The war room was silent—too silent. The kind of silence that comes after a storm, not because the wind has died, but because the earth remembers it. Blood still pooled in the cracks of the obsidian floor, dark and drying, like ink spilled across a vow. The mirror was shattered. The sigils on the walls flickered weakly, their crimson glow dimming like embers after a fire. And in the center of it all—Jade.
She lay on the bed they’d brought from her chambers, pale, too pale, her storm-gray eyes closed, her breath shallow. The Shadowglass dagger had pierced her heart—just to the left, just enough to wound, not kill. Not yet. But it was working. Slowly. Relentlessly. The bond between us—hot, electric, alive—was fraying, flickering like a dying flame. The silver thorns intertwined with crimson vines on her shoulder pulsed faintly, then dimmed. Her magic—crimson and wild, witch and wolf entwined—was fading.
And so was she.
I sat beside her, my hand in hers, my body a wall between her and the silence. I didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just held on—claws pressing into her skin, not to hurt, but to hold. To remind her I was here. To remind myself she was still here.
She wasn’t supposed to do this.
She wasn’t supposed to die for me.
“You don’t get to die before I decide what to do with you,” I’d told her the first time I pinned her against the wall, my claws slick with a vampire’s blood, my breath hot on her neck. I’d said it as a threat. A warning. A power play.
Now it was a plea.
And I was powerless.
***
They came one by one.
Lyra first—her silver blade sheathed, her dark braid coiled like a serpent. She didn’t speak. Just stepped forward, her hand rising to press to Jade’s forehead, her storm-gray eyes burning. “She’s not what I expected,” she said, her voice rough. “But she’s mine. And if she dies—” her voice broke, “—then I’ll burn the world down.”
Torin next—his coat gone, his scars on display, his fangs bared. He didn’t kneel. Didn’t bow. Just stood at the foot of the bed, his presence a solid wall against the silence. “You’ve bled for us,” he said, his voice low. “Fought for us. Burned for us. And if you think we’ll let you go—” his voice rose, “—then you don’t know what we are.”
Silas came last—his coat lined with silver thread, his fangs bared, his presence a solid wall against the silence. He didn’t touch her. Just stepped forward, his hand rising to press to his chest, his voice breaking. “You’re not just my cousin,” he said, his voice rough. “You’re my sister. My family. And if I’d let her hurt you—” his voice broke, “—then I wouldn’t be worthy of your trust.”
They left without a word.
But their presence lingered—like a vow. Like a promise.
And still—
She didn’t wake.
***
I didn’t sleep. Didn’t eat. Didn’t let go of her hand.
I just sat there, my golden eyes burning, my claws pressing into her skin, my body a wall of muscle and fury. The bond pulsed—hot, electric, unbearable. I could feel it—the slow unraveling, the way her heartbeat stuttered, the way her breath came in shallow gasps. The magic that had surged through her—the storm, the truth—was fading.
And so was I.
Because without her—
I wasn’t anything.
I wasn’t the Alpha. Wasn’t the king. Wasn’t the storm.
I was just a man who’d finally learned to love—
And lost her.
“You’re not what I expected,” I whispered, pressing my forehead to hers. “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.”
The bond flared—hot, electric, alive. The sigils on the walls glowed faintly, ancient power stirring, responding to the truth we’d finally spoken.
And then—
She coughed.
Dark blood spilled from her lips.
My chest cracked.
Not from pain.
From terror.
“No,” I said, my voice breaking. “Not now. Not after everything. Not after—”
“Worth it,” she whispered, her storm-gray eyes fluttering open, weak but burning. “You said I was yours. So prove it.”
My breath caught.
Because she was right.
I wasn’t supposed to wait. Wasn’t supposed to grieve. Wasn’t supposed to let her die.
I was supposed to fight.
And if magic couldn’t save her—
Then I’d use something stronger.
***
I stood.
Not slowly.
Not weakly.
With *force*.
My boots crunched over stone as I walked to the obsidian table, my claws flashing, my golden eyes burning. I didn’t look at the maps. Didn’t look at the blood-red sigils. Just reached into the drawer—hidden beneath the council records, sealed with moonsteel—and pulled out the vial.
Dark. Thick. Pulsing with power.
My blood.
Not just wolf. Not just fae.
Hybrid.
The blood of a half-fae abomination. The blood of a man who’d been told he was nothing, that love was weakness, that he’d never be free.
And now—
It was the only thing that could save her.
