The full moon rises over the Aerie like a blade—silver, sharp, hanging low in the Icelandic sky, its light spilling across the volcanic plains in ghostly waves. It’s not just a celestial event. It’s a reckoning.
I feel it in my blood.
The dominance surge—the primal pull that grips every Alpha during the full moon—rolls through me like a storm, hot and relentless. My wolf claws at the edges of my control, snarling, pacing, *hungry*. Not for blood. Not for battle.
For *her*.
Torrent.
She’s in the west garden, where the stone paths wind through ancient yews and moonblooms glow faintly in the dark. I don’t need to see her to know she’s there. I can feel her—the hum of her magic beneath her skin, the rhythm of her breath, the quiet storm of her thoughts. The bond thrums between us, warm and alive, but tonight, it’s different. Sharper. Heavier. Like the air before lightning strikes.
She doesn’t know what’s coming.
She doesn’t know that under the full moon, an Alpha’s need to claim, to dominate, to *bind* his mate becomes nearly irresistible. That the surge doesn’t just stir the wolf—it strips away the man, layer by layer, until only instinct remains.
And I’ve spent two centuries mastering control.
But tonight?
Tonight, I’m not sure I can hold it.
I stand at the edge of the garden, my hands clenched at my sides, my jaw tight, my fangs pressing against my gums. The scent of her—storm and salt and heat—drifts on the wind, pulling me forward like a leash. My pulse hammers. My vision sharpens. My body tenses, coiled like a spring.
And then—
I see her.
She’s sitting on a stone bench beneath a willow, her storm-gray dress loose around her, her hair unbound, her face tilted toward the moon. She’s not reading. Not meditating. Just… still. Like she’s listening. Like she knows.
And maybe she does.
Because the bond doesn’t just connect us.
It *remembers*.
She turns slowly, sensing me, her storm-colored eyes locking on mine. She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t speak. Just watches me, her gaze scanning my face, my body, the way my hands tremble, the way my breath hitches.
“You’re fighting it,” she says, voice low.
“You shouldn’t be out here,” I growl, stepping forward. “Not tonight.”
“Why not?” She stands, graceful, deliberate, her body moving like water. “Because you’re afraid of what you’ll do?”
“I’m not afraid.”
“Then prove it.”
My jaw clenches. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I know you’re not going to hurt me.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.” She takes a step closer. “Because you’ve had every chance to. You’ve had me weak. Delirious. Poisoned. And you didn’t take what you wanted. You *saved* me.”
My breath catches.
Because she’s right.
And that terrifies me.
“You think I don’t want you?” I say, voice rough. “You think I don’t wake up every night with your name on my lips? That I don’t dream of you? That I don’t *ache* for you?”
She doesn’t flinch. Just takes another step. “Then stop fighting it.”
“You don’t understand.” I step forward, closing the distance, my body a wall of heat and muscle. “Tonight, the surge—it’s not just desire. It’s *dominance*. The wolf wants to claim. To mark. To *own*.”
“And what about the man?”
“The man is drowning.”
Her breath hitches.
And then—
She touches me.
Not on the chest. Not on the arm.
On the face.
Her fingers brush my cheek, slow, deliberate, her touch burning through the cold. My wolf snarls. My pulse hammers. My fangs lengthen. But I don’t move. Don’t pull away. Just let her touch me.
“You don’t have to be untouchable,” she whispers. “You don’t have to be the High Alpha all the time. You can just… be *you*.”
My breath comes fast.
Because no one has ever said that.
No one has ever *seen* that.
Not in two hundred years.
And now, standing beneath the full moon, with her hand on my face and her storm-colored eyes locked on mine, I feel it—the crack in the armor. The fissure in the ice. The quiet, desperate need to *be* seen.
And then—
The surge hits.
Like a wave, hot and sudden, crashing through me, sharp and unrelenting. My vision blurs. My body tenses. My fangs extend. My hands fly to her waist, gripping her, pulling her into me, my body pressing against hers, hard and desperate.
She gasps, but doesn’t pull away.
Just stares at me, her eyes wide, her breath coming fast, her magic flaring beneath her skin.
“Kaelen,” she whispers.
“Don’t,” I growl, my voice thick, guttural. “Don’t say my name like that. Not when I’m this close to losing control.”
“Then take it.”
“What?”
“Take what you want.” Her hands rise, fingers brushing the collar of my jacket. “Mark me. Claim me. *Own* me. If that’s what the wolf needs, then give it to him.”
My breath hitches.
Because she’s offering herself.
Not as a prisoner.
Not as a weapon.
But as a *mate*.
And that’s the most dangerous thing of all.
“You don’t know what you’re saying,” I say, voice rough. “You don’t know what it means.”
“I do.” She leans in, her lips brushing my ear. “It means you stop pretending you don’t want me. It means you stop hiding behind duty and control and *lies*. It means you finally let go.”
My wolf howls.
My body trembles.
And then—
I back her into the willow.
Not hard. Not violent.
But firm. Possessive. My hands lock on her hips, my body pressing into hers, my fangs bared at her neck. Her breath hitches. Her pulse races. Her magic flares, crackling at her fingertips.
And then—
I stop.
Just… stop.
My breath comes fast. My fangs retract. My hands loosen. And then—
I drop to my knees.
Not in dominance.
Not in claiming.
But in *surrender*.
She freezes.
Her storm-colored eyes widen. Her breath catches. Her hands fly to her mouth.
“Kaelen—”
“Don’t,” I say, voice rough. “Don’t speak. Don’t move. Just… let me.”
And then—
I press my forehead to her stomach, my hands sliding up her sides, my body trembling. Not from weakness. Not from shame.
From *need*.
