Chapter 11

POV: Eve

The halls were quiet, but my thoughts weren’t.

Every step I took echoed with too many questions—about her, about Theron, about everything that was unraveling so quickly around us. The witches were supposed to be gone. Defeated. Buried.

But somehow, they had survived. Hid. Regrouped.

And they had taken her.

I reached the door to our shared office, fingers curling around the handle like I needed to hold something steady for just one breath.

Inside, Caelum sat behind the desk, head bent over parchment, candlelight dancing across his sharp features, a glass of whisky at his side. His brows were drawn together in concentration, his jaw tight. He looked powerful there—strong and dangerous and impossibly calm.

But I knew him.

I knew that tension meant he was just as torn up as I was.

I stepped in.

He looked up immediately, and the moment our eyes met, I saw it—the flicker of something soft behind all that steel.

“Hey,” he said, setting the quill down.

“What are you writing?” I asked, even though I already knew.

“To the Council,” he said. “They’ll need to be informed. About the girl. The runes. The magic.” He paused. “The witches.”

I moved around the desk, and without a word, he shifted in his chair and opened his arms. I sank into his lap like I belonged there—because I did. My legs draped across his, one arm looping around his neck as his hands slid over my waist.

“You’re tense,” he murmured against my skin, kissing the curve of my shoulder.

“So are you.”

I tilted my face toward him and kissed him—soft, lingering. There was no urgency in it. Just heat and worry, all tangled into one long exhale. He tasted like whisky and something darker—like every storm we’d ever weathered together.

When we pulled apart, his hand rested over my heart. “You’re scared.”

“Yes.” I didn’t pretend otherwise. “She’s his mate.”

“I know.”

“But she’s… an outsider. We don’t know what she’s capable of. We don’t even know if she’s safe to keep here.”

“She’s broken,” Caelum said. “But she’s not a threat. Not to him.”

“I’m more worried she’ll be a threat to herself.”

Before he could respond, the door opened.

Gavriel stepped in, and the moment his eyes found mine, the ache in my chest bloomed. He didn’t speak—not at first. He simply crossed the room with that slow, effortless grace that always made my heart stutter, and came to stand behind me, leaning against the desk like he belonged there. Like we belonged.

His hands settled on my shoulders, grounding, warm. I tilted my head back to meet his gaze.

“Theron kissed her,” he said quietly, but the weight in his voice was heavy. “You felt it, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” I breathed. “Like something… locked into place.”

“I still don’t trust her,” Caelum said, making my gaze shift.

“Neither do I,” Gavriel answered without hesitation. “But I trust him.”

The silence that followed was sharp. Knowing.

I reached for Gavriel’s hand, squeezing it. “Do you think the witches are coming back?”

He nodded. “I think they never left. They’ve just been waiting. Watching. And now…” His eyes met mine. “They’ve sent a message.”

“Through her.”

“Exactly.”

Caelum’s hand slid lower on my waist, his touch sure and familiar. Gavriel’s fingers brushed the bare skin of my shoulder where my robe had slipped, and the contact sparked heat down my spine. I leaned into him instinctively, turned, and pressed a kiss to Caelum’s jaw.

“I hate this,” I whispered. “The fear. The waiting.”

“You’re not alone in it,” Gavriel murmured against my ear, his lips brushing the skin there like a secret. “We’ve faced worse. And we’re still here.”

Caelum’s hand slid down to my thigh, spreading heat like a promise. “And we’re not going anywhere.”

I tilted my head, caught between them, soaking in the warmth of their bodies. Gavriel leaned down and kissed me—slowly, reverently—like he had all the time in the world to remind me who I belonged to. My lips parted, and he took advantage, deepening it until I melted into him.

I shifted into Caelum’s lap. His body tensed beneath me, his cock already hard and pressing against me through his pants. The ache inside me sharpened, demanding.

“I need this,” I whispered, voice shaking.

Caelum’s mouth brushed the curve of my neck. “Then take it.”

“Always,” Gavriel echoed, kissing the other side of my throat.

Their hands began to move over me—one rough and calloused, the other precise and smooth. My robe slipped further, baring my skin to the cool air and to them.

And just like that, the fear began to melt away—washed in the fire of something far stronger.

Us.

Caelum’s lips trailed down my throat as his hand slid beneath my robe, gripping my thigh and guiding me open. Gavriel’s hand found my waist again, anchoring me as his lips chased heat up my collarbone.

“I want you to stop thinking,” Gavriel whispered against my skin.

