The silence after our kiss is worse than any storm.
Not the quiet of peace, not the stillness of resolution—but the hush of something broken. Something cracked open and bleeding. Because I said it. I said the thing I swore I’d never say. The thing that makes me more dangerous to myself than any enemy ever could.
I’m not the woman who came to kill him.
And the worst part?
I meant it.
Kaelen doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Just holds me, his body a wall of heat and muscle, his breath warm against my neck, the bond humming between us like a live wire. But I can feel it—the shift. Not in the magic. Not in the claiming. But in *him*. The way his arms tighten just slightly, like he’s afraid I’ll vanish. The way his pulse stutters when I breathe. The way his fangs press against his gums, not in hunger, but in *fear*.
Fear of losing me.
Fear of what I’ve become.
Fear of what *he’s* become.
And that—
That terrifies me.
Because if he’s afraid…
Then I should be running.
“You don’t have to say anything,” I whisper, my fingers brushing the bond sigil on his chest. “I know what I am. What I was. And if you need to walk away—”
“No.” He pulls back, his gold eyes burning. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to say *that* and then offer me an exit.”
“I’m not offering—”
“You are.” He cups my face, his voice rough. “You think I don’t feel it? The way you pull back. The way you hesitate. The way you look at me like I’m something you’re trying to solve. You’re not running from me, Torrent. You’re running from *this*.” His thumb brushes my lip. “From us. From the truth.”
My breath hitches.
Because he’s right.
And I hate him for it.
“What truth?” I challenge, stepping back. “That I used another man to get information? That I let him touch me? That I—”
“That you *felt* it,” he growls, closing the distance. “That’s what you’re afraid of. Not the mission. Not the lies. But the *want*. The way your magic flared when he kissed you. The way your body responded. The way you *almost* believed, for one second, that he could give you what I can’t.”
My pulse hammers.
“You don’t know what I felt.”
“I *do*.” He grabs my wrist, pulling me against him, his body hard, desperate. “I felt it through the bond. The spike in your magic. The heat in your blood. The way your heart raced. And I *hated* it.” His voice drops. “I wanted to rip his throat out. I wanted to burn the chamber to the ground. I wanted to mark you so deep no one would ever dare touch you again.”
My breath stops.
“And why didn’t you?”
“Because I *trusted* you.” His grip tightens. “Even when I saw his bite on your neck. Even when I smelled him on your skin. I *trusted* you. And you—” His voice breaks. “You made me doubt myself.”
The words hit like a blade.
Because he’s not wrong.
I *did* make him doubt.
Not on purpose.
Not to hurt him.
But because I’m still learning how to be more than vengeance. Still learning how to want without weaponizing it. Still learning how to *love* without turning it into a war.
And I don’t know how.
“I didn’t give myself to him,” I say, voice low. “I used him. Like you use your power. Like Silas uses his loyalty. Like Cassian uses lies. And if you can’t accept that—”
“I *can*.” He steps back, his gold eyes burning. “But don’t pretend it didn’t cost you. Don’t pretend you don’t feel it. Because I *do*. I feel everything. Your pain. Your fear. Your *need*. And if you walk away now—” His voice drops. “Then the soulfire will burn you from the inside out.”
My breath stops.
“You’d let me go?”
“No.” He turns, his back to me, his shoulders rigid. “But I won’t chain you. I won’t force you. If you choose to leave—” His voice cracks. “Then I’ll burn with you.”
And that—
That’s the most dangerous thing of all.
Because he’s not threatening me.
He’s *offering* himself.
His pain. His death. His soulfire.
All for me.
And I don’t know if I can take it.
—
I leave.
Not running.
Not retreating.
Just walking—through the corridors, through the silence, through the Aerie that breathes like a living thing. I don’t look back. Don’t hesitate. Just move, my hand pressed to the bond sigil on my chest, my magic flaring in jagged bursts.
And then—
I feel it.
Not the bond.
Not the magic.
But *pain*.
Sharp. Searing. Like a blade sliding between my ribs. I stop, my breath hitching, my knees buckling. The world tilts. The walls press in. The air turns thick, suffocating.
And then—
It *burns*.
Not on my skin.
Not in my blood.
But in my *soul*.
White-hot. Devouring. Like fire licking at the edges of my being, peeling me apart one layer at a time. I gasp, clutching my chest, my vision blurring, my magic flaring in jagged bursts. I try to move. Try to breathe. Try to *think*.
But the pain is everywhere.
And it’s getting worse.
“No,” I whisper, sinking to my knees. “Not now. Not like this.”
But it doesn’t listen.
The soulfire doesn’t care about timing. Doesn’t care about strategy. Doesn’t care about *me*.
It only knows one thing.
The bond is breaking.
And it’s punishing me for it.
I crawl.
Not toward the chambers. Not toward the war room. Not even toward the infirmary.
Just *away*.
Because if I stay, if I let him see me like this, if I let him *feel* this—
Then I’ll never be free.
And so I crawl—through the corridors, through the shadows, through the silence—my body trembling, my breath coming in ragged gasps, my magic flaring in jagged bursts. The pain is unbearable. Unrelenting. It burns through my veins, my bones, my very essence, peeling me apart one layer at a time.
And then—
I feel him.
Not through the bond.
Not through magic.
But through *sound*.
A low, guttural growl—like thunder cracking across the Black Sea. Like a wolf on the edge of control. And then—
He’s there.
Kaelen.
Standing at the end of the corridor, his black coat soaked through, his gold eyes burning, his fangs bared, his body a wall of heat and muscle. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Just watches me, his breath coming fast, his pulse hammering in his throat.
And then—
He sees me.
Not the queen.
Not the avenger.
Not the woman who came to kill him.
But *broken*.
Kneeling. Trembling. Gasping.
