The summons came at dawn—delivered not by courier, not by raven, but by blood.
A single drop, suspended in a silver vial, arrived at the edge of the Veridia enclave, carried on the wind like a curse. The High Witch caught it in her palm, her silver eyes flaring as she recognized the sigil etched into the glass: the triquetra of the Supernatural Council, dripping with dried blood. She didn’t speak. Just held it up, letting the morning light filter through the crimson liquid.
“It’s a trap,” Kael said, stepping beside me, his voice low, dangerous. He hadn’t slept. I hadn’t either. We’d spent the night tangled in each other, our bodies still humming from the claiming, our bond pulsing like a second heartbeat. But now—now the world was back. And it was sharpening its knives.
“Of course it’s a trap,” I said, my fingers brushing the mark on my shoulder—silver thorns intertwined with crimson vines, now wrapping around my collarbone, the vines curling toward my heart. “But it’s a trap we have to walk into. They want a confession. A trial. A public execution. And if we don’t show?” I turned to him, my storm-gray eyes locking onto his. “They’ll burn Veridia to the ground. They’ll hunt Lyra. They’ll kill Torin. They’ll drag Silas back to a cell and call it justice.”
Kael’s jaw tightened. “And if we go, they’ll try to break you. To twist the bond. To make you doubt me.”
“They already have,” I said, stepping closer, my hand rising, pressing to the scar on his chest—the one from when he was twelve, when they’d tried to break him. “But I don’t doubt you. Not anymore. I saw the truth in the ritual. I saw your pain. Your fear. Your love. And if they think they can use lies to tear us apart—” my voice dropped, “—they don’t know what we are.”
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 enclave walls glowed faintly, ancient power stirring, responding to the truth we’d finally spoken.
And then—
The vial cracked.
Not from pressure.
From magic.
The blood spilled onto the stone, spreading in a thin, crimson line, forming words—“The Council demands your presence. Geneva. Midday. Come alone. Or the world burns.”
“They don’t mean ‘alone,’” Lyra said, stepping forward, her silver blade at her hip, her dark braid coiled like a serpent. “They mean ‘unarmed. Unprotected. Unloved.’”
“And we’re not giving them that,” Torin said, stepping beside her, his coat gone, his scars on display, his fangs bared. “We go with her. We stand with her. We burn them before they burn us.”
Kael didn’t flinch. Just looked at me, his golden eyes burning. “You don’t have to do this.”
“Yes, I do,” I said, stepping back, my boots silent on the stone. “Because this isn’t just about me. It’s about every hybrid who’s been called a monster. Every witch who’s been cast out. Every wolf who’s been broken. And if I don’t stand—” my voice rose, “—then who will?”
The bond pulsed—hot, electric, alive. And then—
We moved.
***
Geneva was a city of glass and steel, its towers piercing the sky like spears, its streets paved with blood and lies. The Council Hall stood at its heart—a monolithic structure of black marble and silver veins, its entrance guarded by nine statues: three wolves, three vampires, three fae, their eyes hollow, their hands raised in false unity. The air was thick with magic—crimson and gold, witch and wolf entwined—but beneath it—something colder. Something calculated.
We arrived at noon.
Not in silence.
Not in shadow.
>In the open.Kael at my side, shirtless, his scars on display, his golden eyes burning. Lyra to my left, her silver blade sheathed but her hand never far from the hilt. Torin to my right, his coat gone, his fangs bared. 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 didn’t bow. Didn’t kneel. Just walked, our boots silent on the stone, our presence a solid wall against the silence.
And then—
The doors opened.
Not by hand.
By magic.
The black marble split like a wound, revealing the Council Chamber—a vast, circular room, its walls lined with sigils, its ceiling a dome of stained glass depicting the fall of the first hybrid. At the center—nine thrones, three per species, their occupants cloaked in black and silver, their faces hidden behind masks of bone and obsidian.
And in the center of it all—
Elira.
Not dead.
Not broken.
Smiling.