“Can’t,” I said, shivering as Caelum nipped the soft spot behind my ear. “There’s too much—”

“Then let us take care of it,” Caelum growled, his voice hot and rough.

The robe slipped fully from my shoulders, pooling at my waist. Their hands didn’t rush. They knew me. They took their time.

Gavriel’s hand cupped my breast, his thumb circling my nipple until it peaked. I gasped, arching into him, and Caelum’s mouth followed the sound, kissing down my chest.

“You’re always so sensitive,” Gavriel said, smiling against my throat.

“That’s because you know exactly how to ruin me,” I whispered, breathless.

Caelum chuckled low. “We haven’t even started.”

He lifted me just enough to lay me across the desk. Parchment and maps scattered to the floor like forgotten worries. Gavriel stepped between my legs, Caelum pressed in behind me—his chest to my back, his hands and mouth everywhere.

They knew every inch of me.

And tonight, they worshipped every piece.

“Tell us what you need,” Gavriel murmured, his lips moving down my stomach, each kiss a vow.

“Say it, love,” Caelum echoed.

“I need you,” I gasped. “Both of you.”

Caelum hummed approval as his mouth closed around my nipple again, sucking slow and deep. Gavriel’s tongue traced the inside of my thigh, his breath teasing, wicked. When he finally licked me—just one slow, deliberate stroke of his tongue—I cried out, hips bucking.

His hands spread me wider. His tongue moved with slow precision, tasting me like he needed it. My fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close, desperate. His groan vibrated through me.

Behind me, Caelum kept worshipping my breasts, the twin waves of pleasure crashing together until I was shaking.

“Fuck,” I whispered. “I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” Caelum said, voice dark and reverent. “We’ve got you, queen.”

Gavriel slipped two fingers inside me, curling them just right, just perfectly as his tongue circled my clit.

I shattered.

Pleasure exploded, ripped through me, burned me alive and then soothed the flames. My body convulsed, a cry torn from my throat.

But they weren’t done.

Caelum turned me gently, laying me over the desk, my ass lifted toward him. His cock pressed against my entrance, hot and thick. I gasped as he slid in—deep, slow, a claiming that stole my breath.

“Fuck, Eve,” he groaned, his voice breaking. “You feel like home.”

I held onto him as Gavriel moved to stand before me, his cock hard and heavy, his eyes wild and tender. He kissed me, tasting me on my own lips, then guided himself into my mouth.

I looked up at him, lips parting, tongue flicking over the tip before I took him deep.

Caelum thrust into me from behind, steady and deep, and I moaned around Gavriel’s cock. He hissed, his fingers threading into my hair, guiding my pace.

“Just like that,” Gavriel growled. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

Caelum groaned, his rhythm rougher now. “Ours,” he rasped. “Always ours.”

Pleasure rose again—sharp, unstoppable, divine.

I broke apart a second time, writhing between them, and this time they followed.

Caelum buried himself deep inside me with a strangled moan, spilling into me. Gavriel cursed as he came in my mouth, his breath ragged, his body trembling.

They caught me when I sagged between them, wrapping me up—arms and lips and heat.

Kissing.

Holding.

Loving.

And for a little while… there was no fear.

No prophecy.

No witches.

Just us.

Chapter 12

POV: Theron

After everything we said, after the kiss that still burned on my lips, I thought I should give her space. I was ready to walk her to her room, say goodnight, and pretend my heart wasn’t pounding like I’d just run a battle course barefoot.

But when I reached her door and started to step back, she didn’t let go of my hand.

“Stay,” she said.

I blinked. “You… want me to stay?”

Her gaze was steady, but her voice was soft. “I’ve never slept that way before. Safe. Held. I want that again.”

The knot in my chest tightened.

“Mireya,” I whispered, “I don’t want to rush you. I don’t want you to feel like—”

“I don’t,” she said, interrupting me. “I feel… good. Strong. When you’re close.”

Gods.

That did something to me. Hearing her say that. After everything.

I followed her inside. She didn’t let go of me, not once. The room was dim and quiet, the bed freshly made. She walked over and sat down first, pulling her knees to her chest and watching me with wide, unsure eyes—but not scared.

Not anymore.

I moved slowly, sitting beside her. Close. My thigh brushed hers. Her warmth seeped into my skin.

We didn’t speak.

Not at first.

Then she leaned in again. Pressed her lips to mine.

This time, it wasn’t tentative.

It was heat.

Real and deep and humming under her skin. I responded before I could think—my mouth opening, meeting hers with hunger I’d been holding back since the first time I saw her.

