The northern cliffs were silent after the battle—too silent. The wind had died. The heather no longer burned. Even the moonlight seemed to hold its breath, silver and cold, pooling in the fissures of the ruined stone like spilled mercury. The air still hummed with residual magic—crimson and gold, witch and wolf entwined—but it was fading, unraveling like a spell at dawn. Around me, the Free Pack stood like statues, their breaths shallow, their weapons still drawn, their eyes scanning the shadows for the next strike. Lyra’s silver blade dripped with cursed blood. Torin’s fangs were bared, his scars glowing faintly. Behind them—wolves with fire in their eyes, witches with spells at their fingertips, vampires with fangs bared, fae with thorned wings.
But the enemy was gone.
For now.
I could feel it in the bond—Kael’s presence, solid and warm beside me, his golden eyes scanning the darkness. He hadn’t spoken since the last clash, hadn’t let go of my hand. His grip was tight, almost painful, as if he feared I’d vanish if he loosened it. And maybe I would. The power that had surged through me—the storm, the truth, the raw, unfiltered magic of the ritual—was receding, leaving behind a hollow ache, a whisper of exhaustion.
But not weakness.
Never that.
“We should move,” I said, my voice low, rough. “They’ll regroup. They’ll come back with more.”
Kael didn’t answer. Just turned his head, his gaze locking onto mine. His thumb brushed the back of my hand, a silent question. Are you ready?
I nodded. “I’m not running. But I’m not stupid. We need to regroup. Reclaim the keep. Fortify Veridia. And if they want a war—” I stepped forward, my storm-gray eyes scanning the cliffs, “—then let it be on our terms.”
He exhaled, slow, deliberate. Then he squeezed my hand. “Then we move. Now.”
And we did.
Not in silence.
Not in shadow.
>In the open.The Free Pack moved like a living storm—wolves howling, witches casting, vampires running ahead to scout, fae spreading their wings to watch the skies. We didn’t look back. Didn’t mourn. Just walked, our boots silent on the stone, our presence a solid wall against the silence. The bond pulsed between us—hot, electric, alive—feeding on the adrenaline, the victory, the raw, unspoken truth that we had survived. Again.
And then—
We felt it.
Not the bond.
Not the magic.
Her.
***
Blackthorn Keep loomed ahead—ancient, foreboding, its stone towers piercing the sky like fangs. The gates were closed, the walls lined with guards, their eyes sharp, their hands on their weapons. But something was wrong. The scent of pine and iron was still there. The wolves still prowled the courtyards. But beneath it—something sour. Something human.
And then—
I saw her.
Not in the shadows.
Not in the gate.
In the window.
Perched on the balcony of Kael’s private chambers—her bare feet on the stone, her dark hair loose, her lips curved in a smile too sweet to be real—was Mira.
Former blood-bonded. Vampire. Liar.
She waved, slow, deliberate, her fingers splayed like a queen greeting her subjects. Her gown was white as snow, her skin pale, her presence a solid wall against the silence. And on her neck—
The mark.
Kael’s mark.
A deep, crescent-shaped bite, still raw, still glistening with blood.
My breath caught.
Not from jealousy.
Not from rage.
From disgust.
Because I knew it wasn’t real.
Kael hadn’t marked her. Not willingly. Not ever. The bond would have flared. The magic would have screamed. I would have felt it.
But she didn’t know that.
And she was using it.
“She’s baiting you,” Kael said, his voice low, dangerous. He didn’t look at her. Just kept his eyes on the gates, his body a wall of muscle and fury. “She wants a reaction. A scene. A scandal.”
“And she’ll get one,” I said, stepping forward, my storm-gray eyes burning. “Just not the one she expects.”
He didn’t stop me. Just fell into step beside me, his hand gripping mine, his presence a solid wall against the silence.
And then—
The gates opened.
Not by hand.
By magic.
The iron bars retracted, sliding into the stone like serpents. And from the darkness—
She emerged.
Not fast.
Not desperate.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Like a performance.
Her boots clicked against the stone, her gown trailing behind her, her hand rising to touch the fake mark on her neck. “Kael,” she purred, her voice dripping with false sorrow. “You’re alive. I was so worried.”
He didn’t answer. Just stared at her, his golden eyes burning.
