The dream doesn’t leave me.
It clings like smoke—faint, insistent, impossible to shake. Torrent, not with a knife at my throat, not pinned against the wall with her heat spiking and her scent flooding my chambers, but *laughing*. Sunlight in her storm-gray hair, her bare feet in damp earth, her hands stained with soil as she pulls a moonbloom from the ground like it’s a secret only she knows. A child’s voice—hers, young, bright—calls, *“Papa, look!”*
And then I wake.
My hand flies to my chest, pressing hard against the fated bond sigil. It pulses, warm and low, like a second heartbeat. I’m in my bed, fully clothed, boots still on. I don’t remember lying down. Don’t remember closing my eyes. Only the dream. Only her.
Only the word.
Papa.
It wasn’t me. It couldn’t have been. I’ve never had a child. Never allowed myself the weakness of love, of family. The High Alpha doesn’t get to be a father. He gets to be a weapon. A shield. A wall between chaos and order.
And yet.
The dream felt like memory.
I sit up, boots thudding on the slate floor. The fire in the hearth has burned to embers. Dawn hasn’t broken yet—the Aerie still wrapped in the deep blue hush before sunrise. My chambers are silent. No movement from her room. No spike in magic. No anger.
But I feel her.
Always.
The bond hums between us, a live wire beneath my skin. I can sense her now—sleeping, yes, but restless. Tossing. Dreaming. And beneath it, the faint, metallic tang of fear. Not of me. Of the past. Of what she saw in the Soul Mirror.
What we saw.
Her mother. Chained. Begging. And me—cold, detached, signing the decree that sent her to the Veil.
I wasn’t detached.
That’s the lie I’ve lived with for seventeen years.
I *voted* to spare her. Raised my hand in the chamber, argued for clemency, for exile, for anything but the Veil. But Cassian outmaneuvered me. The vote was tied. And when the final tally was read, my name was on the decree—my signature forged, my voice silenced.
I couldn’t prove it.
And I couldn’t admit weakness.
So I let the world believe I was the monster.
And now she hates me for it.
And I let her.
Because it’s safer that way.
If she thinks I’m the enemy, she won’t see the truth.
That I’ve already failed her once.
That I don’t deserve her.
That my wolf has known her since the first breath in her lungs.
I stand, stripping off my jacket, rolling up my sleeves. The weight of the night presses down—the dream, the guilt, the bond, the way her magic flickered in the Chamber yesterday, the way she *changed* my vote without blinking. She’s dangerous. Clever. Unpredictable.
And she’s mine.
The thought hits like a punch.
Not because the bond says so.
But because my soul does.
I clench my jaw. I will not be ruled by instinct. I will not be broken by a woman who came here to kill me.
But I need answers.
And the only way to get them is to break her first.
—
She’s awake when I open the door to her room.
Not sitting up. Not startled. Just lying there, eyes open, staring at the ceiling, her body still beneath the thin sheet. Her hair spills across the pillow like stormclouds. Her breathing is slow, controlled. But I feel it—the tension in her, the way her magic coils tight beneath her skin, ready.
She knew I was coming.
“Get up,” I say.
She doesn’t move. “Why? Another Unity Trial? Or are you finally going to admit you’re the reason my mother’s soul is rotting in the Veil?”
“Out. Now.”
She sighs, sits up slowly, the sheet slipping to her waist. She’s wearing a thin chemise, the fabric clinging to her curves, the neckline dipping just low enough to show the top of the bond sigil—black thorns and claws, glowing faintly over her heart. My mark. Our curse.
And yet.
My wolf growls low in my chest. Not in warning.
In recognition.
She stands, stretches, like she has all the time in the world. “If this is about yesterday,” she says, pulling on the storm-gray dress from the wardrobe, “I don’t regret it. The records were wrong. I fixed them.”
“You altered Council history,” I correct, stepping closer. “That’s a capital offense. You could be executed.”
She turns, eyes blazing. “And you could have stopped me. But you didn’t. Why?”
“Maybe I wanted to see what else you’re capable of.”
She laughs—short, sharp. “Careful, Kaelen. You might start to like me.”
“I don’t like threats.”
“Then stop making me one.”
I close the distance between us in one step, backing her against the wall, my hands braced on either side of her head. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away. Her breath hitches—just once—but her eyes stay locked on mine.
