The moment the sun breaches the horizon, I feel her.
Not through the bond—though that thrums between us like a live wire, a constant reminder of the chaos we’ve unleashed—but through something deeper. Instinct. The wolf in my blood knows she’s awake before the first guard reports it. Knows she’s pacing the length of her room like a caged storm, knows her magic is spiking in short, jagged bursts against the wards, knows her heart is hammering with fury and something else I refuse to name.
I stand at the window of my private chamber, the slate floor cold beneath my bare feet, my back to the door. The Aerie floats above the Swiss Alps today, a cloaked fortress veiled from human eyes by ancient wards and shifting illusion. Below, the peaks are dusted with snow, the sky pale gold. Peaceful. Ordered. The world I’ve spent two centuries building.
And she’s here to burn it down.
Torrent.
Half-witch, half-fae. Assassin. Fated mate.
The words taste like ash.
I don’t want a mate. I don’t *need* one. I am the High Alpha of the Northern Packs, Chair of the Supernatural Council. I rule through control, through ice, through the unshakable belief that emotion is weakness. For two hundred years, I’ve kept my wolf caged, my desires buried, my heart sealed behind walls of duty and silence.
And then she pressed a blade to my throat.
And the world cracked open.
The bond ignited like wildfire. The mark—black thorns and claws, the sigil of an ancient fated union—burned into my chest, a brand I can still feel beneath my shirt. And worse, I can *feel her*. Her anger. Her grief. Her heat. It pulses through the tether, a storm I can’t shut out.
I press a hand to the mark, fingers pressing into the tender skin. Last night, I stood outside her door, my palm flat against the wood, my breath ragged, my wolf howling to break in, to claim, to *consume*.
I didn’t open it.
I walked away.
And now the Council demands we face the Unity Trials.
The door opens behind me. Heavy footsteps. I don’t turn.
“She’s awake,” Silas says. My Beta. My brother in all but blood. Half-vampire, fully loyal. “And she’s… agitated.”
“She’s always agitated.”
“This is different. She’s not just angry. She’s *afraid*.”
I finally turn. Silas stands in the doorway, his dark coat buttoned to the throat, his expression unreadable. But his eyes—sharp, observant—betray him. He’s seen something. Felt something.
“The bond,” I say. “It’s destabilizing her.”
“Or she’s realizing what she’s unleashed.” He steps inside, closing the door. “The Council convenes in an hour. Cassian’s already calling for her exile. Says the bond is a trick. A hybrid ploy to infiltrate.”
I exhale through my nose. “The mark doesn’t lie.”
“No. But Cassian doesn’t care about truth. He cares about power. And he sees her as a threat.”
“She *is* a threat.”
“To the Council? Maybe. But not to you.”
I glare at him. “Don’t presume to know what she is to me.”
“I don’t,” he says quietly. “But I’ve never seen you hesitate. Not for anyone. Not for anything. Last night, you stood at her door for ten minutes, torn between duty and—”
“Enough.”
He holds my gaze. “The Unity Trials begin today. The Soul Mirror. You’ll have to touch her. Share memories. If the bond is false, the ritual will expose it. If it’s real…”
“Then we proceed to the next trial.”
“Or you see something you don’t want to see.”
I don’t answer. I don’t need to. The Soul Mirror is ancient, sacred. It forces fated pairs to relive shared memories—moments of connection, recognition, destiny. It’s not just a test of truth. It’s a violation. A stripping bare of the soul.
And I have no idea what memories we might share.
Because I’ve never seen her before last night.
Have I?
A flicker. A shadow in the back of my mind. A woman with storm-colored eyes, screaming as she’s dragged into the Veil. A voice—hers?—crying out, *“You swore to protect us!”*
I shove it down.
“Prepare the chamber,” I say, turning back to the window. “And bring her. Ten paces. No less.”
“She won’t come quietly.”
“Then drag her.”
He hesitates. “Kaelen—”
“Now.”
The command rumbles from my chest, laced with alpha power. Silas bows his head and leaves.
Alone again, I close my eyes.
I can still feel her. The bond hums, warm and insistent. And beneath it, something else. A pull. A hunger. Not just physical—though my body remembers the heat of her against the wall, the way she arched into me, the taste of her pulse beneath my fangs—but deeper. Older.
Like a memory I can’t reach.
Like a debt I don’t remember owing.
I clench my fists. I will not be ruled by instinct. I will not be broken by a woman who came here to kill me.
But when the door opens again, and I turn to see her—
She’s wearing a dress of deep indigo, simple, unadorned, her storm-gray hair loose down her back, her eyes blazing with defiance—and I feel it again.
