The first sign was the silence.
Not the quiet of peace—the kind that follows fire, the hush after a storm has passed and the world remembers how to breathe. No, this was different. Thicker. Cloying. Like the air before a blade finds its mark. Like the stillness between heartbeats when you know the next one might be your last.
I felt it the moment I stepped onto the balcony of Blackthorn Keep, barefoot, the wind tugging at my tunic, the mark on my shoulder pulsing—silver thorns intertwined with crimson vines, now curling toward my heart like a living crown. The sun had just risen over the northern cliffs, pale and cold, casting long, clawed shadows across the stone. The ruins where Kael and I had claimed each other under the full moon stood in the distance, half-buried in wild heather and thorned brambles. The sigils still glowed faintly, remnants of our bond, of the truth we’d burned into the earth.
And yet—
Something was wrong.
Not in the land. Not in the sky.
In the absence.
No birds. No wolves howling in the distance. No witches casting at dawn. No vampires stirring in their crypts beneath Prague. Just silence. Heavy. Watchful. waiting.
And then—
The bond flared.
Not with desire. Not with warmth.
With warning.
A jolt of electricity slammed through me, sharp and sudden, like a claw dragging down my spine. My breath caught. My magic surged—crimson and wild, witch and wolf entwined—and for a heartbeat, I saw it.
Not a vision.
A memory.
Cassien.
Not broken. Not defeated.
>Alive.His fangs bared. His eyes glowing with bloodlust. His presence a wall of fury and old hatred. And behind him—
Shadows.
Not just fae. Not just vampires.
Wolves. Witches. Hybrids. All wearing the same hollow look, the same glazed eyes, as if their will had been stripped away, their minds rewritten.
And then—
He smiled.
Slow. Cruel. knowing.
And I knew.
This wasn’t over.
It had just begun.
***
I didn’t call for Kael.
Didn’t summon Lyra. Didn’t send for Silas.
Just stood there, my storm-gray eyes scanning the horizon, my fingers pressing to the mark on my shoulder, my body a wall of muscle and fury. The bond pulsed—hot, electric, alive—but it wasn’t just mine. It was ours. And if Kael felt it, he’d come. He always did.
And he did.
Not with a roar. Not with a snarl.
With silence.
One moment the balcony was empty.
The next—
He was there.
Shirtless, his golden eyes burning, his scars on display, his presence a solid wall against the silence. He didn’t speak. Just stepped beside me, his hand finding mine, our fingers interlacing, the bond flaring between us like a living flame. His thumb brushed the back of my hand—once, twice—then stilled.
He’d felt it too.
“Cassien,” he said, his voice low, dangerous.
I didn’t answer. Just nodded, my eyes still on the horizon. “He’s not dead.”
“He was broken,” Kael said, his voice rough. “I saw it. I felt it. The bond between us—what little there was—shattered when I threw him into the wall.”
“But not his will,” I said, turning to him. “Not his hunger. He’s not just a vampire prince. He’s a survivor. A manipulator. And if he’s gathering forces—”
“Then he’s not alone,” Kael finished, his golden eyes narrowing. “Someone’s helping him. Someone with power. With influence.”
I didn’t flinch. Just pressed my palm to his chest, right over the scar from when he was twelve, when they’d tried to break him. “Elira’s gone. Nyx is in chains. The Council’s fractured. But the old order doesn’t die with its leaders. It lingers. In the shadows. In the whispers. In the ones who still believe in the lie.”
Kael didn’t answer. Just pulled me closer, his body pressing against mine, his breath hot on my neck. “Then let them come,” he growled. “We’ve bled for this. Fought for this. Burned for this. And if they think they can take it from us—” his voice dropped, “—they’ll learn what the storm really is.”
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 balcony.
Not toward the keep.
Toward the war room.
***
The war room 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—
Silas spoke.
Not loudly. Not dramatically.
Quietly.
But the room bent to his voice.
“I’ve been tracking whispers,” he said, his fangs just visible when he smiled. “In the blood markets. In the fae groves. In the vampire citadels. And they all say the same thing.”
He paused, his dark eyes locking onto mine. “Cassien’s alive. And he’s not alone. He’s gathering the remnants. The loyalists. The ones who still believe in the old order. And he’s not just recruiting—” his voice dropped, “—he’s converting.”
