The first time I keep a secret from him, it doesn’t feel like betrayal.
It feels like protection.
Not mine. His.
The Aerie breathes in slow, steady waves—its wards pulsing with the rhythm of something alive, something healed, something reborn. The corridors no longer echo with the ghost of fear. No more hushed whispers behind stone columns. No more furtive glances from guards who once served Cassian. The war is over. The Veil is dismantled. The law is written. The claim is made. And yet—
Here we are.
Still standing.
Still fighting.
Just not with blades.
Kaelen is in the training halls, overseeing the first joint patrol drill—wolves and witches, vampires and fae, hybrids standing shoulder to shoulder, their magic syncing, their movements fluid, their loyalty not to blood, but to balance. I watched him from the balcony for a while, my storm-colored eyes tracing the line of his jaw, the way his gold eyes burn when he commands, the way his fangs press against his gums when he’s focused. He didn’t look up. Didn’t call for me. Just gave a single nod—brief, sharp, mine—before turning back to the recruits.
I didn’t go down.
Not yet.
Instead, I came here.
To the Sanctum.
To the memory crystals.
They float in the center of the chamber, their light soft, steady, pulsing like heartbeats. Some show faces I don’t know—hybrids erased before I was born. Others show those we’ve saved—Lyra laughing with her lover, Liora teaching her son how to summon fire from stone, the young wolf-shifter from the Hollow Moon Academy standing barefoot on the training grounds, her staff crackling with storm magic. Their lives. Their truths. Their second chances.
And then—
There’s one that doesn’t belong.
It hovers at the edge of the circle, its light faint, flickering, its surface etched with runes I’ve never seen. Not fae. Not witch. Not even vampire. Something older. Something darker. Something that hums with a frequency that makes the bond sigil on my chest ache.
I reach for it.
My fingers brush the surface—cold, smooth, like obsidian kissed by frost—and the moment I touch it, the chamber shifts.
Not in space.
But in time.
The walls dissolve. The floor vanishes. The air thickens with the scent of blood and iron, of ancient magic and something… hungry. I’m standing in a room I’ve never seen—circular, carved from black stone, its walls lined with chains, its floor stained with centuries of sacrifice. In the center, a woman kneels—her face hidden, her silver robes torn, her hands bound in silver cuffs. And standing over her—
—is Kaelen.
Not the Kaelen I know.
Not the man who holds me like I’m something fragile. Not the Alpha who bends his head to kiss my neck in front of the world. Not the lover who whispers vows against my skin.
This is the Wolf-Alpha of legend.
Gold eyes slitted. Fangs bared. Claws extended. His body coiled tight, his voice a growl that shakes the stone. He’s not speaking. Not yet. Just watching her—this woman—with something I can’t name. Not hatred. Not cruelty.
Pain.
And then—
She lifts her head.
And I see her face.
My breath stops.
It’s me.
Not my face. Not my eyes. But my soul. I feel it—the same fire in her veins, the same storm in her blood, the same defiance in her gaze. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t beg. Just stares at him, her voice low, raw.
“You don’t have to do this,” she says. “I know what you are. I know what you’ve done. But I also know what you could be.”
Kaelen doesn’t move.
Just tightens his grip on the hilt of the blade in his hand—black steel, etched with runes that pulse with containment magic.
“You’re a threat,” he says, voice rough. “To the Council. To the packs. To everything.”
“And you’re a prisoner,” she says, lifting her chin. “Of your own fear. Of your own pride. Of the lies they’ve fed you.” She smiles—slow, dangerous. “But I see you, Kaelen. I see the man beneath the monster. And I’m not afraid of you.”
He growls.
But doesn’t strike.
Instead—
He reaches.
Just for a second.
Just enough for his fingers to brush the side of her face.
And the moment he does—
The vision shatters.
I stumble back, gasping, my hand flying to the bond sigil, my heart hammering like a war drum. The Sanctum snaps back into focus. The crystals float, steady. The air is still. But the echo of that touch—his fingers on her skin, the raw ache in his eyes—lingers like a brand.
It wasn’t a memory.
It was a prophecy.
And it wasn’t about me.
It was about her.
The woman who looked like me. Who spoke like me. Who fought like me.
And Kaelen—
He knew her.
He loved her.
And he was about to kill her.
—
The Council chamber is alive when I enter.
Not with tension. Not with fear. But with movement. The circle of stone seats is full—twelve Councilors, three per species, their faces sharp with purpose, their voices low with debate. The witches sit in the center, their robes of deep indigo, their hands glowing faintly with ley-line energy. The Beast Courts—wolves, shifters, hunters—sit to the left, their fangs bared, their loyalty to Kaelen unshaken. The Silk Courts—fae and vampires—sit to the right, fractured still, but no longer united in opposition. Some watch with suspicion. Others with hope. All with attention.
And at the center?
Me.
Alone.
Kaelen is not here. Silas stands at the edge of the circle, his dark eyes unreadable, his half-vampire scent laced with something I can’t name. Concern? Pride? Both? He doesn’t speak. Just studies me—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.