She made a sound in the back of her throat that wrecked me—needy and soft and real. Her hand slid up my chest, fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt like she wanted to feel everything underneath it.

My body reacted immediately—hard and fast, my blood surging to the surface.

I kissed her deeper, groaned into her mouth when she shifted and pressed her chest to mine.

But then—I pulled back.

Barely.

Breathing hard, forehead pressed to hers.

“Fuck,” I whispered. “You’re making it really hard to be good.”

She smiled—small but wicked. “Maybe I don’t want you to be good.”

That broke me. I laughed, breathless, dragging my hands down her sides, feeling the heat between us simmering, rising. She wasn’t just responding—she was burning.

I kissed her again—slow this time, savoring every second. My hands framed her face. Her body leaned into mine like she couldn’t help it. She wasn’t fragile. Not with me. Not now.

Still, I stopped when I felt it going too far. When my hips moved against hers and hers moved right back.

I pulled away just enough to look in her eyes.

“Not yet,” I said. “We’ll get there. But tonight…”

She nodded, already curling into me.

“Tonight, I just want this,” she whispered. “You. Arms around me. No pain.”

I lay back, pulling her with me. She curled against my chest, her thigh draped over mine, her fingers tracing slow lines across my ribs.

I held her close. Her breath slowed. Mine followed.

And gods, even with my body aching for her, it still felt perfect. Her scent. Her warmth. The quiet sound of her finally falling asleep in my arms.

This wasn’t just heat.

It was home.

She was still asleep when I opened my eyes.

Her breath was warm against my chest, her leg tangled with mine, arm draped over my stomach like she belonged there. Like she’d always been there. The early morning light filtered in through the curtains, casting soft gold across her red hair. She looked peaceful—real peace. Not like last night when she clung to it like it might vanish.

I didn’t move.

I didn’t want to move.

My hand brushed lazily up her back, feeling the soft fabric of the nightgown I’d helped her into, the rise and fall of her breath under my palm. Her skin was warm, her body curved against mine like we were made to fit.

And maybe we were.

She stirred.

A soft sigh escaped her lips, and she blinked slowly, her eyes finding mine before the rest of her woke.

“You’re staring,” she mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

“Yeah,” I murmured. “I am.”

Her brow furrowed, but there was no tension in it. “Why?”

“Because you’re beautiful in the morning.”

She huffed a laugh, burying her face into my chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You say that, but you’re still wrapped around me.”

She looked up, that faint smile still pulling at her lips. Her hair was a mess, her eyes heavy with sleep—and I’d never seen anything more perfect.

“I didn’t wake up scared,” she said softly.

My heart clenched.

“That’s a first,” she added.

I cupped her cheek gently. “You’ll never wake up scared again. Not while I’m here.”

She leaned into the touch. And then—she kissed me.

It started soft, but there was a spark underneath it. The slow kind of burn that could melt steel. I pulled her closer, and her thigh slipped higher over my waist, pressing into the very obvious way my body had responded to her.

She noticed.

Smirked.

“You’re hard,” she whispered against my mouth, teasing now.

“Yeah,” I said, breathless. “That tends to happen when you fall asleep with a beautiful woman pressed against you.”

She kissed me again, slower this time. Her lips moved with more certainty, and her hand slid down my chest without hesitation. My hips jerked slightly when her fingers ghosted the edge of my pants.

“Mireya…” My voice was hoarse. Tense. “Are you sure?”

She didn’t stop. Just met my eyes, calm and certain, even as her cheeks flushed.

“I’m not scared right now,” she whispered. “And I don’t want to stop kissing you.”

My heart cracked open at her honesty. At her bravery.

So I didn’t hold back—I couldn’t. My mouth crashed back into hers, all tongue and teeth and aching need.

The kiss deepened fast, like we were both trying to memorize each other. Tongues sliding, teeth grazing, hands exploring. My fingers slipped beneath the hem of her nightgown, found the warm skin of her thigh, and she arched into me, her breath catching when I squeezed.

She straddled me before I could think, sudden and graceful, her knees on either side of my hips. The nightgown bunched around her waist, and all I could see—all I wanted to see—was her.

My hands gripped her thighs, holding her steady, my thumbs dragging slow circles across her skin. She was trembling—but not from fear. From want.

“Still not scared?” I rasped, searching her face for any trace of doubt.

She shook her head, chest rising and falling with shallow, hungry breaths. “Not with you.”

“Good,” I growled, and pulled her down for another kiss—deeper, messier, her lips crashing into mine with a new urgency. Like she was claiming me now.