“Converting?” Lyra asked, her voice sharp.
“Breaking their will,” Silas said. “Using blood pacts. Fae glamour. Wolf dominance. He’s not just building an army. He’s building a hive. A collective. And if he gets enough—”
“Then he won’t need to fight us,” Kael said, his voice low. “He’ll just consume us.”
The room stilled.
Not in fear.
In recognition.
Because we’d seen it before.
In Elira. In Nyx. In every leader who’d ever believed in purity, in hierarchy, in control.
And now—
It was back.
***
“We need intel,” I said, stepping forward, my body a wall of muscle and fury, my magic flaring. “We need to know where he is. Who’s with him. What he’s planning.”
“I can get it,” Silas said, his voice steady. “There’s a spy in the markets. Fae. Hybrid blood. She’s been tracking the remnants. She’s the one who sent me the seed.”
“The Heart Tree seed?” I asked.
He nodded. “She says it’s not just a symbol. It’s a weapon. A key. And if we plant it where truth is spoken—”
“Then it’ll reveal the lies,” I finished, my storm-gray eyes burning. “Then it’ll expose him.”
“But it’s not safe,” Silas said, his voice rough. “She’s been hunted. Watched. If I go back—”
“Then I’ll go with you,” I said, stepping forward. “We’ll go together.”
Kael didn’t flinch. Just turned to me, his golden eyes burning. “You’re not going into the blood markets. Not alone. Not with just him.”
“I’m not asking permission,” I said, stepping closer, my magic flaring. “I’m telling you. This is my fight. My sister. My blood. And if Cassien thinks he can hide in the shadows—” my voice rose, “—then he doesn’t know what I am.”
He didn’t answer.
Just pulled me into his arms, his body pressing against mine, his breath hot on my neck. “You’re not what I expected,” he whispered.
“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 future.
***
We left Blackthorn at dusk.
Not in silence.
Not in shadow.
>In the open.Silas and I moved like ghosts through the tunnels beneath Prague, our boots silent on the stone, our presence a solid wall against the silence. He didn’t speak. Just kept his hand on the dagger beneath his coat, the contract in his pocket, the seed in a glass vial against his chest. I didn’t ask questions. Just followed, my storm-gray eyes scanning the darkness, my magic flaring—crimson and wild, witch and wolf entwined.
And then—
We reached the market.
Not the main tunnels. Not the stalls.
The back.
The forgotten passage.
And there—
She was waiting.
The fae spy.
Her hood fell back—just an inch—and I saw her.
Green eyes. Thorns in her scent. The pulse of emerald magic beneath her skin.
And fear.
Not for herself.
For us.
“They know you’re coming,” she said, her voice low, smooth, like honey laced with venom. “Cassien’s sent hunters. Blood-bound. Fae-glamped. They’ll kill you on sight.”
I didn’t flinch. Just stepped forward, my body a wall of muscle and fury, my magic flaring. “Then let them try.”
She didn’t smile. Just reached into her cloak and pulled out a map—old, torn, sealed with blood and thorn. “This is where he is. The Forgotten Grove. Where the first hybrids were born. Where the first bond was broken. And if you go there—” her voice dropped, “—you won’t come back the same.”
I took it.
Not with my hands.
With my fangs.
And as the blood dried on my lips—
I knew.
This wasn’t just a war.
It was a reckoning.
And I was ready.
***
“You don’t have to do this,” Silas said as we left the market, the seed in my pocket, the map in my hand. “Kael can send the pack. Torin can lead. You don’t have to be the one to face him.”
I didn’t answer.
Just turned to him, my storm-gray eyes burning. “My sister died in that grove. She was burned for loving a fae. For daring to believe hybrids could be more than monsters. And if Cassien thinks he can use that place to build his army—” my voice rose, “—then he doesn’t know what I am.”
He didn’t flinch. Just nodded. “Then I’m coming with you.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I know,” he said, stepping closer. “But I want to.”
And then—
We walked.
Not toward the past.
Not toward the war.
Toward the storm.
Because we were not what we were.
We were not what they expected.
We were the fire.
And we would burn the world down.