The war room in Blackthorn Keep had changed.
Not because the obsidian table had been repaired—though it had, the cracks sealed with silver thread that pulsed faintly with neutralized magic. Not because the mirror had been replaced—though it had, now a wide, unblemished surface that reflected not just our faces, but the weight behind them. And not because the sigils on the walls glowed steady crimson instead of flickering like dying embers.
It was different because we were different.
I stood at the edge of the room, barefoot, my storm-gray eyes scanning the space where blood had pooled, where lies had shattered, where I’d nearly died. The scent of iron still lingered, but beneath it—something sweeter. Something like peace. Not the kind that comes after silence, but the kind that follows fire. The kind that’s earned.
Kael stood beside me, shirtless, his golden eyes burning, his scars on display. He didn’t speak. Just kept his hand in mine, the bond pulsing—hot, electric, alive. The mark on my shoulder—silver thorns intertwined with crimson vines—now wrapped around my collarbone, the vines curling toward my heart like a living crown. The ritual in Veridia had changed me. Strengthened me. And now—
Now I could feel it.
The power.
The truth.
The storm.
And it wasn’t just mine.
It was ours.
Behind us—Lyra, her silver blade sheathed, her dark braid coiled like a serpent. Torin, his coat gone, his fangs bared, his scars glowing faintly. Silas, his coat lined with silver thread, his presence a solid wall against the silence. 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. We didn’t bow. Didn’t kneel. Just stood, our presence a solid wall against the silence.
And then—
Kael stepped forward.
Not toward the table.
Not toward the mirror.
Toward the future.
His voice cut through the silence, loud, clear. “This is no longer a war room,” he said, his golden eyes scanning the chamber. “It’s a council chamber. A place of law. Of truth. Of unity.”
He turned to me, his gaze softening. “And tonight, we sign the first treaty of the new order.”
I didn’t answer.
Just stepped forward, my bare feet silent on the stone, my magic flaring—crimson and wild, witch and wolf entwined. The treaty lay on the table, sealed with wax the color of dried roses, the ink black as midnight. The Unity Accord. A binding agreement between the Supernatural Council and the Free Pack, recognizing hybrid sovereignty, establishing shared governance, and outlawing all forms of blood coercion and forced exile.
It wasn’t just a document.
It was a reckoning.
And then—
The door opened.
Not with a creak. Not with a whisper.
With *force*.
Three figures stepped in—wolves in ceremonial pelts, their pelts dyed black and silver, their eyes burning with old hatred. They didn’t look at us. Didn’t speak. Just took their places at the table, their hands gripping the edges, their fangs bared.
And then—
One of them spoke.
A male, older, his fur grizzled, his voice low and dangerous. “You think chaining Elira changes anything? You think exposing our lies makes you strong? You’re a hybrid. A contradiction. A mistake. And if you think love makes you powerful—” his voice dropped, “—then you don’t know what *real* power is.”
I didn’t flinch. Just stepped forward, my body a wall of muscle and fury, my magic flaring. “I know what power really is. It’s not fear. It’s not lies. It’s not chaining people to their pasts and calling it tradition. It’s standing when everyone tells you to kneel. It’s fighting when everyone tells you to run. It’s loving when everyone tells you to hate.”
He didn’t answer.
Just raised his hand.
And the earth shattered.
Not from magic.
From betrayal.
One of the Free Pack—wolf, masked, silent—raised his hand. A sigil flared on his palm—black, twisted, cursed. And then—
The ground split.
Stone and earth cracked, fissures tearing through the war room, sending wolves flying, witches stumbling, vampires collapsing mid-shift.
And then—
They came.
Wolves—hundreds of them—pouring through the fissures, their fangs bared, their eyes glowing with bloodlust. They didn’t fight.
They surrounded.
And in the center of it all—
Me.
I stood in the wreckage, my storm-gray eyes burning, my magic flaring, my body a wall of muscle and fury. I didn’t flinch. Didn’t fall. Just stood there, my presence a solid wall against the silence.
And then—
The leader moved.
Fast.
Desperate.
One moment he was at the edge of the war room.