She turned to me, her smile widening. “And you must be Lady Vale. Or should I say… *Jade*?” She stepped closer, her scent flooding the air—spiced wine, decay, something darker. “You’ve caused quite a stir. Exposing Elira. Challenging the Council. Burning the old order to the ground.” Her voice dropped. “And all for *him*.”
“And what are you here for?” I asked, stepping forward, my storm-gray eyes locking onto hers. “A second chance? A seat at his table? Or just another lie to sell to the highest bidder?”
Her smile faltered. Just for a second. Then she laughed—low, cruel. “I’m here because I *love* him. Because I’ve bled for him. Because I’ve carried his mark—” she touched the bite, “—and I’ll die before I let some hybrid witch take what’s mine.”
“You don’t have anything that’s yours,” Kael said, stepping forward, his voice low, dangerous. “That mark is fake. The bond would have flared. The magic would have screamed. And if you think I’d let you wear something that belongs to my mate—” his golden eyes burned into hers, “—then you’re even more delusional than I thought.”
She didn’t flinch. Just stepped closer, her hand rising, her fingers brushing his chest. “You marked me once. In the dark. In secret. When no one was watching. And if you think I’d let her erase that—”
“She didn’t erase it,” I said, stepping between them, my body a wall. “Because it never existed. You forged it. With blood magic. With lies. With desperation. And if you think I’ll let you use it to hurt him—” my magic flared, crimson and wild, witch and wolf entwined, “—then you don’t know what I am.”
She didn’t answer.
Just stepped back, her smile widening. “Then prove it.”
And then—
She ran.
Not toward the gates.
Not toward the shadows.
Toward the keep.
Her boots clicked against the stone, her gown trailing behind her, her laughter echoing through the courtyards. And then—
She was gone.
***
We found her in the war room.
The same room where Kael had stood the night Elira’s murder was exposed. The same obsidian table, the same blood-red maps, the same silence. But now—
She was on the table.
Not lying.
Not waiting.
Inviting.
Her gown was torn at the shoulders, her legs spread, her hand pressing to the fake mark on her neck. “Kael,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I’ve waited for you. In the dark. In the cold. While she played hero. While she burned the world. And if you think I’ll let her take you—” her voice broke, “—then you don’t know what love really is.”
Kael didn’t move. Just stood in the doorway, his golden eyes burning, his body a wall of muscle and fury. “You don’t get to define love. Not after what you did. Not after what you’ve become.”
“And what am I?” she asked, sitting up, her gown slipping off one shoulder. “A woman who loves you? A woman who waited? A woman who—”
“A liar,” I said, stepping forward, my storm-gray eyes burning. “A manipulator. A pawn. And if you think I’ll let you use this room, this moment, this lie to tear us apart—” my magic flared, crimson and wild, “—then you don’t know what power really is.”
She didn’t answer.
Just reached for the dagger on the table—thin, silver, forged from moonsteel.
And then—
She lunged.
Not at me.
At Kael.
One moment she was on the table.
The next—
She was in his face, the blade flashing toward his throat.
But he didn’t flinch.
Didn’t move.
Just caught her wrist—fast, brutal, unrelenting. His claws flashed—golden and deadly—ripping through her skin, sending the dagger clattering to the floor. She screamed, her body convulsing, her blood pooling on the obsidian stone.
And then—
He threw her.
Not gently.
Not slowly.
With force.
One hand shoved her back, sending her crashing into the wall. She didn’t fight. Just slid to the floor, her gown torn, her hair matted, her presence a solid wall against the silence.
And then—
I moved.
Not toward her.
Not toward Kael.
Toward the truth.
My hand rose, fingers spreading, magic flaring—crimson and wild, witch and wolf entwined. A wave of energy slammed into her, not to harm, but to reveal. The glamour shattered—like glass, like lies—and beneath it—
Nothing.
No mark. No bite. No bond.
Just pale, unbroken skin.
She gasped, her hands flying to her neck, her eyes wide with horror. “No—”
“The truth is ugly, isn’t it?” I said, stepping closer, my storm-gray eyes burning. “But it’s real. And if you think I’ll let you use lies to hurt the man I love—” my voice dropped, “—then you don’t know what I am.”
She didn’t answer.
Just looked at Kael, her voice breaking. “You said you loved me.”