But even as my body responded—burning, aching—I couldn’t silence the voice in my head.

This is too fast. She’s been through too much. What if I’m pushing her without meaning to?

I was afraid of making things too fast, to hurt her…

“Mireya…” I pulled back slightly, just enough to breathe, to think. “We don’t have to—”

“I know,” she said before I could finish. Her hand rested over my heart, grounding me. “I don’t want to go further. Just this… just being close. Can we stay like this?”

My throat tightened. “Yeah. Gods, yeah.”

She kissed the corner of my mouth and pressed her forehead to mine. “You make me feel… safe.”

My fingers slid up her back, under the nightgown, just holding her to me. “You are safe.”

She didn’t say anything else. Just curled into me, her legs still straddling my lap, her head resting on my shoulder. Her fingers kept tracing slow lines across my chest, and mine never stopped moving on her thighs, as if letting go would break the spell.

She wasn’t fragile.

She was fire.

And she was already mine.

We might’ve stayed like that for hours, maybe even fallen asleep again—but a soft knock at the door jolted us both.

“Breakfast is ready,” a female voice called. “If you’re awake.”

Mireya tensed in my arms. I kissed her temple. “We don’t have to go.”

She sat up slowly, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “We should. I don’t want them to worry.”

I helped her off my lap, and she adjusted her nightgown, cheeks still flushed but her eyes clear. Strong.

I watched her move, something fierce and protective rising in my chest.

I was falling for her.

And I didn’t even care if it was too soon.

Chapter 13

POV: Theron

By the time we made it to the dining hall, the table was already full—bread still steaming, honeyed fruit laid out, roasted meats sliced thick and glistening with herbs. My mother was pouring tea, her eyes cutting toward us the moment we walked in.

She didn’t say a word.

Just smiled.

Gavriel gave me one of those looks—knowing, smug, affectionate. I didn’t rise to the bait.

Caelum, on the other hand, raised a brow. “Late morning.”

“Didn’t sleep much,” I said.

Eve set the teapot down and arched a brow. “Neither did she?”

Mireya flushed, but held her chin high. “I asked him to stay.”

That shut everyone up for a second.

Then Caelum nodded, his tone casual. “Good. You should both feel safe.”

We took our seats, and I made sure Mireya sat beside me. She still didn’t pile her plate like the rest of us, but she didn’t flinch when Caelum passed her the bread or when Gavriel asked if she wanted more tea.

Progress.

I leaned in and murmured, “You’re doing good.”

“I’m still overwhelmed,” she whispered back. “But I’m not scared.”

Gods, hearing her say that was everything.

My mother watched us over the rim of her cup. Not judging. Just seeing. She had a way of observing that made people feel like glass.

But this morning, there was something soft behind it. Hope.

“Plans for today?” Caelum asked, glancing at me.

“I’ll train,” I said. “Clear my head.”

He nodded. “Smart.”

“I’d like to watch,” Mireya said suddenly. Her voice was quiet but steady.

My head turned toward her. “Yeah?”

She gave the smallest smile. “You talked about it like it’s your sanctuary. I want to see that.”

Heat bloomed in my chest. Not from pride—but from the fact that she wanted to see me. To understand the parts of me I didn’t even fully understand yet.

“Okay,” I said, smiling. “Then you’ll see me fight.”

The training grounds were already alive with movement—metal clashing against metal, the thud of fists on flesh, the rhythmic stomp of boots on packed earth. It was a sound I’d grown up with. The place where instinct ruled and nothing else mattered.

I rolled my shoulders as I stepped into the ring, shirt already sticking to my back. Across from me, Dax, one of our best warriors, waited with twin blades drawn and that cocky grin that said he thought he could take me today.

He never could.

Not anymore.

I was faster now. Stronger. Focused.

But today, I felt something else. A hum beneath my skin.

I glanced over my shoulder—and there she was.

Mireya stood just beyond the ring, arms crossed, the morning sun lighting her hair like fire. Her eyes followed every movement. Not judging. Not nervous.

Admiring.

Her gaze alone made me burn hotter than the training ever could.

The match started. Fast.

Dax came at me with a flurry of blows, blades flashing silver. I ducked one, caught the other with my gauntlet, twisted, and slammed my shoulder into his ribs. He grunted, stumbled, and spun, coming back with a low sweep that I leapt clean over.

The crowd around the ring started cheering, but I didn’t look at them.

I only looked at her.

Every time I struck, every time I dodged, I saw the way her lips parted. The way her hands gripped the hem of her borrowed cloak. She wasn’t scared. She was watching. Like she was seeing a part of me she didn’t know she needed.

