The kiss lingers like a brand.
Not on my lips—though they still burn, swollen and sensitive, aching with the ghost of his mouth—but deeper. In my blood. In the bond. In the quiet, traitorous part of me that hasn’t stopped trembling since he pulled away.
I sit on the edge of the bed in Kaelen’s chambers, my wrists still faintly sore from the silver manacles, my skin too tight, my thoughts a storm I can’t control. The interrogation was supposed to break me. It was supposed to remind me who I am, who he is, why I’m here.
But instead, it cracked something open.
Because he *didn’t* sign the decree.
I saw it in the Soul Mirror. Felt it in the way his hand twitched, just once, as if to reach for my mother. And I felt it in the way he froze when I said it aloud—like I’d torn open a wound he’d spent years sealing shut.
He tried to save her.
And the world thinks he killed her.
The irony is a knife to the gut. I came here to make him suffer for her death. But the man who condemned her wasn’t Kaelen.
It was someone else.
And I know who.
Cassian.
The name slithers through my mind like poison. Lord Cassian, Seelie noble, Councilor, voice of “order.” The one who smiled when the bond ignited. The one who called me *little storm* like it was a curse. The one who stood in the Chamber yesterday and pushed the Hybrid Containment Act like he was doing the world a favor.
He knows.
He knows I’m not just a rogue hybrid. He knows I’m here for revenge. And he’s watching. Waiting. Testing.
And now, because of that kiss—because of what I said, because of what *he* said—I feel exposed. Raw. Like I’ve stepped out of the shadows and into the light, and everyone can see the cracks.
A knock at the door.
I don’t answer.
It opens anyway.
Kaelen steps in, his presence filling the room like smoke. He’s changed—black trousers, iron-gray shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, the bond sigil visible just above his collar. His face is unreadable, but I feel him—through the bond, through the air, through the way my pulse stutters when he looks at me.
He doesn’t speak. Just stands there, watching me.
“You going to say something?” I finally ask, my voice rough.
“You kissed me.”
“You kissed me back.”
He exhales through his nose, a low, controlled sound. “That wasn’t a kiss. That was a weapon.”
“Everything I do is a weapon.”
“Not that.” His voice drops. “That was *truth*.”
I look away. Because he’s right. And I hate it.
“We have a problem,” he says.
“We have a lot of problems.”
“One just got worse.” He steps closer. “Cassian’s demanding a formal hearing. He’s invoking the Purity Edict—claims you’re a tainted-blood spy, a threat to Council integrity. He’s calling for your immediate exile.”
My blood runs cold.
Exile.
Not just banishment. Not just being thrown out of the Aerie.
Exile means the Veil.
They’d take my magic. My memories. My name. They’d turn me into nothing.
“He can’t do that,” I say, standing. “The bond protects me. I’m fated. Neutral ground.”
“The bond doesn’t protect you from treason charges,” he says. “And Cassian has ‘evidence.’”
“Fabricated.”
“Probably. But the Council will hear him. And if they believe him—”
“They won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know *him*,” I snap. “I’ve seen his voice in my mother’s nightmares. I’ve felt his magic—it echoes, like a lie repeated too many times. He’s afraid of me. That’s why he’s doing this.”
Kaelen studies me, his gold eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Because I’m not supposed to be here. Because I’m not supposed to *remember*.”
He doesn’t ask what I mean. Doesn’t push. Just nods once. “You’ll stand with me. In the Chamber. You’ll answer his accusations. And you’ll do it without magic.”
“No spells?”
“None. The Chamber is warded. Any use of magic during a Council hearing is grounds for immediate execution. You speak. You defend yourself. And you do it *clean*.”
I glare at him. “You think I can’t?”
“I think you’re reckless. Emotional. And right now, Cassian holds the floor.” He steps closer, his voice low. “So for once, Torrent, *think*. Use your mind, not your magic. Because if you fail, you’re not just dying. You’re going to the Veil.”
My stomach twists.
But I don’t look away.
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll play your game. But when this is over, you’re going to tell me everything. About the vote. About my mother. About *him*.”
He doesn’t answer.
Just turns and walks out.
—
The Council Chamber is colder today.
Not in temperature—the hearths burn low, the air thick with the scent of pine and iron—but in tone. The twelve thrones are filled, the advisors silent, the guards rigid. The air hums with tension, the weight of accusation pressing down like a storm front.
I stand at the center of the ring, ten paces from Kaelen, who sits in the High Alpha’s throne, his posture straight, his face a mask of ice. To my left, Cassian rises from his seat, his silver robes shimmering, his smile sharp as a blade.
“My fellow Councilors,” he begins, voice smooth, carrying. “We gather today not in unity, but in crisis. For weeks, a spy has walked among us. A hybrid of tainted blood, posing as a neutral envoy, manipulating records, inciting rebellion, and now—” his eyes flick to me, cold, triumphant—“*bonding* with our High Alpha through unnatural means.”
Murmurs ripple through the Chamber.
“Torrent of the Hollow Moon Coven,” he continues, “claims to be fated to Kaelen Dain. But the bond—ignited in violence, in assassination—reeks of deception. And now, evidence has come to light.”
He raises a hand.
A scroll appears, carried by a silent attendant. Cassian takes it, unfurls it slowly, dramatically.
“Records from the Dresden outpost,” he says. “Proof that Torrent was seen coordinating with known hybrid insurgents. Communications. Maps. Orders. All bearing her sigil.”
My breath catches.