“I said a lot of things,” he said, stepping forward, his golden eyes burning. “When I was weak. When I was broken. When I thought love was a weapon. But I was wrong. And if you think I’d let you use those words to manipulate me—” his voice dropped, “—then you don’t know what I am.”
She didn’t flinch. Just sat there, her body broken, her spirit shattered. “Then kill me.”
The room fell silent.
Not from fear.
From weight.
Kael didn’t move. Just stared at her, his golden eyes burning. And then—
He turned.
Not to me.
Not to the door.
To Torin.
“Take her,” he said, his voice low, dangerous. “Lock her in the eastern cell. No visitors. No magic. No lies.”
Torin didn’t hesitate. Just stepped forward, his coat gone, his scars on display, his fangs bared. He grabbed her arm, yanking her to her feet. She didn’t fight. Just let him drag her away, her gown trailing behind her, her presence fading like smoke.
And then—
We were alone.
***
Kael didn’t speak. Just walked to the window, his back to me, his body a wall of muscle and fury. The bond pulsed—hot, electric, unbearable. I could feel it—the guilt, the anger, the way his wolf prowled just beneath the surface.
“You don’t have to protect me,” I said, stepping closer, my storm-gray eyes burning. “Not from her. Not from the past. Not from the lies.”
He didn’t answer. Just turned his head, his golden eyes locking onto mine. “I didn’t mark her.”
“I know.”
“I never loved her.”
“I know.”
“Then why does it hurt?” he asked, his voice breaking. “Why does it feel like I’m being torn apart every time I see her? Every time I hear her voice? Every time I remember—”
“Because you were used,” 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. “She wasn’t the first. Elira wasn’t the first. The fae weren’t the first. And if you think loving me means forgetting that—” my voice dropped, “—then you don’t know what I am.”
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, alive. My breath caught. My magic flared. The sigils on the walls glowed faintly, ancient power stirring, responding to the truth we’d finally spoken.
And then—
He buried his face in my neck, his breath hot against my skin. “I don’t want to be broken anymore.”
“Then don’t be,” I said, pressing my palm to his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heartbeat. “You’re not what I expected. But you’re mine. And I’m yours. And if that means healing together—” my voice rose, “—then I’ll burn the world down to make it happen.”
He didn’t answer.
Just 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 sigils on the walls glowed brighter. The mirror cracked. The fire in the hearth roared to life.
And then—
He broke the kiss.
“You’re not what I expected,” he said, his voice rough.
“Neither are you,” I whispered, pressing my forehead to his.
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.
And then—
The door opened.
Torin stood in the doorway, his coat gone, his scars on display, his fangs still bared. “She’s gone,” he said, his voice low. “The eastern cell. No magic. No visitors. No lies.”
Kael didn’t flinch. Just nodded. “Good.”
And then—
The bond flared—hot, electric, unbearable.
Not from proximity.
Not from magic.
From truth.
“She’s not done,” I said, stepping back, my storm-gray eyes burning. “She’ll try again. She’ll lie. She’ll manipulate. And if we’re not ready—”
“Then we’ll be ready,” Kael said, stepping forward, his golden eyes burning. “Because we’re not what we were. We’re not what they expected. We’re the storm. And if she thinks she can stand in our way—” his voice dropped, “—then she doesn’t know what we are.”
And then—
We turned.
Not away from the war room.
Not toward the door.
Toward the future.
***
That night, I dreamed of fire.
Not the kind that burns.
The kind that cleanses.
And in the center of it—
Her.
Mira.
Standing in the flames, her gown untouched, her smile too sweet to be real. “You think you’ve won?” she whispered, her voice cutting through the smoke. “You think chaining me changes anything? I’m not the last. I’m not the worst. And if you think love makes you strong—” her voice dropped, “—then you don’t know what power really is.”
And then—
The fire rose.
Not to burn me.
But to reveal.
And in the flames—
I saw the truth.
Not just about her.
But about us.
About the storm.
About the war that was still coming.
And when I woke—
Kael was there.
His hand in mine.
The bond pulsing—hot, electric, alive.
And I knew.
This wasn’t over.
But we would be ready.
Because we were not what we were.
We were not what they expected.
We were the storm.
And we would burn the world down.