When the match ended—Dax flat on his back, groaning—I offered him a hand and helped him up.

Then I walked straight to her.

“Enjoy the show?” I asked, chest still heaving.

“You move like someone who doesn’t doubt himself,” she said softly.

“I doubt myself all the time.”

“Didn’t look like it,” she whispered. “You looked… unstoppable.”

Gods. She didn’t even know what she was doing to me.

I leaned in. “Stick around and I’ll show you more.”

She smirked—but just as she opened her mouth to respond—

The scent hit me.

Burnt herbs. Bitter magic. Wrong.

A horn blew at the far end of the field. Shouts erupted. Warriors spun toward the treeline beyond the southern ridge. Black smoke curled into the sky.

“Witches!” someone screamed.

My blood ran cold.

But not for me—for her.

I reached for Mireya’s hand immediately, instinct roaring louder than the horn. “Come on. We need to get you inside—somewhere safe. The pack house—”

She didn’t move.

Her eyes locked onto mine, steady and sharp.

“No,” she said quietly. “I want to help.”

I shook my head, panic clawing at the edges of my chest. “Mireya… they’re the ones you ran from. They’re the evil that hurt you. You don’t need to face them again. Not now.”

She exhaled—deep, slow—and turned toward the ridge where the smoke was thickest, where the chaos was spilling over.

“I know what this is,” she said. “I know how they fight. How they trap. I know their runes, their patterns, their weaknesses.”

“Mireya—” I started again, but she cut me off with a look.

She stepped forward, not away from me, but toward the fight.

“I can help.”

And the way she said it—it wasn’t a question. It wasn’t hesitation.

It was a choice.

Her jaw clenched. “I’ve been running my whole life. Not anymore.”

She looked at me, and I saw something fierce and familiar burning in her.

Fire.

Not fear.

She wasn’t the girl I carried into the healer’s room anymore.

She wasn’t running.

She was standing with us.

My parents found us at the entrance of the guard headquarters.

The battlefield was chaos—shouts and snarls, the hum of dark magic breaking through the air like static. The border glowed with protective runes flaring under pressure, but they were holding. For now.

Mireya stood near my parents, facing them like she didn’t care that the entire command ring was watching her with suspicion. Her hair whipped around her face in the wind, her cloak billowing, but her eyes—gods, her eyes—were steady.

“I’ve seen this before,” she said, her voice loud enough to cut through the clamor. “This isn’t the main attack.”

Caelum narrowed his eyes. “You’re sure.”

She nodded. “They do this—loud, violent, brutal. But it’s a distraction. They use it to pull your strongest forces one direction. The real strike will come from the east border—there’s a gap near the river cliffs. You leave it lightly guarded.”

Eve frowned. “That’s almost a two-hour run.”

Mireya didn’t flinch. “They’ll go for it because they know you think it’s secure.”

Gavriel crossed his arms, eyes pinned on her. “Why should we believe you?”

“Because I lived with them,” she said. “I watched them plan attacks just like this. I heard them celebrate how stupid wolves are, how easy it is to blind them with blood and fire.”

Her words silenced the group.

I stepped forward, chest tight. “I believe her.”

Caelum’s eyes flicked to mine. “Theron…”

“She’s right,” I said, firmer now. “You felt her magic. You saw what we saw. She’s not lying.”

He didn’t speak for a moment. Neither did Gavriel. Then Eve gave the smallest nod.

“We send two squadrons,” she said to Caelum. “Quiet. Fast.”

Caelum hesitated.

Then nodded.

Orders were given. Warriors sprinted. Runners moved through shadow. I turned to Mireya, something warm blooming in my chest.

“You just saved lives.”

She didn’t smile. “I’m not doing this for them,” she said softly. “I’m doing it for you.”

Mireya looked at me, her chest rising and falling with quiet fury. “I told you—I’m not running anymore.”

I opened my mouth to answer—

And the world ripped open.

A black wave of magic shattered the wards outside the pack house gates, throwing sparks of broken runes across the ground. Soldiers screamed. Wolves shifted mid-step. A shockwave tore through the air, and then—

She appeared.

Tall. Veiled in crimson smoke and power. Her skin was marked with ancient silver-carved runes that pulsed like open wounds.

Her voice coiled through the chaos like a dagger slipping between ribs.

“Found you.”

I barely had time to shout before she was on us.

Guards moved in—but too late.

Mireya stood frozen, staring at the woman like she’d seen a ghost crawl from her nightmares.

I reached for her.

But the witch moved faster.

