The dreams don’t stop.
They come like tides—relentless, rising, pulling me under. Not just the one with the moonbloom and the child’s voice, but others. Fragments. Echoes. A woman with storm-colored eyes screaming in a courtroom. A blade at my throat. A hand—mine—reaching out, too late. And always, beneath it all, the pull. The hunger. The quiet, desperate need for *her*.
Torrent.
I wake before dawn, drenched in sweat, my wolf snarling in my chest, the bond thrumming like a live wire. My hand flies to the sigil on my chest—black thorns and claws, still tender, still burning. It pulses in time with my heartbeat, a constant reminder of the woman sleeping ten paces away. The woman who came to kill me. The woman who kissed me like she wanted to devour me. The woman whose voice now haunts my dreams like a prayer I don’t deserve.
I don’t move. I lie in the dark, listening. The Aerie creaks softly around me, shifting in the wind. The fire in the hearth has burned to embers. No sound from her room. No spike in magic. Just silence. And the bond—warm, steady, alive.
I press my palm flat against the mark, fingers pressing into the tender skin. I can feel her—her breath, her pulse, the quiet hum of her magic beneath her skin. She’s dreaming. Not of fire. Not of blood. But of *him*.
Cassian.
His name slithers through the bond like poison. I don’t know how I know. I just do. The way her breath hitches. The way her magic coils tight. The way her heart stutters—just once—when his face appears in her mind.
And then—
She thinks of the ring.
The one I gave her. The one with his sigil. The one that means she might be his daughter.
My jaw clenches. I should have told her. Not just about the vote. Not just about Cassian framing me. But about *this*. About the way he looked at her the first time she walked into the Chamber. The way his voice echoed when he spoke her name. The way he *knew* her.
And I knew he knew.
But I stayed silent.
Because the truth would have destroyed her.
And now it might destroy us.
I sit up, boots thudding on the slate floor. I don’t bother with a shirt. The scars across my torso are familiar, etched into my skin like a map of every war I’ve fought, every betrayal I’ve survived. Silver burns. Claw marks. Bullet wounds. The legacy of two centuries as High Alpha. I run a hand over them—rough, calloused fingers tracing the ridges and valleys—and for the first time in years, I wonder if they’re not just marks of survival.
Maybe they’re warnings.
Knock.
I freeze.
The door to her room creaks open.
She’s there.
Standing in the threshold, barefoot, wearing the storm-gray chemise from yesterday, her hair loose around her shoulders, her eyes wide, dark with sleep and something else—something raw, unguarded.
She doesn’t speak.
Just stares at me.
At my chest.
At the scars.
I don’t move. Don’t cover them. Let her look. Let her see what she’s bound to. Let her see the monster beneath the mask.
And then—
She steps forward.
Not fast. Not hesitant. Just… deliberate. Like she’s walking into a storm she can’t escape.
“You’re awake,” she says, voice low.
“So are you.”
She stops a few feet away, her gaze still on my chest. Her breath hitches—just once—but she doesn’t look away.
“I heard you,” she says. “In the dream. You were calling my name.”
My blood runs cold.
“You shouldn’t have been able to hear that.”
“The bond,” she whispers. “It’s not just pain. It’s… connection. I felt you. Your fear. Your guilt. Your *need*.”
I don’t answer.
Because she’s right.
And I can’t lie to her. Not about this.
“I dream of you,” I admit, voice rough. “Not just the kiss. Not just the bond. But… before. A garden. Moonbloom. A child’s voice calling *Papa*.”
Her eyes widen.
“You remember that?”
“I don’t know if I remember. Or if it’s just my wolf, howling for what it lost.”
She takes another step. Closer. Close enough that I can smell her—storm and salt and heat. Close enough that the bond hums between us, a live wire, a tether, a curse.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asks. “About the vote. About Cassian. About *this*?”
“Would you have believed me?”
“I might have.”
“Or you might have slit my throat in my sleep.”
She doesn’t deny it.
Just stares at me, her storm-colored eyes searching mine. And then—
Her hand rises.
Not to strike. Not to push.
But to *touch*.
Her fingers hover just above the worst of the scars—a jagged silver burn across my ribs, the mark of a traitorous Beta who tried to take my pack. Her breath hitches. Her pupils dilate. And then—
She touches me.
Just once. Just a fingertip, brushing the edge of the scar.
Fire.
It lances through me—sharp, electric, *primal*. My wolf snarls, not in warning, but in *recognition*. My breath catches. My muscles tense. My cock thickens, hard and sudden, against the fabric of my trousers.
And then—
She flinches.
Like she felt it too.
Like the bond just pulsed with the same raw, unspoken truth: *we know each other. We’ve always known.*
“You’re not the only one who’s bled for this Council,” I say, voice low, rough. “But you’re the only one who’s stupid enough to think revenge will fill the hole it left.”
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t pull her hand back. Just keeps her fingertip on my skin, her breath coming fast, her eyes locked on mine.
“You think I don’t know that?” she whispers. “I *do*. I’ve spent my life chasing a ghost. Trying to make someone pay for what I lost. But now—” her voice breaks—“now I don’t even know who the enemy is.”
