The Forgotten Grove wasn’t on any map. Not the ones drawn by witches, nor those etched in fae bone, nor even the blood-runes carved into vampire crypts. It existed in the silence between heartbeats, in the hush before a storm breaks, in the space where truth was too dangerous to speak aloud. It was a wound in the world, hidden beneath layers of glamour and ancient wards, buried deep in the Carpathian peaks where the wind howled like a grieving mother and the trees grew with bark like bone.
We reached the edge of it at midnight.
Silas and I stood at the base of a cliff, the map now ash in my palm, burned the moment we’d confirmed its path. The air here was thick—not with magic, but with memory. Every breath tasted of iron and fire, of old blood and older grief. The trees ahead were twisted, their branches clawing at the sky like skeletal fingers. No birds sang. No insects hummed. Just the wind, low and mournful, whispering secrets in a language only the dead could understand.
And then—
I felt it.
Not the bond.
Not the magic.
Her.My sister.
A flicker in the dark. A warmth against the cold. A whisper in my blood. She hadn’t died here. Not exactly. But her spirit had been scorched into this place, her final scream woven into the roots of these cursed trees. I closed my eyes and let it wash over me—the way she used to laugh, the way she’d looked at me the night before they took her, her storm-gray eyes burning with hope, not fear.
“She loved him,” I whispered, my voice raw. “Not because he was fae. Not because he was powerful. But because he saw her. And they burned them for it.”
Silas didn’t answer. Just stepped closer, his coat lined with silver thread, his fangs just visible in the moonlight. He didn’t offer comfort. Didn’t touch me. He knew better. Some wounds didn’t heal with words. Some truths could only be avenged.
“This is where it started,” he said, his voice low. “The first purge. The first lie. The first time they said hybrids were abominations.”
I nodded, opening my eyes. “And it’s where it ends.”
And then—
We stepped into the grove.
***
The moment my bare foot touched the soil, the world shattered.
Not with sound.
Not with magic.
With memory.
Images slammed into me—flashes of fire, of fae soldiers with thorned blades, of wolves howling in rage, of vampires draining the lovers dry before burning their bodies. A fae male, his wings broken, his silver eyes wide with love, not fear. A hybrid woman—my sister—her mark pulsing, vines of emerald and silver coiled around her arms, her hands reaching out, not for escape, but for the seed.
And then—
She threw it.
Into the shadows.
Where it was found.
Where it waited.
Where it would one day be planted.
I gasped, staggering back, my heart pounding, my magic flaring—crimson and wild, witch and wolf entwined. The vision didn’t fade. It burned, seared into my mind like a brand. This wasn’t just history.
It was a vow.
And then—
Silas grabbed my arm.
“We’re not alone,” he hissed.
I didn’t need him to say it. I could feel them—shadows moving between the trees, figures cloaked in blackened thorn, their eyes hollow, their movements too smooth, too synchronized. Not soldiers.
Not wolves.
Hive.
Cassien’s army.
They didn’t attack. Didn’t speak. Just surrounded us, forming a perfect circle, their hands at their sides, their heads tilted like puppets on strings. And then—
One of them stepped forward.
Not a fae. Not a vampire.
A hybrid.
Young. Female. Her eyes were silver, but dull, lifeless, like glass. Her mark—a twisted spiral of black and gray—was burned into her collarbone, pulsing with a rhythm that wasn’t her own.
“You’re not welcome here,” she said, her voice flat, emotionless. “This is not your grove. This is not your truth.”
I didn’t flinch. Just stepped forward, my body a wall of muscle and fury, my magic flaring. “This is my blood. This is my fire. And if Cassien thinks he can twist this place into his weapon—” my voice rose, “—then he doesn’t know what I am.”
She didn’t react. Just raised her hand.
And the earth shattered.
Not from magic.
From betrayal.
The ground split, fissures tearing through the grove, sending trees toppling, roots snapping like bones. And then—
They came.
Not in silence.
Not in shadow.
>In the open.Dozens of them—hundreds—pouring through the fissures, their eyes hollow, their movements synchronized, their presence a wall of cold, calculated fury. 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—
Silas moved.
Fast.
Desperate.
One moment he was at my side.
The next—
He was in the circle, his fangs bared, his dagger flashing, his coat lined with silver thread. He didn’t speak. Just fought—ripping through the hive, shielding me, his movements precise, lethal. But they didn’t fall. Just kept coming, their bodies regenerating, their eyes never blinking.
And then—
I saw it.
The source.
In the center of the grove—where the Heart Tree should have stood—was a throne. Not of wood. Not of stone.
Of bone.
And on it—
Cassien.
He sat like a king, his fangs bared, his eyes glowing with bloodlust, his presence a wall of old hatred and newer hunger. His coat was gone, his chest exposed, and there—
On his heart—
A sigil.
Black. Twisted. Cursed.
The same one that pulsed on the hybrids’ marks.
And then—
He smiled.
Slow. Cruel. knowing.