She swept in, wrapped an arm around Mireya’s waist like a mother claiming her child.

“My daughter,” she hissed. “You always return to me.”

“Albaneya,” the name escaped Mireya’s lips like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

“Let her go!” I snarled, lunging—

Magic slammed into my chest.

I hit the ground so hard I tasted blood.

All around us, wolves roared, claws scraped, weapons raised—but every attack was deflected by a shimmering wall of red, a shield of raw power none of us could penetrate.

Eve gasped.

Caelum and Gavriel stepped in front of me, shielding me as I fought to stand. My legs wouldn’t hold. My vision blurred.

And then—

Albaneya leaned down and whispered something into Mireya’s ear.

Just a whisper.

I don’t know what she said.

But Mireya stopped fighting.

Her body went still.

No screaming. No struggle.

She just… went.

“NO!” I roared, stumbling forward as she turned her face toward me—eyes wide, confused, like part of her was still here.

“Run, Mireya!” I shouted. But she didn’t. She just… looked at her.

“Fools,” the witch hissed. “You think this was luck? That she found her way here on accident? This was always the plan.”

She looked at Mireya.

“You did well, daughter.”

But the witch wrapped her in smoke and shadow.

And vanished.

A second tear in the air, and they were gone.

The world stilled.

The magic faded.

And the ground where she stood was empty.

Eve was frozen. Gavriel had dropped to one knee. Caelum’s hands were clenched so tightly his knuckles were white.

And me—

I stood in the silence, unable to breathe.

I’d just watched the one person I’d vowed to protect—my mate—taken.

Not by fate. Not by magic.

But by the thing she feared most.

And I couldn’t stop it.

“She’s gone,” I whispered.

The words tasted like ash.

And then I screamed.

Then the sound of my mother’s breath, sharp and shallow.

Gavriel’s sword dropped.

Caelum turned toward me.

And I was still on the ground, heart breaking open as I whispered, “No… no, she wouldn’t—”

But they all saw it.

Mireya… gone.

And maybe—just maybe—a traitor.

Chapter 14

POV: Theron

Smoke burned my lungs.

Screams rang in my ears—some human, some wolf. The ground was soaked in blood and silver dust, and somewhere behind the chaos, I could still hear her voice.

Daughter.

I charged through the battlefield, my claws slicing through one of the witches that broke our northern line. The impact of her body against the earth didn’t ease the ache inside me.

Nothing would.

They took her.

Not just anyone—Albaneya. The monster that raised her. The monster that whispered poison into her ears and stole her right out from under me.

And Mireya didn’t scream. She didn’t fight.

She just went.

That image looped through my mind like a curse, and the rage that exploded through me wasn’t just fury—it was loss. Grief sharpened into something feral. Something dangerous.

I howled.

The sound shook the trees. It shook me.

I tore through another witch, felt her bones break beneath my fists. My magic pulsed through me, gold, green, and blue—burning so bright it made the air shimmer. I didn’t hold it back this time.

I unleashed it.

Because I didn’t care if I burned.

My mother was beside me—her gold magic cutting through darkness like a sword of light. Gavriel fought just ahead, his blade dancing, precise and merciless. Caelum’s wolf had shifted—huge, wild, tearing through anything that dared to touch our line.

We were a wall.

We were a storm.

And I was the fire in its heart.

They fought for the pack.

I fought for her.

And by the time the witches finally retreated—melting into smoke and shadows—the battlefield was silent. Scorched. Littered with the bodies of both wolves and witches.

And still, she was gone.

The war room was dim when we returned, the scent of blood and dust still clinging to my skin, to the walls, to everything.

But nothing suffocated me more than the silence.

I couldn’t believe it.

My body ached, but not even close to how my heart did.

I was broken.

Devastated.

I stood alone at the window, staring at the woods where she’d vanished. My hands were still shaking. My body still pulsed with magic I hadn’t even known I possessed. It had woken something in me. My wolf. My power.

But it didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered.

Not without her.

Behind me, I heard my parents’ voices—low, quiet.

“She’s gone,” Gavriel said, like saying it aloud would make it more real.

“Taken,” Caelum added. “By a witch.”

By Albaneya.

Eve’s voice broke. “By Albaneya.”

Silence followed.

“She didn’t fight,” Gavriel said. “She didn’t even flinch.”

Caelum’s voice was quiet, but edged. “She didn’t scream. She didn’t reach for him.”

And gods, hearing it out loud—hearing their doubts—made my chest split open.

Because I’d had the same thought.

I clenched my fists. “Stop.”