“Maybe there isn’t one.”
“Maybe there’s just *us*.”
The words hang between us, sharp as glass.
And then—
I catch her wrist.
Not to stop her. Not to push her away.
But to *pull* her closer.
She stumbles into me, her body pressing against mine, her breath hot against my neck. The bond burns—white-hot, electric. Her heart hammers against my chest. My hands slide to her waist, holding her there, not letting her go.
“You want to know why I wear my pain like armor?” I ask, my voice a growl. “Because it’s the only thing that keeps me from breaking. From feeling. From *wanting*.”
“And do you?” she whispers. “Want me?”
I don’t answer.
Because the truth is written in every line of my body—in the way my cock strains against my trousers, in the way my wolf howls for her, in the way my hands tremble as they slide up her back, into her hair.
And then—
I kiss her.
Not like last time—desperate, violent, a collision of teeth and fury.
This is slower. Deeper. A claiming. My lips move over hers, soft at first, then harder, demanding. Her moan vibrates against my mouth, her body arching into mine, her hands clutching my shoulders, her fingers digging into the scars on my back.
The bond flares—white-hot, electric. Our pulses sync. Our breaths tangle. The world narrows 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.
—
We don’t speak as she pulls away.
She doesn’t run. Doesn’t retreat to her room. Just walks to the hearth, her steps slow, deliberate, her arms wrapped around herself like she’s trying to hold the pieces together.
I don’t follow.
Just watch her.
Watch the way the firelight dances across her skin. Watch the way her fingers brush the bond sigil on her chest. Watch the way her breath hitches—just once—when she thinks I’m not looking.
“You’re not like them,” she says, voice low. “The others. The Council. They wear their power like armor. You wear your pain.”
“It’s the same thing.”
“No.” She turns to face me. “They hide behind titles. You hide behind scars. But they’re both just… walls.”
“Walls keep people out.”
“Or keep you in.”
I don’t answer.
Because she’s right.
And I don’t know how to tear them down.
“Why did you become High Alpha?” she asks.
“Because no one else could.”
“That’s not an answer.”
I exhale through my nose. “Because I was strong enough. Because I won the challenge. Because the pack needed a leader.”
“And what about *you*? What did *you* need?”
I go still.
Because no one has ever asked me that.
Not in two hundred years.
“I needed to survive,” I say quietly. “To protect what was mine. To keep the peace.”
“And did it work?”
“For a while.”
“And now?”
I look at her. “Now I’m bound to a woman who wants me dead. Now the Council is fracturing. Now Cassian is moving in the shadows, and I don’t know if I can stop him.”
“But you’re trying.”
“Because it’s my duty.”
“Or because you care?”
I don’t answer.
Because the truth is written in every line of my body—in the way my wolf howls for her, in the way my hands tremble when she’s near, in the way my heart *aches* when she looks at me like she sees the man beneath the monster.
And then—
She steps forward.
Closer.
Until we’re standing toe to toe, her storm-colored eyes locked on mine.
“You don’t have to be untouchable,” she whispers. “You don’t have to be the High Alpha all the time. You can just… be *you*.”
“And who is that?”
“I don’t know yet.” Her hand rises, fingers brushing the bond sigil on my chest. “But I want to find out.”
The air between us crackles.
And then—
I pull her into my arms.
Not to kiss her. Not to claim her.
Just to *hold* her.
Her body molds against mine, her head resting on my chest, her breath warm against my skin. The bond hums—steady, warm, alive. I close my eyes, breathing her in—storm and salt and heat. My hands slide up her back, into her hair, holding her there, not letting go.
And for the first time in two centuries—
I don’t feel alone.
—
Later, we stand at the window, side by side, watching the sun rise over the Swiss Alps. The Aerie floats above the peaks, cloaked in illusion, hidden from human eyes. Below, the snow glows gold in the dawn light. Peaceful. Ordered. The world I’ve spent centuries building.
And she’s here to burn it down.
But not today.
Today, she stands beside me. Not as an enemy. Not as a prisoner.
But as something else.
Something I can’t name.
“We have to face the Council,” I say. “Cassian won’t stop. He’ll keep coming. And the next time, he might not give you a chance to speak.”
“Then we stop him first.”
“How?”
She turns to me, her storm-colored eyes blazing. “By using what he gave us.”
“The ring?”
“And the truth.” She touches the bond sigil on her chest. “He thinks he can control the narrative. But we have the bond. We have the memories. We have *this*.”
“And if he *is* your father?”
She doesn’t flinch. “Then he’s not just the villain. He’s the liar. And I’ll make him pay for both.”
I study her—her sharp jaw, her defiant eyes, the fire in her blood. And for the first time, I see it.
Not just the avenger.
Not just the assassin.
But the queen.
Strong. Fierce. Unbreakable.
And she’s mine.
“You’re not just my mate,” I say, voice low. “You’re my *storm*.”
She doesn’t smile.
Just looks at me—like she sees the truth in my eyes.
And then—
She reaches for my hand.
Not to fight.
Not to run.
But to *stay*.
And I take it.
Because for the first time in two hundred years—
I don’t want to be the monster.
I want to be hers.