She kissed my collarbone, my chest, the dip of my waist. She didn’t rush. Didn’t push. Just touched me—slow, aching, reverent. And when she reached the apex of my thighs, she didn’t go inside.
Just there.
Pressing gently, heat flooding my core. I gasped, arching into her, my fingers digging into the sheets.
“You feel it,” she murmured, her breath warm against my ear. “The magic. The bond. The way your body knows me.”
I didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
Because she was right.
My magic flared—golden and feral, wolf and storm—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 her.
And then—
She moved.
Her fingers slid inside me—slow, deliberate, a single finger pressing deep. I cried out, arching into her, 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.”
She didn’t answer.
Just added another finger, curling them just right, her thumb pressing against my clit. I moaned, my body trembling, my core clenching around her.
“I’ve never wanted to be yours more,” she growled, her 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 she wasn’t just saying it.
She 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, she was still there, her fingers still inside me, her thumb still on my clit, her storm-gray eyes burning into mine.
“You’re not what I expected,” I whispered, my voice rough.
“Neither are you,” she said, pressing a kiss to my temple.
And then—
She positioned herself between my thighs.
Her cock—thick, heavy, glistening with pre-come—pressed against my entrance. I didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. Just looked at her, my golden eyes locking onto hers.
“This changes nothing,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.
She smiled—slow, devastating. “It changes everything.”
And then—
She pushed in.
Not fast. Not rough.
Slow.
Deliberate.
A vow.
I gasped, my body stretching to accommodate her, my magic flaring, the bond screaming. She didn’t stop. Just kept going—inch by inch—until she was fully inside me, buried to the hilt, her hips pressed against mine.
“Kael,” she gasped, her voice breaking. “You’re so tight. So damn perfect.”
I didn’t answer.
Just wrapped my legs around her waist, pulling her deeper.
And then—
She moved.
Slow at first. Then faster. Deeper. Harder. Her hips rolled, her cock stroking that spot inside me that made me see stars. I moaned, arching into her, my fingers digging into her back, her magic flaring, the bond pulsing—hot, electric, unbearable.
“You’re mine,” she growled, her mouth crashing into mine, her 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 her lip. “Not because of the bond. Not because of fate. But because you *chose* me. And I choose you. Every damn day.”
She didn’t answer.
Just fucked me harder, her thrusts deep, her 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 her. She followed—growling, her hips stuttering, her cock pulsing as she 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—
She collapsed on top of me, her body a wall of heat and muscle, her breath ragged against my neck.
I didn’t push her away.
Just held her, my hands sliding to her back, my fingers tracing the scars, the old wounds, the places where she’d been broken and rebuilt.
And when she lifted her head, her storm-gray 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.
She pressed a kiss to my temple. “Neither are you.”
And then—
She kissed me.
Not desperate. Not furious.
Slow.
Deep.
Theirs.
Outside, the enclave was silent.
But inside—
There was only us.
And the fire that would burn the world down.