“You think chaining Elira changes anything?” he purred, his voice slicing through the wind. “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 hive attacked.
***
The battle raged under the moonlight.
Not in the grove.
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 Silas, guarding the truth 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 hive 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—
Cassien stood.
Not defeated.
Not broken.
Smiling.
“You think you’ve won?” he said, his voice low, dangerous. “You think chaining Elira changes anything? She was a pawn. A relic. And now—” his hand rose, pressing to his chest, “—you’ll take her place.”
I didn’t flinch. Just grabbed the seed from my pocket—the one the fae spy had given Silas, the one from the Forgotten Grove. It pulsed in my palm, faint, alive, like a heartbeat.
And then—
I dropped to my knees.
Not in submission.
Not in defeat.
In truth.
I pressed the seed into the soil—right where the Heart Tree had once stood, where my sister had died, where the first bond had been broken. My blood dripped onto it—crimson, wild, alive.
And then—
I pushed.
Not with magic.
With truth.
A wave of crimson energy slammed into the ground, not from my hand, but from my chest—from the bond I still carried with Kael, not as a pawn, but as a mate. The sigils flared brighter. The heather burned hotter. The wind howled louder.
And then—
The grove answered.
Not with words.
With memory.
I felt it—the weight of every hybrid who’d ever been broken. Every witch who’d been silenced. Every vampire who’d been used. Every fae who’d been chained. And every wolf who’d been called a monster.
Their names.
Their faces.
Their truth.
And then—
The seed grew.
Not slowly.
Not gently.
With *force*.
A sapling burst from the soil, its bark like silver, its leaves like shattered glass. Vines of crimson and gold spiraled up its trunk, entwining like veins beneath skin. And then—
It bloomed.
Not with flowers.
With light.
A pulse of energy slammed through the grove, shattering the hive’s sigils, severing the bonds, freeing the hybrids. They fell to their knees, their eyes clearing, their marks fading, their breaths returning to their own rhythm.
And then—
Cassien screamed.
Not in rage.
Not in pain.
In fear.
He clutched his chest, the sigil burning, cracking, crumbling to ash. And then—
He ran.
Not toward me.
Not toward Silas.
Into the shadows.
And I let him go.
Because this wasn’t about him.
It was about us.
***
The grove was silent.
Not from fear.
From awe.
The freed hybrids stood in formation—wolves with fire in their eyes, witches with spells at their fingertips, vampires with fangs bared, fae with thorned wings. The sapling pulsed with light, its vines curling around my arm, its roots digging deep into the soil. And then—
I felt it.
Not the bond.
Not the magic.
Them.Kael.
Lyra.
Torin.
Silas.
The Free Pack.
They were coming.
And then—
They arrived.
Not in silence.
Not in shadow.
>In the open.Kael stepped through the trees first, shirtless, his golden eyes burning, his scars on display. He didn’t look at the grove. Didn’t look at the sapling.
He looked at me.
And then—
He knelt.
Not in submission.
Not in reverence.
In truth.
“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 grove 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 grove.
Not toward the keep.
Toward the sapling.
***
Kael placed his hand on the trunk, his magic flaring—golden and feral, wolf and storm. I did the same, my crimson magic weaving with his, our bond pulsing—hot, electric, alive. And then—
The sapling sang.
Not with sound.
With light.
A pulse of energy slammed through the grove, spreading through the roots, through the soil, through the blood of every hybrid who’d ever lived. And then—
The mark on my shoulder—silver thorns intertwined with crimson vines—changed.
Not faded.
Not broken.
>Evolved.The vines curled around my collarbone, then spread, branching into new patterns—golden threads weaving through crimson, silver thorns blooming into flowers. And then—
It flared.
Not with pain.
With power.
Kael’s mark did the same—his golden sigil shifting, expanding, intertwining with mine. And then—
The bond ascended.
Not just a tether.
Not just a claim.
An eternity.
And then—
The Fae Court appeared.
Not in force.
Not in armor.
>In the open.The High Fae—older than time, their wings like living thorns, their eyes silver with age and power—stepped forward, their presence a wall of silence. One of them—a woman with hair like starlight, her gown stitched with living vines—knelt.
Not to us.
To the sapling.
“By order of the Fae Court,” she intoned, her voice echoing like thunder, “the Forgotten Grove is reborn. The Heart Tree has returned. And the bond between Jade and Kael—” her silver eyes locked onto ours, “—is now eternal. Marked in starlight. Witnessed by the ancients. Unbreakable.”
No one spoke.
No one moved.
And then—
Kael turned to me, his golden eyes burning. “You’re not what I expected,” he said, his voice rough.
“Neither are you,” I whispered, my fingers tracing the new mark on his chest—the one where our sigils had merged, a living crown of thorns and vines, silver and gold and crimson.
And then—
We kissed.
Not with hunger.
Not with fury.
With truth.
Soft. Deep. aching.
And as the world faded around us—
Not into darkness.
Into fire.
And in the center of it—
Us.
Together.
Alive.
And immortal.