“The Council is convened,” he says, voice low, official. “On this day, a new threat has been detected. Scrying mirrors have captured a disturbance in the northern ley lines—unnatural, pulsing with a frequency that matches no known magic. The source is moving. Fast. And it’s headed toward the Aerie.”
A murmur ripples through the chamber.
Not outrage. Not denial.
But tension.
Because they know.
They’ve seen the war. They’ve felt the bond. They’ve witnessed the claiming.
And now?
Now they are being asked to prepare.
“It could be a rogue hybrid,” a witch says, rising, her hands glowing. “One we haven’t reached yet. One who still believes in the old ways.”
“Or a remnant of Cassian’s blood magic,” a vampire adds. “He had allies we never found.”
“Or,” a fae noble says, his silver eyes too much like mine, “it could be a trap. A distraction. While something else moves in the shadows.”
I don’t speak.
Just press my palm flat against the bond sigil.
Because I know what it is.
It’s not a rogue. Not a remnant. Not a trap.
It’s her.
The woman from the vision.
And she’s coming for Kaelen.
—
Later, in the war room—now the peace room, though no one says it out loud—I stand at the window, my back to the city, my storm-colored eyes scanning the Aerie. The shift is already happening. The old guards are being replaced. The wards are being rewritten. The records are being unsealed. And the Veil?
It’s being dismantled.
Not destroyed.
But repurposed.
Into a sanctuary. A school. A place where hybrids can learn, grow, live without fear.
Kaelen stands behind me, his hands sliding around my waist, his chin resting on my shoulder. “You’re quiet,” he says, voice rough. “Something’s wrong.”
I don’t turn.
Just lean into him, my body warm, steady, alive. “Just thinking,” I say. “About the future. About what comes next.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just holds me tighter.
And I don’t tell him.
Not about the vision. Not about the woman. Not about the way his fingers trembled when he touched her.
Because some truths—
Some memories—
Are not mine to reveal.
And some secrets—
Are not mine to keep.
But this one?
This one, I’ll carry alone.
For now.
—
That night, we don’t go back to the chambers.
Not yet.
Instead, I go to the Sanctum.
Alone.
The memory crystals float, silent. The air hums with it—thick with ozone and new magic, the wards pulsing in steady, rhythmic waves. I press my palm to the stone, channeling a thread of my magic—not storm, not fire, but protection. A shield. A ward. A promise.
“If you’re coming,” I whisper, “you’ll have to go through me.”
And then—
I do something I’ve never done.
I seal the crystal.
Not with stone. Not with magic.
But with blood.
My fingertip presses into the black stone, just enough to draw a bead of crimson. And the runes flare—white-hot, electric—lightning crackling across the floor, the air thick with ozone, the very walls trembling as the chamber remembers.
And then—
It’s gone.
The crystal vanishes—swallowed by the stone, hidden, protected.
And I don’t tell him.
Not yet.
Because some battles—
Are not fought with blades.
Some truths—
Are not spoken aloud.
And some secrets—
Are kept not to hide.
But to heal.
—
When I return to the chambers, Kaelen is waiting.
Standing at the window, his back to me, his storm-dark hair falling over broad shoulders, his body a map of scars and strength. The early light filters through the dome above, casting silver patterns across the floor, glinting off the bond sigil on his chest. He doesn’t turn. Doesn’t speak. Just watches the city below—its spires rising like bones from the earth, its wards pulsing in steady, rhythmic waves.
I don’t ask what he’s thinking.
I already know.
Power. Responsibility. The weight of a thousand eyes. The ghosts of those who died in the war. The ones who died before it. The ones who are still dying in the shadows, in the corners of the world we haven’t reached yet.
And me.
Always me.
I slide closer, my bare legs brushing his, my hand resting on the small of his back. He tenses—just for a second—then exhales, long and slow, like he’s been holding his breath for years.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” he says, voice rough.
“Neither are you,” I reply, pressing my palm flat against his spine. “But here we are.”
He turns.
His gold eyes burn in the dim light, narrow, slitted, the wolf close. But not angry. Not afraid. Just… seeing me. Really seeing me. Not the assassin. Not the avenger. Not the weapon. Not even the queen.
Just me.
“You’re hiding something,” he says, voice low.
I don’t flinch.
Just tilt my chin up, my storm-colored eyes locking on his. “So are you.”
He doesn’t smile.
Just cups my face, his thumb brushing my lip. “You’re not just my mate,” he says, voice rough. “You’re my queen.”
And this time, I don’t just believe it.
I am it.
—
The first lie I ever told him was that I came to kill him.
The first truth I ever gave him was that I chose him.
And the first secret I ever kept?
It’s not to destroy him.
It’s to save him.
From her.
From himself.
From the past.
And when the time comes—
When the ley lines crackle and the sky splits and she steps out of the shadows—
I’ll be ready.
Because some battles aren’t fought with fire.
Some wars aren’t won with blood.
And some loves?
Are protected not by truth—
But by silence.