They looked at me, but I wasn’t sure who I was talking to—them, or me.

“She was scared,” I said. “She froze.”

“She didn’t look scared,” Gavriel said gently. “She looked like she recognized her.”

“Or she chose her,” Caelum added.

That shattered me.

“No,” I said, shaking my head, like if I just denied it enough it wouldn’t be true. “You don’t know her. You didn’t feel what I felt. She wouldn’t betray me.”

But the more I said it, the more it sounded like a lie.

Too good to be true.

Caelum exhaled. “She might not have meant to. But what if she was planted? Raised for this?”

“A trap,” Gavriel said. “Sent here for you.”

“She’s not a weapon,” I snapped.

Eve stepped closer, her hand soft against my cheek. “Theron…”

“She’s my mate!” My voice cracked. “She saved lives today. She warned us. She stood with us!”

Gavriel’s gaze darkened. “And then she vanished with the witch who called her daughter. Who whispered to her like a mother.”

And Mireya hadn’t screamed.

She hadn’t even looked afraid.

I couldn’t breathe.

I stepped back, and it felt like the floor opened beneath me.

Then the dam broke.

Tears hit my face and I dropped to my knees, sobs ripping from my chest like they were tearing me apart from the inside out.

“I couldn’t protect her,” I whispered. “I promised I would. And I couldn’t.”

Eve dropped beside me, pulled me into her arms like she had when I was small, whispering softly. “We don’t know everything yet. We’ll find her. Whatever this is… we’ll figure it out.”

Gavriel knelt beside us. Caelum’s hand landed on my shoulder, steady and strong.

But the guilt—

The ache—

The fear—

They rooted deep.

What if they were right?

What if I had fallen in love with the very thing meant to destroy me?

—

They made me tea.

I tried to sleep.

I couldn’t.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face. I replayed her voice, her smile, the way she said my name. And the way she didn’t scream when the witch took her.

I didn’t know what hurt more—believing she might have betrayed me…

Or fearing she hadn’t—and I’d let her go.

Without thinking, I got out of bed.

I walked through the dark hallways until I reached her room.

Her scent was still there—sweet, soft. Her. It wrapped around me the second I stepped inside. My chest caved in. I went to the bed where we’d slept together. Where just that morning she’d sat in my lap, kissed me like I was hers.

Now she was gone.

And it felt like a blade twisting through my chest, gut, spine. I couldn’t breathe.

I spotted a single strand of red hair on the pillow.

And the tears came again, hot and silent.

But then—

The air shifted.

The strand of hair shimmered, lit with a faint red glow.

Magic.

Her magic.

I blinked, and suddenly I wasn’t in her room anymore.

I saw her.

A vision—clear, sharp, terrifying.

She was in a cage. Surrounded by runes carved into stone, pulsing black with magic. Her feet were bare. Her arms bruised.

And she was writing in the dirt.

With one trembling finger, she spelled it out.

I love you.

I left with them to protect you.

Please find me.

Theron.

Her head turned.

Her eyes met mine.

And the vision snapped away.

I fell to my knees for the second time that night, my heart slamming against my ribs, my soul screaming inside my skin.

She hadn’t betrayed me.

She’d sacrificed herself for me.

And now she was trapped.

And I was going to burn their world to the ground to bring her back.

Chapter 15

POV: Mireya

I was five when they took me.

I don’t remember their faces—just the smell of burning rosemary, the sticky sweetness of some potion on my tongue, and the iron-cold grip that tore me from warm arms and safe smells and laughter.

I think I had a mother.

A father, too.

I remember laughter. A soft blanket. A voice humming as I fell asleep.

Then I remember screaming.

Everything after that was dark.

At the beginning, I tried not to swallow the potions.

I spat them out, forced myself to vomit. But once—just once—they made me swallow the vomit too. Held my face down into the bowl, poured the potion in after it. Gagging, choking, eyes burning, until it slid back down my throat.

Another time, they dunked my head in water and didn’t let me breathe—not until I had to swallow. Not until I gave in.

Their hands were always cold. Hard. Filthy. Like stone and rot. They’d clamp my mouth shut and whisper, “Good girl. Drink.”

It didn’t stop.

It never stopped.

Every single day: potions, runes, lies.

The first time they pinned me down to carve the runes into my skin, I screamed. They held me tighter. The more I struggled, the deeper the blades sank. The more I fought, the more they enjoyed it.

I learned.

If I stayed still, it hurt less.

At first, my wolf tried to heal the runes. She pushed them out. Rejected the magic.

