The first time I truly feared losing her, it wasn’t when she ran.
It was when she stopped singing.
After Lyra’s betrayal—her calculated lie, her stolen shirt, the way she’d weaponized my silence—Symphony had vanished into the fortress like smoke. I’d followed, of course. The bond wouldn’t allow anything else. But she didn’t fight me. Didn’t scream. Didn’t sing. She just walked, her spine straight, her eyes dry, her voice wrapped in a silence so thick it felt like a wall between us.
And I—Alpha of the Northern Packs, enforcer of the Accord, the man who’d crushed rebellions and broken enemies without hesitation—I felt something I hadn’t in decades.
Helplessness.
She locked herself in the eastern wing, a forgotten corridor of the Obsidian Court where the torches flickered low and the stone smelled of damp earth. I stood outside the door, my hand raised to knock, my pulse roaring in my ears. Not from anger. From fear.
Fear that she wouldn’t answer.
Fear that she would.
“Symphony,” I said, voice low. “Open the door.”
Nothing.
“I know you’re in there.”
Still nothing.
The bond pulsed between us, a dull ache now, not from distance—she was within ten feet—but from something deeper. A fracture. A crack in the tether that bound us. And I knew, with a clarity that cut like a blade, that if I didn’t fix it, we’d both bleed out.
“I didn’t go to her,” I said. “I didn’t promise her anything. I didn’t—”
“Then why didn’t you say that?” Her voice, when it came, was quiet. Hollow. Like the echo of a scream that had already been spent.
“I was stunned,” I said. “I didn’t expect her to walk in like that. I didn’t—”
“You didn’t deny it,” she said. “You just stood there. Let her wear your shirt. Let her say you promised to mark her. Let her win.”
“I was looking at you,” I said, pressing my palm flat against the door. “I was watching your face. Trying to see if you believed her. Trying to see if you’d walk away.”
“And if I had?”
I didn’t answer.
Because the truth was worse than silence.
If she had walked away, I would have followed. I would have dragged her back. I would have chained her, silenced her, done whatever it took to keep her close. Not because of the curse. Not because of duty.
Because I couldn’t survive without her.
And that—more than any war, any betrayal, any lie—terrified me.
“Open the door,” I said. “Let me in.”
“Why?”
“Because I need to see you.”
“You don’t get to need me.”
“I don’t have a choice,” I said. “The bond—”
“Not the bond,” she snapped. “You. You don’t get to want me. To touch me. To—” Her voice broke. “To make me believe you.”
And that was the wound. Not Lyra’s lie. Not the stolen shirt. But the fact that she had believed me. In that moment, when I’d touched her, when I’d kissed her, when I’d made her moan my name—she’d let herself believe that I wanted her. That I chose her.
And I had.
But I hadn’t said it.
And that silence had shattered her.
“The door’s not locked,” she said, voice flat. “Come in if you dare.”
I pushed it open.
She was sitting on the edge of a stone bench, her back to me, her silver-streaked hair loose down her back. The moonlight through the high window cast her in silver and shadow, making her look like a ghost. A memory. A woman already lost.
“You don’t have to pretend,” I said, stepping inside. “I know you’re hurting.”
“You don’t know anything about me,” she said. “You didn’t stop them from burning my mother. You didn’t speak up. You didn’t—”
“I know,” I said. “And I’ve lived with that every day since.”
She turned. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but dry. No tears. Just fury. Grief. Betrayal.
“You followed orders,” she said. “You upheld the peace. You did your duty.”
“And it cost me everything,” I said. “My father died in the last war. Torn apart by fae blades while he tried to broker peace. I was sixteen. I watched it happen. And I swore I’d never let chaos reign again. But I was wrong. I thought order was the answer. But it’s not. Not if it’s built on lies. Not if it costs innocent lives.”
She didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
But I saw it—the flicker in her eyes. The crack in her armor.
“I didn’t know,” I said. “About your mother. Not the truth. Not until tonight. But I know now. And I swear to you—” I stepped closer, my voice rough, raw. “—if I could go back, I would have stopped it. I would have fought for her. For you.”
“You didn’t,” she whispered.
“No,” I said. “And I’ll carry that guilt until the day I die.”
She looked away. “Then why should I believe you now?”
“Because I’m not asking you to,” I said. “I’m showing you.”
Before she could react, I closed the distance between us. Not to touch. Not to claim.
To kneel.
I dropped to one knee in front of her, my gaze level with hers. My heart pounding. My wolf restless, claws scraping against my skin. This was not submission. This was surrender.
“I don’t want your pity,” she said, voice trembling.
“I’m not offering pity,” I said. “I’m offering truth.”
“And what truth is that?”
“That I love you,” I said. “Not because of the bond. Not because of the curse. But because you’re the only person who’s ever made me feel alive. The only one who’s ever made me question everything I thought I knew. And I hate it. I hate how much I need you. How much I want you. How much I’d burn the world down if it meant keeping you safe.”
Her breath caught.
“You don’t get to say that,” she whispered.
“I do,” I said. “And I will. Every day, if I have to. Until you believe me.”
She stared at me, her eyes wide, her pulse fluttering in her throat. The bond flared—hot, electric—feeding on the rawness between us.
And then, without warning, she sang.
Not a war cry. Not a lullaby.
A memory.