It’s forged. Of course it is. But it’s *good*. The parchment looks ancient, the ink faded, the sigil—my mother’s, twisted into mine—drawn with precision. Anyone who doesn’t know would believe it.
“She is not a diplomat,” Cassian declares. “She is a saboteur. A threat. And by the Purity Edict, Section Three, I call for her immediate exile to the Veil.”
Gasps. Whispers. A few Councilors nod.
My heart hammers.
I can’t use magic. I can’t alter the records. I can’t fight.
But I can *speak*.
I step forward, my voice cutting through the noise.
“You’re lying.”
Cassian smiles. “Prove it.”
“You want proof?” I say, turning to the Chamber. “Then let’s talk about *your* records. About the Dresden fire. About the ‘insurgents’ who supposedly burned it down. Funny thing—when I investigated, I found Council sigils at the scene. *Yours*, Lord Cassian. And the so-called ‘orders’?” I gesture to the scroll. “That’s not my sigil. That’s my *mother’s*—altered. Stolen. Just like her life was stolen when you forged Kaelen’s vote and sent her to the Veil.”
The Chamber erupts.
Cassian’s smile doesn’t waver. “Baseless accusations. You have no proof.”
“I don’t need proof,” I say, stepping closer. “I need *logic*. You claim I’m a spy. But if I were, why would I bond with the High Alpha? Why would I risk exposure? Why would I stand here, unarmed, and challenge you?”
“Pride,” he says. “Recklessness. The arrogance of the tainted.”
“Or maybe,” I say, voice dropping, “I’m not the one who’s lying.”
I turn to the Council.
“You all know the rules. Fae bargains are bound by *words*. A promise spoken is a vow etched in magic. So let’s make one.” I lock eyes with Cassian. “Swear on your bloodline, Lord Cassian. Swear that every word you’ve spoken today is true. Swear it, and I’ll walk into the Veil without a fight.”
He doesn’t move.
The Chamber holds its breath.
Because he knows. We all know.
A bloodline oath can’t be broken. Not without consequence. Not without *truth*.
And he’s not going to swear.
Because he’s lying.
“You dare challenge me?” he hisses.
“I dare *you*,” I say. “Swear it. Or admit you’re afraid of the truth.”
He stares at me, his eyes black with fury. And then—
He laughs.
Soft. Cold. Like ice cracking.
“You’re clever, little storm,” he says. “I’ll give you that. But cleverness won’t save you. The Council will decide your fate.”
He turns to the others. “All in favor of exile?”
Hands rise—three. Four. Five. Not enough.
“Opposed?”
Kaelen’s hand lifts. Then the witch Councilor. The young werewolf Beta. And one more—a vampire elder I didn’t expect.
Six. Six to five.
I’m safe.
For now.
Cassian’s face darkens. But he bows his head. “The vote stands. Torrent remains… for now.”
He turns to leave.
And then—
He stops.
Looks back at me.
And whispers, just loud enough for me to hear:
“You don’t even know whose blood you carry, little storm.”
And then he’s gone.
—
I don’t speak on the way back.
Kaelen doesn’t either. The bond hums between us, quiet, strained. I can feel his tension, his focus, the way his wolf is coiled tight beneath his skin. He’s thinking. Planning. Protecting.
But not from me.
From *him*.
When we reach his chambers, I turn on him.
“You knew.”
He doesn’t pretend. “I suspected.”
“About the vote. About my mother. About Cassian framing you.”
He nods once.
“And you didn’t tell me.”
“Would you have believed me?”
“I might have.”
“Or you might have killed me anyway.”
I stare at him. Because he’s right.
And that terrifies me.
“Why didn’t you fight it?” I ask. “Why let the world think you were the monster?”
“Because the Council needed a villain,” he says quietly. “Someone to fear. Someone to obey. If they thought I was weak—if they thought I could be *framed*—they’d have torn each other apart. War would have followed. And your mother…” He closes his eyes. “She’d have died in the chaos anyway.”
My breath catches.
He did it to protect her. Even in death, he shielded her from the truth.
“You tried to save her,” I whisper.
He opens his eyes. “I failed.”
And for the first time, I see it—the guilt. The grief. The weight of two centuries of control, of silence, of pretending he didn’t care.
He cared.
And he’s been paying for it ever since.
I step closer. “Cassian knows who I am.”
“He knows you’re a threat.”
“No. He knows *more*.” I touch the bond sigil on my chest. “He said I don’t know whose blood I carry. What does that mean?”
Kaelen goes still.
And then—
He reaches into his pocket.
Hands me a ring.
Silver. Ancient. And on the band—a sigil.
The same one from the forged decree.
The same one Cassian wore today.
“I found this,” he says, “in your mother’s cell. After they took her. It wasn’t hers.”
My hands tremble.
Because I recognize it.
Not from the decree.
From my dreams.
From the night they came for us.
From the hand that reached through the fire.
And suddenly, the truth hits me like a blade.
Cassian wasn’t just the one who framed Kaelen.
He was the one who *took* her.
And if he knew her…
If he left his ring behind…
Then maybe—
Maybe he’s not just the villain.
Maybe he’s my *father*.
The thought drops like a stone.
And the world tilts.
I look up at Kaelen, my breath coming fast.
“We’re not done,” I say, voice shaking. “This isn’t over.”
He nods. “No. It’s just beginning.”
And for the first time, I don’t know if I’m here to burn the Council to ashes.
Or to burn the man who gave me his blood.