That crack in the ice.
She doesn’t look at me. She stares past me, at the hearth, at the walls, at anything but my face. Silas stands behind her, hand on her elbow, but she’s not struggling. She’s still. Controlled. Like she’s bracing for war.
“You summoned me,” she says, voice cool. “Here I am. Ten paces. Soulfire averted. Can we get this farce over with?”
“It’s not a farce,” I say, stepping forward. “The Unity Trials are law. Ancient. Binding. Fail them, and the bond is severed. Or you’re executed for deception.”
Her eyes flash. “You’d let them kill me?”
“I don’t make the rules. I enforce them.”
“Convenient.”
I ignore the jab. “The first trial is the Soul Mirror. It requires skin-to-skin contact. You’ll see memories. So will I. If they’re not shared, the ritual fails.”
She pales—just slightly. But I see it. The flicker of fear. Not of death. Of *truth*.
“And if they are shared?” she asks.
“Then the bond is validated. We move to the next trial.”
“And if I don’t want to see them?”
“Then you’re already lost.”
She stares at me, her chest rising and falling. The bond hums between us, a live wire. I can feel her pulse, her breath, the heat crawling up her skin. She’s afraid. Not of the ritual. Of what it might reveal.
About her.
About me.
About *us*.
“Let’s go,” I say.
We walk side by side through the Aerie’s stone corridors, guards flanking us, the air thick with tension. The Council Chamber looms ahead—a vast, circular room of black marble and silver veins, the twelve thrones arranged in a ring. The members are already seated: vampires in blood-red silks, fae in shimmering gowns, werewolves in ceremonial leathers, witches in robes stitched with sigils.
And in the center, the Soul Mirror.
A basin of still, black water, set in a ring of carved stone. Torchlight flickers across its surface, but the water doesn’t ripple. Doesn’t reflect. It’s like staring into a void.
“Approach,” Lord Cassian intones, rising from his throne. His silver robes catch the light, his voice smooth, mocking. “Let the first trial begin.”
Torrent doesn’t move. Her jaw is tight, her hands clenched at her sides.
“Ten paces,” I remind her, low.
She glares at me. “You don’t get to lecture me on proximity, *mate*.”
The word is a dagger. I don’t flinch.
“Then prove you can follow orders.”
She steps forward.
We stand before the basin. The air hums with magic. The Council watches in silence.
“Join hands,” Cassian commands. “And look into the water.”
I hold out my hand.
She stares at it. Her breath hitches. I see the conflict in her eyes—the hatred, the fear, the heat, the *want*.
And then, slowly, she reaches out.
Her fingers brush mine.
And the world explodes.
Fire. Light. Pain.
We’re falling.
And then—
A courtroom.
Stone walls. Torches. The scent of iron and fear.
She’s there—older, her hair longer, her face lined with grief and fury. My mother. Bound in chains, her magic sealed, her eyes wild as she screams at the Council.
“You call this justice? She’s my daughter! She’s innocent!”
And I’m there—me, but not me. Younger. Harder. My face cold, my eyes empty. Kaelen Dain, High Alpha, Chair of the Council. I stand at the head of the chamber, my voice cutting through the chaos.
“The law is clear. Hybrid blood is a threat. The Veil is the sentence.”
She collapses. Sobs. “Please… she’s just a child…”
I don’t move. I don’t blink. I raise my hand.
“The decree is signed. The sentence stands.”
And then—
My hand moves. Just slightly. As if to reach for her.
But the vision cuts.
Darkness.
Then silence.
We’re back in the chamber.
Torrent is gasping, her hand still in mine, her eyes wide, her face streaked with tears. The bond burns between us, hot and raw. I can feel her pain—her mother’s betrayal, her own helplessness, the years of rage that have fueled her.
And I can feel something else.
Guilt.
Because I remember now.
I *was* there.
I *did* vote.
But not for death.
For mercy.
And I was outvoted.
My hand *did* move.
But no one saw.
“You watched her die,” Torrent hisses, yanking her hand back, stumbling away. Her voice is raw, broken. “You stood there. You signed the decree. You let them take her.”
I don’t deny it. I can’t.
“The vote was lost,” I say, my voice rough. “The past is ash.”
“No,” she snarls, tears streaming down her face. “The past is *fire*. And I’m going to burn you with it.”
She turns and storms out, the guards parting for her, the bond stretching between us like a taut wire.
I don’t stop her.
Because for the first time in two centuries—
I don’t know what to say.
And the worst part?
I don’t know if I want to.