Her voice rose, low and haunting, a melody I didn’t recognize but felt in my bones. It wasn’t magic. Not at first. Just sound. A woman’s voice. Young. Breaking. Singing a lullaby as flames roared in the background.
And then the vision hit.
Not a dream. Not an illusion.
A memory that wasn’t mine.
I saw her.
Elara Voss.
Bound to a pyre of blackened wood, her silver-streaked hair wild, her face streaked with soot and tears. She was singing—soft, desperate—as the Fae guards lit the fire. The flames rose, licking at her robes. The crowd laughed. The Queen watched, her expression cold.
And I—
I was there.
Not as myself.
As Symphony.
I felt her terror. Her grief. Her rage. The way her voice cracked as she sang for her mother. The way her hands were bound behind her back. The way the guards held her still as the fire grew.
And I saw myself.
Kaelen D’Vaal.
Standing at the edge of the crowd. Watching. Silent. Immobile. My face unreadable. My hands at my sides.
Not stopping it.
Not speaking up.
Not fighting.
I felt Symphony’s hatred then—not just for the Fae, not just for the Queen—but for me. For my silence. For my inaction. For the way I had stood there, a statue of duty, while her world burned.
The vision shattered.
I gasped, falling back, my hands gripping the stone floor. My breath came in ragged gasps. My heart pounded like a war drum. My vision blurred.
“You feel it now, don’t you?” Symphony whispered, her voice raw. “The fire. The screams. The way they laughed.”
I looked up at her. My eyes burned. Not from magic. From tears.
“I didn’t know,” I said, voice breaking. “I didn’t understand.”
“Now you do,” she said. “Now you feel it.”
I did.
And it destroyed me.
I reached for her—not to control. Not to dominate.
To hold.
My hands cupped her face, my thumbs brushing her cheeks. Her breath hitched. Her eyes widened. The bond flared, a wildfire in my veins, but I didn’t care. All I saw was her. All I felt was her. The woman who had haunted me for ten years. The woman who had shattered my control. The woman I loved.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice rough with emotion. “I’m so sorry.”
She didn’t pull away.
But she didn’t lean in either.
Her eyes searched mine—looking for lies, for weakness, for any sign that this was just another game.
And I let her see me.
All of me.
The Alpha. The enforcer. The man who had followed orders without question.
And the man who had failed.
Who had stood by while an innocent woman burned.
Who had let the woman he loved suffer for a decade.
“I didn’t know,” I said again. “But I do now. And I swear to you—” I pulled her into my arms, holding her like I’d never let go. “—I will spend the rest of my life making it right.”
She didn’t speak.
But she didn’t push me away.
Her body trembled against mine. Her breath came fast. Her hands clutched the fabric of my coat.
And then, slowly, she lifted her head.
Her lips brushed mine.
Not a kiss. Not yet.
A question.
And I answered.
I kissed her.
Not like before—angry, desperate, hungry.
Soft. Slow. Full of regret. Full of hope. Full of the love I’d been too afraid to name.
She melted into me, her hands sliding up my chest, her body pressing against mine. The bond roared, a living thing between us, feeding on emotion, on truth, on the fragile thing we were building in the wreckage of our past.
And then—
A crash.
Shouts.
Alarms.
We broke apart, hearts racing, breathless. The door burst open—Torin, bloodied, his sword drawn.
“Alpha,” he said, voice urgent. “The Queen’s assassins. They’re in the fortress. They’re coming for her.”
Symphony stiffened. “Lysara.”
I stood, pulling her with me. “We need to move. Now.”
“I can fight,” she said.
“Not alone,” I said. “And not without me.”
Torin led us through the corridors—stone halls lit by flickering torches, werewolves mobilizing, weapons drawn. We reached the armory just as the first wave hit.
Fae assassins—shadows given form, blades of ice in their hands. They moved like smoke, silent, deadly. I fought with everything I had—claws, fangs, strength. Symphony sang—low, sharp notes that shattered their illusions, cracked their blades, sent them stumbling.
But there were too many.
And then I saw him—the leader. A Unseelie noble with eyes like frozen steel. He lunged for Symphony, his blade aimed at her throat.
I didn’t think.
I moved.
I took the blade in my side, the ice biting deep, freezing my organs. I roared, tackling him, tearing his throat out with my fangs. Blood sprayed. He fell.
But the wound—
It was bad.
I stumbled, my vision blurring, my body going cold.
“Kaelen!” Symphony’s voice, sharp with fear.
I fell to my knees.
She caught me, her arms around me, her face pale. “No. No, you don’t get to die on me.”
I tried to speak, but the cold was spreading, my wolf howling in pain.
And then she sang.
Not a weapon.
A lullaby.
Soft. Warm. A melody that wrapped around me like fire. I felt it—heat. Life. Her voice, pouring into me, healing me, saving me.
When I opened my eyes, she was crying.
“You idiot,” she whispered. “You absolute idiot.”
I reached up, brushing a tear from her cheek. “Worth it.”
She laughed—broken, beautiful. “You’re not allowed to die for me.”
“Too late,” I said, pulling her into my arms. “I already did.”
And as the fortress burned around us, as the assassins fell, as the bond pulsed between us like a second heartbeat—I knew.
This wasn’t just a curse.
It was a beginning.
“I love you,” I whispered.
She didn’t answer.
But she didn’t let go.
And that was enough.