The first time I walked into the war room after the Council of Equals, the air didn’t crackle with tension.
It purred.
Not with magic. Not with threat. Not with the old weight of blood oaths and silent executions. But with life. The obsidian table—once split down the center, sealed with silver thread—now stood whole, its surface smooth, its edges carved with runes of unity: not dominance, not hierarchy, but balance. The sigils on the walls no longer flickered like dying embers. They glowed steady crimson, threaded through with silver and gold—witch, wolf, and hybrid, entwined. The mirror on the far wall—once cracked from when I’d shattered it with a spell—had been replaced with polished silverstone, its surface pulsing faintly with neutralized magic, reflecting not just our faces, but the truth behind them.
And I—
I wasn’t here to destroy.
I was here to build.
Kael stood at the head of the table, shirtless, his golden eyes burning, his scars on display, the mark on his chest pulsing—silver thorns intertwined with crimson vines, now blooming into golden flowers, a living crown forged from our bond. He didn’t wear a crown. Didn’t carry a scepter. Just stood there, his presence a solid wall against the silence, his fingers tracing the edge of a new treaty draft. The ink shimmered—enchanted, truth-bound, irreversible. The kind that burned if you lied.
“They’re stalling,” he said, not looking up. “The southern packs. The vampire enclaves. Even some of the fae covens. They signed the unity oaths, but they’re dragging their feet on the hybrid integration clauses.”
I didn’t answer. Just stepped forward, barefoot, my storm-gray eyes scanning the document. My magic hummed beneath my skin, not flaring, not threatening, just present. The mark on my shoulder—silver thorns intertwined with crimson vines, now curling around my collarbone like a living crown—pulsed faintly with the rhythm of our bond. It had changed in the Forgotten Grove. Not broken. Not weakened. Evolved. And so had we.
“They’re afraid,” I said, my voice low. “Not of us. Of what we represent. Not just power. Not just truth. But change. And change is fire. It burns. It consumes. It doesn’t ask permission.”
He finally looked up, his golden eyes locking onto mine. “And what do you suggest? We burn them out too?”
“No,” I said, stepping closer, my body a wall of muscle and fury. “We make them see. We make them feel. We make them understand that this isn’t just about hybrids. It’s about every wolf who’s been called a beast. Every witch who’s been silenced. Every vampire who’s been used. Every fae who’s been chained. This is about freedom. And freedom isn’t given. It’s taken.”
He didn’t flinch. Just reached out, his thumb brushing the pulse point on my wrist. The bond flared—hot, electric, alive—between us like a living flame. His touch was rough, deliberate, not gentle, not soft. A claim. A challenge. A vow.
“You’re not what I expected,” he said, his voice rough.
“Neither are you,” I said, pressing my forehead to his.
And then—
The door opened.
Not with a creak. Not with a slam.
With silence.
Lyra stepped in first, her silver blade sheathed, her dark braid coiled like a serpent. Torin followed, his coat gone, his fangs bared, his scars glowing faintly. Silas came last, his coat lined with silver thread, his fangs just visible when he smiled. The Free Pack didn’t bow. Didn’t kneel. Just stood, their presence a solid wall against the silence.
“The southern emissaries are here,” Lyra said, her voice sharp. “They’re demanding another round of negotiations. Says they need more time to ‘consult their elders.’”
“They’re buying time,” Torin growled. “Waiting for Cassien to regroup. For the old guard to rally. For the lie to take root again.”
Silas smirked. “Or they’re just afraid of your tits.”
I didn’t flinch. Just turned to him, my storm-gray eyes burning. “And yet you’re still alive.”
He grinned. “Because I know how to handle dangerous women.”
Kael didn’t smile. Just stepped forward, his body pressing against mine, his breath hot on my neck. “We don’t negotiate with cowards,” he said, his voice low, dangerous. “We don’t beg. We don’t plead. We take. And if they want war—” his golden eyes narrowed, “—then we’ll give them one.”
“No,” I said, stepping in front of him, my body a wall between him and the pack. “Not war. Not yet. We’ve already burned enough. Now we build. We show them what unity looks like. Not through force. Not through fear. But through truth.”
He didn’t argue. Just studied me, his golden eyes burning, his thumb still pressed to my wrist. And then—
He nodded.
“Then we do it your way,” he said. “For now.”
And then—
The pack left.
Not in silence. Not in shadow.
In the open.
Lyra gave me a nod. Torin a grunt. Silas a wink. And then the door closed, leaving Kael and me alone in the war room, the treaty draft still glowing on the table, the bond pulsing—hot, electric, alive—between us.
And then—
He moved.
Not slowly. Not gently.
With *force*.
One moment he was in front of me. The next—
He had me pressed against the table, his body a wall of heat and strength, his hands caging me in. His golden eyes burned, not with fury, not with dominance, but with something deeper. Something real. His thumb brushed my lower lip—once, twice—then stilled.
“You think I don’t feel it?” he growled, his voice low, dangerous. “The weight of it? The fear? The need?”
I didn’t flinch. Just leaned into him, my storm-gray eyes burning, my magic flaring—crimson and wild, witch and wolf entwined. “I know you do. Because I feel it too. Not just the bond. Not just the power. But the softness. The fear of losing it. Of losing us.”
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 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—
He lifted me onto the table.
Not gently. Not carefully.
With *force*.
My back hit the obsidian surface, cold and smooth, but I didn’t care. Just wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, my fingers digging into his shoulders. His hands slid under my tunic, rough, calloused, his heat searing through the fabric, his magic flaring—golden and feral, wolf and storm.
And then—
He stopped.
Just pressed his palm flat against my stomach, right where Aria had kicked that morning, his breath hot on my neck. “She’s strong,” he said, his voice breaking. “Like her mother.”
I didn’t answer. Just pulled him down, my mouth crashing 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—
He spoke.
Not loudly. Not dramatically.
Quietly.
But the war room bent to his voice.
“We have a treaty to sign,” he said, his voice low, dangerous.
I opened my eyes.
Met his gaze.
And smiled.
“Later,” I whispered, my fingers unbuttoning his pants. “This is more urgent.”
And then—
He growled.
Not in warning.
Not in threat.
In agreement.
His mouth crashed into mine again, harder this time, deeper, more desperate. His hands tore at my tunic, not roughly, not urgently, but 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 war room 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.
***
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 in the center of us—
A child.
Barefoot. Marked. Unashamed.
And she was laughing.
Not from joy. Not from innocence.
From power.
And then—
I woke.
The den was silent.
But the bond—
Not mine.
Not Kael’s.
Shared.
Pulsed—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.