She stood at the head of the chamber, her silver hair coiled like a crown, her hands stained with blood, her eyes sharp. Her gown was white as snow, her skin pale, her presence a solid wall against the silence. She didn’t look at me. Just stepped forward, her voice cold, cutting through the silence.
“Jade Vale,” she purred. “Or should I say… *traitor*?”
I didn’t flinch. Just stepped forward, my storm-gray eyes burning. “You’re not what I expected.”
She laughed—low, cruel. “And you are. A hybrid. A witch. A woman who came to destroy Kael Blackthorn and stayed to save him. And now—” her gaze flicked to Kael, “—you stand before the Council, not as an envoy, but as a criminal. Charged with conspiracy, treason, and the unlawful manipulation of the Shadow Fate.”
“And you’re charged with murder,” I said, stepping closer. “With framing an innocent man. With ordering the assassination of my sister. With using lies to tear apart the very thing you claim to protect.”
“Lies?” she asked, stepping forward, her voice rising. “I speak the truth. The bond between you and Kael was corrupted. You used blood magic to manipulate him. To control him. To turn him against his own kind. And if you doubt me—” she raised her hand, “—then let the evidence speak.”
A mirror formed in the air—cracked, ancient, its surface swirling with smoke. And then—
Images.
Kael, in his study, signing the ledger. Me, whispering in the shadows, my hands glowing with crimson magic. Silas, handing over the blood-red dossier. The Free Pack, burning the Eastern Pack’s territory. And then—
My sister.
Her spine snapped. Her eyes wide. Her blood pooling on the stone.
My breath caught.
“You forged this,” I said, my voice breaking.
“No,” she said, her smile widening. “I simply revealed the truth. And now—” she stepped closer, “—you have a choice. Confess. Submit. And you’ll be spared. Or deny it—” her voice dropped, “—and we’ll burn you alive.”
The chamber erupted.
Wolves growling. Witches raising their hands. Vampires baring their fangs. Fae spreading their wings.
And then—
I stepped forward.
Not toward Elira.
Not toward the Council.
Toward the mirror.
My hand rose, fingers spreading, magic flaring—crimson and wild, witch and wolf entwined. The glass cracked. The images flickered. And then—
Truth.
Not the forged ledger. Not the manipulated bond. Not the false confession.
The truth.
Elira, standing over my sister, her silver hair coiled like a crown, her hands stained with blood. Elira, whispering to Council envoys in the shadows. Elira, using a blood-quill to mimic Kael’s signature. Elira, laughing as she ordered the hit—“Hybrids are abominations. They must be erased.”
The chamber fell silent.
Not from fear.
From shock.
And then—
Elira moved.
Fast.
Desperate.
One moment she was at the head of the chamber.
The next—
She was in my face, her voice low, dangerous. “You think this changes anything? You think the Council will believe a hybrid over a fae duchess? You think they’ll let you walk away?”
“They will,” I said, stepping back, my storm-gray eyes burning. “Because I’m not just a hybrid. I’m not just a witch. I’m not just Kael’s mate. I’m the storm. And if you think you can stand in my way—” my voice rose, “—then you don’t know what I am.”
She didn’t flinch. Just smiled—slow, devastating. “And if I kill you?”
“Then I die,” I said, stepping closer. “But not alone.”
And then—
Kael was there.
Not beside me.
Behind her.
One hand gripped her arm, the other pressing to her throat, his golden eyes burning. “You don’t get to touch her,” he growled, his voice low, dangerous. “Not again. Not ever.”
Elira didn’t struggle. Just laughed—low, cruel. “You think you can stop me? You’re half-fae. Half-wolf. A killer. A rebel. And I—” her voice dropped, “—am your grandmother.”
My breath caught.
“You’re lying,” Kael said, his voice breaking.
“Am I?” she asked, turning her head, her silver eyes locking onto his. “You think your mother was just a prisoner? No. She was my daughter. My blood. And when she fell in love with a wolf, when she bore you, I had no choice. I had to erase her. To erase you. To protect the purity of our kind.”