And the sound he makes—
It’s not a growl.
It’s a *roar*.
Raw. Primal. Devastated.
And then—
He moves.
Fast. Relentless. He crosses the distance in seconds, dropping to his knees beside me, his hands flying to my face, my chest, my arms. “Torrent—” His voice cracks. “Look at me. *Look at me*.”
I try.
But the pain is too much.
My vision blurs. My body trembles. My magic flares in jagged bursts.
And then—
I feel it.
Not just my pain.
But *his*.
Through the bond—faint, fractured, but *there*—I feel the soulfire tearing through him too. Burning from the inside out. Devouring him. Peeling him apart.
Because he’s not just feeling my pain.
He’s *sharing* it.
And that—
That breaks me.
“Stop,” I gasp, reaching for him. “You have to stop—”
“I can’t.” He pulls me into his arms, his body a wall of heat and muscle, his breath warm against my neck. “The bond won’t let me. *I* won’t let me.”
“You’ll die—”
“Then I’ll die with you.” He holds me tighter, his voice rough. “You think I’d let you burn alone? You think I’d let you suffer like this? *No*. If the soulfire takes me, it takes me. But I’m not leaving you.”
Tears burn my eyes.
Not from the pain.
Not from the fire.
But from *him*.
From the way he holds me. The way he *chooses* me. The way he’d rather die than walk away.
And I don’t know how to fight that.
“I’m not worth this,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “I used another man. I lied to you. I—”
“You’re *alive*,” he growls, pressing his forehead to mine. “You’re *here*. You’re *mine*. And if you think I’d let you go because of one mistake—” His voice drops. “Then you don’t know me at all.”
My breath hitches.
Because he’s not angry.
He’s not jealous.
He’s not even hurt.
He’s *terrified*.
And that—
That shatters me.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I whisper, tears spilling down my cheeks. “I didn’t mean to make you doubt. I just—”
“I know.” He kisses my tears, his lips warm, reverent. “You’re trying to be more than vengeance. You’re trying to be free. And I *see* that. I *feel* that. And if you think I’d let you run from that—” His voice breaks. “Then you don’t know how much I love you.”
The words hit like a blade.
Because he’s never said them before.
Not like this.
Not with his voice breaking. Not with his body trembling. Not with his soulfire burning.
And I don’t know how to answer.
So I do the only thing I can.
I kiss him.
Not hard. Not desperate.
Soft. Slow. *True*.
My lips move over his, gentle, reverent, like I’m afraid he’ll break. His hands rise, fingers threading through my hair, pulling me closer, deepening the kiss. The bond flares—white-hot, electric. Our pulses sync. Our breaths tangle. The world narrows to the taste of him—copper and pine and wildness—the feel of him—hard and hot and *mine*—the *need*.
And then—
The pain stops.
Not all at once.
Not completely.
But slowly. Gently. Like the fire is retreating, like the soulfire is receding, like the bond is healing.
And I realize—
It wasn’t the kiss.
It wasn’t the magic.
It was *truth*.
The truth that I’m not running.
The truth that I’m not fighting.
The truth that I *love* him.
And that—
That’s the only thing that can stop the soulfire.
“You’re not leaving,” he whispers, his forehead pressed to mine, his breath warm against my lips. “You’re not running. You’re *here*. And you’re *mine*.”
I don’t answer.
Just look at him—his sharp jaw, his storm-dark hair, the scars crisscrossing his chest from battles I wasn’t there to see. And then—
I touch the bond sigil on his chest.
Not in challenge.
Not in defiance.
But in *recognition*.
“I’m not just your mate,” I say, voice low. “I’m your *storm*.”
He doesn’t smile.
Just looks at me—like he sees the truth in my eyes.
And then—
He reaches for my hand.
Not to fight.
Not to run.
But to *stay*.
And I take it.
Because for the first time since I walked into this place with a knife at my throat—
I don’t feel like an assassin.
I feel like a woman who’s finally ready to stop hiding.
And start choosing.
—
We don’t go back to the chambers.
Not yet.
Instead, we walk—through the corridors, through the silence, through the Aerie that breathes like a living thing, his hand in mine, the bond humming between us, warm and alive. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t ask. Just walks beside me, his shoulder brushing mine, his breath warm against my neck.
And I don’t let go.
Not when the guards glance at us, their eyes sharp. Not when the witches lower their voices in the library. Not when the wind howls through the mountain passes like a warning.
I hold his hand.
And I let them see.
Because the truth is out.
She’s not just his fated mate.
She’s not just the woman who came to kill him.
She’s the queen.
Strong. Fierce. Unbreakable.
And she’s *his*.
When we reach the war room, Silas is waiting.
Not surprised. Not shocked.
Just… *knowing*.
“The Council will hear,” he says, stepping aside. “The soulfire. The bond. The truth.”
“Let them hear,” I say, pulling Kaelen into the room, closing the door behind us. “Let them see.”
He studies us—my sharp jaw, my defiant eyes, the fire in my blood. And for the first time, I see it too.
Not just the avenger.
Not just the assassin.
But the queen.
“Cassian will move,” Silas says. “And Maeve—”
“Won’t stop,” I finish, stepping forward. “But neither will we.”
Kaelen steps behind me, his hands sliding around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder. “Because we’re not just bound by magic.”
“We’re bound by *choice*,” I whisper.
And then—
I turn in his arms, my storm-colored eyes locking on his.
“Next time,” I say, voice low, “don’t stop.”
His breath hitches.
“Next time,” he says, voice rough, “I won’t.”
And I believe him.
Not because of the bond.
Not because of fate.
But because of the way he says it—like it’s a vow, like it’s truth, like it’s the only thing keeping him from drowning.
And then—
He kisses me.
And this time—
He doesn’t stop.