“You think this is a game?” I growl. “You think because we’re bound, you can manipulate the Council, rewrite the law, and walk away?”
“I think,” she says, voice low, “that you’re afraid of what I’ll expose. Of what I’ll *remember*.”
My jaw tightens. “You don’t know anything.”
“Don’t I?” Her hand rises, fingers brushing the bond sigil on her chest. “It’s not just magic, is it? It’s *memory*. And somewhere in that trial, our souls have already met.”
I freeze.
Because she’s right.
And I can’t let her see it.
“Enough,” I snap, grabbing her wrist, pulling her away from the wall. “You’re coming with me.”
“Where?”
“To be interrogated.”
Her eyes narrow. “You can’t interrogate your *mate*.”
“I’m not interrogating my mate,” I say, dragging her toward the door. “I’m interrogating a Council spy.”
—
The interrogation chamber is deep in the Aerie’s underbelly—stone walls, iron door, no windows. A single table bolted to the floor. Two chairs. No magic. No weapons. Just silence and steel.
I shove her into one of the chairs, cuffing her wrists to the arms with silver-laced manacles. She doesn’t resist. Just watches me, her storm-colored eyes unreadable.
“You think this scares me?” she asks. “I’ve been in worse.”
“Then you’ll feel right at home.”
I sit across from her, leaning back, arms crossed. The bond hums—steady, warm. I can feel her pulse, her breath, the way her magic presses against the wards in the room, testing, probing.
“Why did you alter the records?” I ask.
“Because they were lies.”
“And you’re the keeper of truth?”
“Someone has to be.”
“Or you’re building a narrative. Painting me as the reluctant hero. Why?”
She smiles—slow, dangerous. “Maybe I just wanted you to owe me.”
“I don’t owe you anything.”
“Don’t you?” She leans forward, the chains clinking. “You’re bound to me. You feel my magic. My emotions. My *heat*. You stood outside my door last night, Kaelen. You *whispered my name*. You *dreamed of me*.”
My blood runs cold.
She knows.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, voice flat.
“I know you’re not as cold as you pretend.” Her voice drops. “I know your wolf wants me. I know you’re afraid of what that means. And I know—”
“Shut up.”
“—that you didn’t sign that decree.”
I go still.
Her eyes lock onto mine. “You voted to spare her. But someone forged your signature. Someone *framed* you. And you let the world believe you were the monster.”
My hands clench. “You don’t know that.”
“I *felt* it,” she whispers. “In the Soul Mirror. When your hand moved—just slightly—as if to reach for her. You *tried* to save her.”
The air between us crackles.
I don’t answer.
Because she’s right.
And if she knows that—
Then she knows too much.
“Why are you really here, Torrent?” I ask, shifting tactics. “Not to kill me. Not to expose the Council. *Why?*”
She laughs—bitter, broken. “You still don’t get it, do you? I came here to bury you in your own lies. But the truth?” She leans closer. “The truth is worse. Because now I don’t know if I want to kill you… or *save* you.”
My breath catches.
And then—
I snap.
I surge forward, knocking the table aside, grabbing her by the shoulders, pinning her to the back of the chair. The chains rattle. Her breath hitches. Her eyes widen—not in fear, but in challenge.
“You don’t get to say that,” I snarl, my face inches from hers. “You don’t get to look at me like you *understand* me. You don’t get to crawl into my head and rewrite my past.”
“But I already have,” she whispers.
And then—
She kisses me.
Not soft. Not hesitant.
Hard. Desperate. A collision of teeth and tongue and fury. Her lips are fire against mine, her breath hot, her magic surging through the bond like a lightning strike. I freeze—shocked, overwhelmed, *consumed*.
And then I kiss her back.
My hands slide to her face, fingers tangling in her hair, pulling her closer, deeper. Her moan vibrates against my mouth, her body arching into mine despite the chains. The bond burns—white-hot, electric—our pulses syncing, our breaths tangling, the world narrowing to the taste of her, the feel of her, the *need*.
And then—
I stop.
I pull back, breathing hard, my forehead pressed to hers. Her lips are swollen, her eyes dazed, her chest rising and falling fast.
“You want me dead,” she says, voice trembling.
“I want you *bound*,” I growl. “Either way, you’re not leaving.”
She doesn’t answer.
Just stares at me—like she’s seeing me for the first time.
Like she’s realizing—
That the monster she came to kill
might already be in love with her.