Kael’s hand trembled.
Not from weakness.
From rage.
“You killed her,” he said, his voice low, dangerous. “You held her prisoner. You used me as a weapon. You made me believe love was weakness. And now—” his grip tightened, “—you’ll pay.”
“And if the Council stops you?” she asked, her voice cold. “If they call it murder? If they strip your title? If they—” her voice broke, “—kill you?”
“Then I die fighting,” he said, stepping closer. “But not before I make you suffer.”
The chamber erupted.
Wolves howling. Witches sending bolts of fire into the air. Vampires descending like ghosts. Fae spreading their wings, thorns glinting in the light.
And then—
I stepped forward.
Not toward Elira.
Not toward Kael.
Toward the Council.
My voice cut through the silence, loud, clear, unbroken. “You want truth? You want justice? Then look at the evidence. Look at the ledger. Look at the blood. Look at the lies. And if you still believe her—” my hand rose, pressing to the mark on my shoulder, “—then you’re no better than she is.”
The Council didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Just sat in silence, their masks hiding their faces, their hands gripping their thrones.
And then—
One of them stood.
A vampire, his coat lined with Council sigils, his eyes silver. He didn’t look at Elira. Just stepped forward, unrolling a scroll sealed with wax the color of dried blood.
“By order of the Supernatural Council,” he intoned, his voice cold, “Lady Elira Nox, Duchess of the Fae Court of Thorns, you are hereby charged with treason, murder, and the unlawful manipulation of interspecies law. You are to surrender your title, your weapons, and your seat, and submit to immediate imprisonment pending trial.”
Elira didn’t flinch. Just smiled—slow, devastating. “And if I refuse?”
“Then you will be taken by force,” he said, not looking up. “And your bloodline will be erased.”
She didn’t answer.
Just turned to me, her silver eyes burning. “This isn’t over. The war has just begun.”
“And I’ll be ready,” I said, stepping closer, my storm-gray eyes locking onto hers. “Because I’m not what I expected. And neither are you.”
And then—
Kael let her go.
Not gently.
Not slowly.
With *force*.
One hand shoved her back, sending her crashing into the dais. She didn’t fight. Just stood there, her gown torn, her hair matted, her presence a solid wall against the silence.
And then—
The guards took her.
Not with kindness.
Not with mercy.
With chains.
Moonsteel. Forged in blood. Sealed with magic.
And as they dragged her away—
She laughed.
Low.
Cruel.
Like a promise.
***
The chamber was silent.
Not from fear.
From awe.
The Council didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just sat in silence, their masks hiding their faces, their hands gripping their thrones.
And then—
One of them stood.
A witch, her gown black as midnight, her eyes silver. She didn’t look at me. Just stepped forward, her voice low, dangerous. “Jade Vale. You have exposed the truth. You have broken the lies. And now—” her gaze flicked to Kael, “—you stand before us, not as a criminal, but as a savior. And if the Council is to survive—” her voice rose, “—then it must change.”
The others murmured—wolves growling, witches raising their hands, vampires baring their fangs.
And then—
They stood.
One by one.
Not in submission.
Not in dominance.
In *solidarity*.
“The Council will reconvene,” the witch said, her voice loud, clear. “And when it does—” her gaze locked onto mine, “—it will have new seats. New voices. New blood.”
My breath caught.
Because I knew what she meant.
Hybrid rights.
Equal power.
A new world.
And then—
Kael’s hand found mine.
Fingers lacing.
Bond flaring—hot, electric, alive.
“You did it,” he said, his voice rough.
“We did it,” I said, stepping closer, my storm-gray eyes locking onto his. “Because I’m not what I expected.”
He pressed a kiss to my temple. “Neither are you.”
And then—
We turned.
Not away from the Council.
Not toward the door.
Toward the Free Pack.
Lyra. Torin. The hybrids.
My storm.
My truth.
And they weren’t here to negotiate.
They were here to burn.
***
Outside, the city was silent.
But inside—
There was only us.
And the fire that would burn the world down.