“I’ve spent two centuries building walls,” I say, voice low, broken. “Hiding behind titles. Pretending I didn’t feel. Pretending I didn’t want. But you… you tore them down. You saw the man beneath the monster. And now—” My breath hitches. “Now I don’t know how to be anything else.”
She doesn’t answer.
Just places her hands on my head, fingers threading through my hair, her touch warm, steady, *real*.
“You don’t have to be the High Alpha,” she whispers. “You don’t have to be untouchable. You can just be *Kaelen*.”
My breath catches.
Because she’s saying my name.
Not as a title.
Not as a threat.
But as a *man*.
And that—
That shatters me.
I slide my hands around her waist, pulling her closer, my face pressing into her stomach, my body trembling. Not from the surge. Not from the wolf.
From *her*.
From the quiet, unbearable truth that I’m not just her enemy.
I’m her mate.
And I’m in love with her.
“I don’t want to force you,” I say, voice rough. “I don’t want to take what you’re not ready to give. But I can’t keep pretending I don’t want you. I can’t keep pretending I don’t *need* you.”
She doesn’t answer.
Just steps back—just slightly—then sinks to her knees in front of me, her storm-colored eyes locking on mine.
“Then don’t,” she says, voice low. “Don’t pretend. Don’t hide. Just… be here. With me.”
And then—
She touches me.
Not on the face.
Not on the chest.
On the neck.
Her fingers brush the pulse point, slow, deliberate, her touch burning through the cold. My breath hitches. My wolf stills. My body tenses.
And then—
She leans in.
And presses her lips to my neck.
Not a bite.
Not a claim.
But a *promise*.
Soft. Warm. *True*.
And then—
The bond flares.
White-hot, electric, pulsing through us like a live wire. Our pulses sync. Our breaths tangle. The world narrows to the heat of her lips, the feel of her skin, the *need*.
And then—
I pull her into my arms.
Not to dominate.
Not to claim.
But to *hold* her.
Her body molds against mine, her head resting on my chest, her breath warm against my neck. The bond hums—steady, warm, alive. I close my eyes, breathing her in—storm and salt and heat. My hands slide up her back, into her hair, holding her there, not letting go.
And for the first time in two centuries—
I don’t feel like the High Alpha.
I feel like a man.
Who’s finally found his mate.
—
We stay like that for hours.
Kneeling in the garden, beneath the full moon, wrapped in each other’s arms, the bond humming between us like a second heartbeat. The surge fades, not with a crash, but with a slow, quiet release, like a wave receding from the shore. My wolf settles. My body relaxes. My mind clears.
And she stays.
Doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t run. Just holds me, her fingers tracing the scars on my back, her breath warm against my neck.
“You’re not like them,” she says, voice low. “The others. The Council. They wear their power like armor. You wear your pain.”
“It’s the same thing.”
“No.” She pulls back, her storm-colored eyes searching mine. “They hide behind titles. You hide behind scars. But they’re both just… walls.”
“Walls keep people out.”
“Or keep you in.”
I don’t answer.
Because she’s right.
And I don’t know how to tear them down.
“Why did you become High Alpha?” she asks.
“Because no one else could.”
“That’s not an answer.”
I exhale through my nose. “Because I was strong enough. Because I won the challenge. Because the pack needed a leader.”
“And what about *you*? What did *you* need?”
I go still.
Because no one has ever asked me that.
Not in two hundred years.
“I needed to survive,” I say quietly. “To protect what was mine. To keep the peace.”
“And did it work?”
“For a while.”
“And now?”
I look at her. “Now I’m bound to a woman who wants me dead. Now the Council is fracturing. Now Cassian is moving in the shadows, and I don’t know if I can stop him.”
“But you’re trying.”
“Because it’s my duty.”
“Or because you care?”
I don’t answer.
Because the truth is written in every line of my body—in the way my wolf howls for her, in the way my hands tremble when she’s near, in the way my heart *aches* when she looks at me like she sees the man beneath the monster.
And then—
She steps forward.
Closer.
Until we’re standing toe to toe, her storm-colored eyes locked on mine.
“You don’t have to be untouchable,” she whispers. “You don’t have to be the High Alpha all the time. You can just… be *you*.”
“And who is that?”
“I don’t know yet.” Her hand rises, fingers brushing the bond sigil on my chest. “But I want to find out.”
The air between us crackles.
And then—
I pull her into my arms.
Not to kiss her. Not to claim her.
Just to *hold* her.
Her body molds against mine, her head resting on my chest, her breath warm against my skin. The bond hums—steady, warm, alive. I close my eyes, breathing her in—storm and salt and heat. My hands slide up her back, into her hair, holding her there, not letting go.
And for the first time in two centuries—
I don’t feel alone.
—
Later, we walk back to the chambers in silence.
Not awkward. Not strained.
But quiet. Peaceful. Like the storm has passed and the air is clear.
When we reach the door, she turns to me, her storm-colored eyes blazing.
“We have to face Cassian,” she says. “He’s not going to stop. And next time, he might not give me a chance to speak.”
“Then we stop him first.”
“How?”
She touches the bond sigil on her chest. “By using what he gave us. The ring. The truth. The bond.”
“And if he *is* your father?”
She doesn’t flinch. “Then he’s not just the villain. He’s the liar. And I’ll make him pay for both.”
I study her—her sharp jaw, her defiant eyes, the fire in her blood. And for the first time, I see it.
Not just the avenger.
Not just the assassin.
But the queen.
Strong. Fierce. Unbreakable.
And she’s mine.
“You’re not just my mate,” I say, voice low. “You’re my *storm*.”
She doesn’t smile.
Just looks at me—like she sees the truth in my eyes.
And then—
She reaches for my hand.
Not to fight.
Not to run.
But to *stay*.
And I take it.
Because for the first time in two hundred years—
I don’t want to be the monster.
I want to be hers.