The next—
He was in my face, his voice low, dangerous. “You think you’ve won? You think chaining Elira changes anything? She was a pawn. A relic. And now—” his hand rose, pressing to my chest, “—you’ll take her place.”
I didn’t flinch. Just grabbed his wrist, my magic flaring—crimson and wild, witch and wolf entwined. “You don’t get to decide my fate. Not after what you did to my sister. Not after what you did to Kael. Not after what you’ve done to every hybrid who’s ever been called a monster.”
“And what are you?” he asked, stepping closer. “A witch? A wolf? A woman who came to destroy an Alpha and stayed to save him? You’re a contradiction. A mistake. And if you think love makes you strong—”
“I know what power really is,” I said, cutting him off. “It’s not fear. It’s not lies. It’s not chaining people to their pasts and calling it tradition. It’s standing when everyone tells you to kneel. It’s fighting when everyone tells you to run. It’s loving when everyone tells you to hate.”
And then—
I pushed.
Not with magic.
With truth.
A wave of crimson energy slammed into him, sending him flying, crashing into the dais. He didn’t move. Just lay there, his pelt torn, his fangs broken, his presence a solid wall against the silence.
And then—
The Free Pack moved.
Not in silence.
Not in shadow.
In the open.
Wolves howled. Witches raised their hands. Vampires bared their fangs. Fae spread their wings.
And then—
We fought.
Not for survival.
Not for power.
For truth.
***
The battle raged under the moonlight.
Not in the war room.
Not in the city.
In the air.
Every breath was a war cry. Every step was a vow. Every pulse of the bond was a promise.
I fought like a woman possessed.
Spells flaring. Claws flashing. Magic surging—crimson and wild, witch and wolf entwined. I didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate. Just moved—ripping through enemies, shielding the Free Pack, guarding Kael with my body.
And then—
I saw it.
Not the enemy.
Not the battle.
Time.
Midnight.
And then—
It was over.
Not with a roar.
Not with a scream.
With silence.
The wolves retreated into the shadows, their presence fading like smoke. The fissures sealed themselves, the silver thread in the obsidian table glowing brighter. The sigils on the walls pulsed—steady, strong, alive.
And then—
Kael stepped forward.
Not toward the enemy.
Not toward the Council.
Toward me.
His hand rose, pressing to the mark on my shoulder—silver thorns intertwined with crimson vines, now wrapping around my collarbone, the vines curling toward my heart. “You’re not what I expected,” he said, his voice rough.
“Neither are you,” I said, stepping closer, my storm-gray eyes burning.
And then—
He kissed me.
Not slow. Not soft.
Hard.
Deep.
Claiming.
His mouth crashed into mine, hungry, furious, a war cry. I groaned, arching into him, my hands flying to his waist, pulling him against me. He didn’t let me take control. Didn’t let me 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 heather burned. The moonlight poured down, silver and cold, casting long, clawed shadows.
And then—
He broke the kiss.
“You’re not what I expected,” he whispered, his voice rough.
“Neither are you,” I said, pressing my forehead to his.
And then—
We turned.
Not away from the war room.
Not toward the door.
Toward the treaty.
***
The room was silent as we approached the table.
Not from fear.
From reverence.
Kael picked up the quill—forged from raven bone, dipped in ink made from hybrid blood and wolf fire. He didn’t look at me. Just held it out.
“You first,” he said.
I didn’t hesitate.
Just took the quill, my fingers brushing his, the bond flaring—hot, electric, alive. I pressed the tip to the parchment, my name flowing across the page—Jade, of the Storm, Heir of the Shadow Fate, Mate of Kael Blackthorn.
The ink didn’t dry.
It burned.
Not with fire.
With truth.
And then—
Kael signed.
His name—Kael, Alpha of the Northern Packs, Heir of the Fae, Mate of Jade—blazed across the parchment, the ink searing into the fibers, the wax seal cracking open, then reforming—stronger, brighter, unbreakable.
And then—
The treaty rose.
Not from magic.
From will.
It lifted into the air, the parchment glowing crimson and gold, the sigils flaring, the ink swirling like blood in water. And then—
It split.