Because the Shadowglass wasn’t just designed to kill.
It was designed to sever bonds.
To break mates.
To destroy love.
And the only thing that could heal a bond like ours—
Was a bond stronger than death.
***
I didn’t hesitate.
Just raised the vial to my lips—and drank.
The blood burned—hot, feral, wolf and storm. It surged through me, igniting every cell, every nerve, every scar. The bond flared—hot, electric, unbearable. My claws flashed. My fangs bared. My golden eyes burned. I could feel it—the power, the truth, the raw, unfiltered magic of what we’d become.
And then—
I raised my wrist.
Not to the air.
Not to the sky.
To her.
One slash—clean, deep, precise. Blood—dark, too dark—pooled in the hollow of my wrist, then spilled over, dripping onto the stone. I didn’t flinch. Didn’t pause. Just stepped forward, my boots silent on the floor, my body a wall of heat and muscle.
And then—
I pressed my wrist to her lips.
“Drink,” I said, my voice low, dangerous. “Not because I command it. Not because I own you. But because I love you. And if you die—” my voice broke, “—then I die with you.”
She didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Just parted her lips—weak, trembling—and let the blood spill in.
One drop.
Two.
Three.
And then—
The bond exploded.
Not with magic.
With truth.
A wave of crimson and gold energy slammed into us, not from the blood, but from the bond, from the love, from the fire that had been burning in my chest since the moment she walked into Blackthorn Keep.
The sigils on the walls flared brighter. The mirror cracked. The fire in the hearth roared to life.
And then—
She gasped.
Her back arched. Her storm-gray eyes flew open—wide, wild, alive. Her magic surged—crimson and wild, witch and wolf entwined—ripping through the room like a storm. The blood on her tunic evaporated. The wound on her chest sealed—no scar, no mark, just smooth, unbroken skin.
And the bond—
It wasn’t just healed.
It was reborn.
Stronger. Deeper. eternal.
***
She didn’t speak.
Didn’t move.
Just reached up—weak, trembling—and pressed her palm to my chest, right over the scar from when I was twelve, when they’d tried to break me. “You’re not what I expected,” she said, her voice rough.
“Neither are you,” I said, stepping closer, my golden eyes burning.
And then—
She pulled me down.
Not slowly.
Not gently.
With *force*.
Her mouth crashed into mine, hungry, furious, a war cry. I groaned, 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 heather burned. The moonlight poured down, silver and cold, casting long, clawed shadows.
And then—
She broke the kiss.
“You’re not what I expected,” she whispered, her voice rough.
“Neither are you,” I said, pressing my forehead to hers.
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.”
I 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,” Jade said, stepping back, her 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,” I said, stepping forward, my 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—” my 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—
Us.
Standing in the flames, our scars glowing, our fangs bared, our presence a solid wall against the silence.
And when I woke—
She was there.
Her 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.
Shadow Mate: Jade’s Vow
The night her sister died, Jade felt it in her bones—the snap of a spine, the silence of a severed bond. Now, three years later, she walks into Blackthorn Keep not as a grieving sister, but as Lady Seris Vale, a diplomat from the Southern Witches’ Conclave, here to negotiate interspecies peace. Her real mission? Unearth proof that Alpha Kael Blackthorn ordered the assassination of her sister, a hybrid peace envoy, and expose him before the Supernatural Council. But the moment she steps into the Grand Hall, the air shivers. Her blood sings. And across the room, Kael locks eyes with her, his wolf scent crashing into hers like a storm.
Before she can act, the Fae High Court intervenes: an ancient Shadow Fate prophecy has activated—two souls bound by blood and betrayal must unite or fracture the fragile peace. Jade and Kael are named as the fated pair. A ritual seals them with a shared pulse, a mark on their wrists, and a bond that flares with every heartbeat. One touch, and Jade feels his hunger—not just for power, but for her.
He thinks she’s a pawn. She thinks he’s a killer. But when a midnight ambush nearly takes her life, Kael rips out a vampire’s throat to save her, his claws slick with blood as he pins her against the wall, breath hot on her neck: “You don’t get to die before I decide what to do with you.”
Their bodies remember each other before their minds do. The bond deepens. Secrets unravel. And when Jade discovers a hidden ledger implicating Kael in her sister’s death, she prepares to strike—only to learn the truth is far darker: someone is using their bond to manipulate both their fates. Now, to survive, they must trust each other. To live, they must love. To win, they must become the storm.