Not in two.
In many.
Dozens of copies—hundreds—flying through the air, vanishing into the night, carried by wind and magic to every corner of the supernatural world. To the Southern Witches’ Conclave. To the Vampire Citadel of Nox. To the Fae Court of Thorns. To every pack, every coven, every blood house.
The Unity Accord was no longer a secret.
It was a revolution.
***
The Free Pack erupted.
Wolves howling. Witches sending bolts of fire into the air. Vampires descending like ghosts. Fae spreading their wings, thorns glinting.
And then—
They left.
Not in silence.
Not in shadow.
>In the open.Lyra was the last to go. She didn’t bow. Didn’t speak. Just stepped forward, her silver blade at her hip, her storm-gray eyes locking onto mine. “You’re not what I expected,” she said, her voice rough. “But you’re mine. And if they come—” her voice rose, “—then I’ll burn the world down.”
I didn’t answer.
Just nodded.
And then—
She was gone.
And it was just us.
Kael and me.
Alone.
In the war room.
Now a council chamber.
Now a sanctuary.
***
He didn’t speak.
Just turned to me, his golden eyes burning, his body a wall of muscle and fury. The bond pulsed—hot, electric, alive. I could feel it—the tension, the way his wolf prowled just beneath the surface, the way his magic flared every time he looked at me.
And then—
He stepped forward.
Not slowly.
Not gently.
With *force*.
His hands gripped my waist, lifting me onto the obsidian table, the cool stone pressing into my bare thighs. I didn’t fight. Didn’t pull away. Just arched into him, my storm-gray eyes locking onto his.
“We have a treaty to sign,” I teased, my voice low, rough.
He didn’t smile.
Just growled—low, dangerous. “Later.”
And then—
His mouth crashed into mine.
Not slow. Not soft.
Hard.
Deep.
Claiming.
I groaned, my hands flying to his shoulders, my claws pressing into his skin, not to hurt, but to hold. He didn’t let me take control. Didn’t let me 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 heather burned. The moonlight poured down, silver and cold, casting long, clawed shadows.
And then—
His hands moved.
Not to my tunic.
Not to my belt.
To my throat.
One hand pressed to the base of my neck, not to choke, not to dominate—
To feel.
To feel my pulse. My breath. My life.
And then—
He pulled back.
Just enough to look at me.
“You’re not what I expected,” he said, his voice rough.
“Neither are you,” I whispered, my fingers tracing the scar on his chest—the one from when he was twelve, when they’d tried to break him.
And then—
He kissed me again.
Not with hunger.
Not with fury.
With truth.
Soft. Deep. aching.
His tongue swept into my mouth, slow, deliberate, as if memorizing every inch. His fingers traced the curve of my jaw, then slid down, unbuttoning my tunic one by one, his knuckles brushing my collarbone, my chest, my stomach.
And then—
He pushed the fabric off my shoulders.
Not roughly.
Not urgently.
With reverence.
Like I was something sacred.
Something his.
And I was.
I let my head fall back, my storm-gray eyes closing, my breath catching as his lips trailed down my neck, my collarbone, my chest. His fangs grazed my skin—just enough to send a shiver through me—but he didn’t bite. Not yet.
And then—
His hand slid lower.
Over my hip.
Under my tunic.
To the edge of my thigh.
And then—
He stopped.
Just pressed his palm flat against my skin, his heat searing through the fabric, his magic flaring—golden and feral, wolf and storm.
“This is more urgent,” he growled, his voice low, dangerous.
I opened my eyes.
Met his gaze.
And smiled.
“Always,” I whispered.
And then—
I pulled him down.
Not slowly.
Not gently.
With *force*.
My mouth crashed into his, hungry, furious, a war cry. He groaned, arching into me, his hands flying to my waist, pulling me against him. He didn’t let me take control. Didn’t let me 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 heather burned. The moonlight poured down, silver and cold, casting long, clawed shadows.
And then—
The world faded.
Not into darkness.
Into fire.
And in the center of it—
Us.
Together.
Alive.
And unstoppable.