But over time—under enough spells, enough poisons—she began to fade. Her voice dimmed. Her presence slipped deeper, buried beneath layers of pain and silence.

She stopped howling.

But she never left.

She stayed curled in the deepest part of me—quiet, hurting, still there. Waiting.

On my loneliest days, she was the only thing I had.

They fed me poison every day.

Made me kneel while they etched spells into my arms, my back, my thighs—runes that burned through my flesh and soul. Pain became a constant. A companion. A ritual.

Every week, they’d drag me into that room—pour potions down my throat and mark me all over again. Even after the runes stayed. Even after my wolf stopped healing them.

Because it wasn’t about magic anymore.

It was about control.

About reminding me I belonged to them.

But they never had all of me.

They tried.

Gods, they tried.

But in the smallest, deepest part of me—something still burned. A whisper that never died. A flicker of hope that something better existed outside those stone walls and boiling cauldrons.

Something… someone.

Even if I didn’t know who.

I thought it was my soul. That tiny light I refused to let go of.

But now I understand.

It was the mate bond.

The only thing strong enough to keep my wolf from giving up.

Even after everything… she waited for him.

They called me daughter.

But I was never theirs.

I knew it even then.

Albaneya would stroke my hair after burning runes into my skin. Tell me it was love. That pain made me strong. That magic lived in obedience. That wolves were monsters.

Especially the males.

“Your wolf will turn on you,” she’d whisper. “He’ll rip your soul apart. You’ll scream and no one will save you. Only we can keep you safe.”

Lies.

But I still drank the potions.

Still let them carve the runes.

Because I didn’t have a choice.

The first time I tried to shift, I was ten.

My body cracked.

My mouth foamed.

They beat me for it.

Held me underwater until I stopped breathing.

When I woke, there were more runes on my chest. Red-hot, glowing. I screamed until I passed out again.

I never tried to shift after that.

But I never stopped wanting to.

I listened.

I watched.

I learned.

Their spells. Their rituals. Their politics. I heard them speak of Albaneya—my “mother.” The high witch. The one who gave me pain and called it love. If she was dealing with me personally, I knew I was important. A tool. A piece of something bigger.

They rotated guards. Each one a little weaker than the last.

And I waited.

I etched plans into the dirt at night when no one watched. I traced escape paths with my fingers. Counted breaths. Counted shadows.

Until the day came.

And I took it.

The first chance I had to run—I didn’t hesitate.

I waited for their distraction.

Made them turn on each other with whispered lies.

And when my guard turned her back, I used the chain on my wrists to kill her.

I slit the runes that marked me. Tore the tracking symbols from my skin.

I stole a vial of potion and poured it over myself—an invisibility elixir I’d watched them make a hundred times.

And I ran.

I slipped through a weak ward I’d studied for years.

I ran until my feet bled.

I ran until my throat burned raw from screaming.

I ran until the trees swallowed me whole.

I didn’t know where I was going.

There was no path. No direction.

But my soul knew.

It led me forward. Toward him.

Even if I didn’t understand it yet.

I collapsed at the edge of their border—his border. I didn’t know that then.

The guards surrounded me, and I braced for pain. For punishment.

That was all I knew.

But then… they didn’t strike.

A woman came instead. Beautiful. Blonde. Green-eyed. Powerful. She looked like a queen.

Beside her stood a man—dark-haired, green-eyed, carved from stone and instinct. He radiated authority. Alpha.

And beside him… another.

Taller. Strong. A blade in human form. A warrior.

But then—I saw him.

Theron.

He stepped from behind them.

He was taller than the others. Stronger. But it wasn’t just his body—it was the way he stood. The way the earth felt steadier when he looked at me.

Dark hair. Hazel eyes.

Power.

And something else—something that felt like gravity pulling me home.

My wolf screamed.

Mate.

But I was too scared to believe it. Too broken to trust what I felt.

Still… I saw the way he looked at me.

Like I wasn’t filth. Like I wasn’t ruined.

His eyes were stormlight.

His hands were gentle when I expected roughness.

His voice was steady, kind—truth wrapped in warmth.

I didn’t trust him.

But gods… I wanted to.

I wanted to believe everything they told me was a lie.

That I wasn’t cursed.

That I wasn’t dangerous.

That I didn’t have to die just to be free.

The first time Theron touched me, I felt something spark beneath my skin.

A jolt.

An ache.

Like electricity wrapped in warmth—alive and terrifying and real.

My wolf stirred. Truly stirred. For the first time in years, she lifted her head and howled.

And inside me, I felt it too.

Recognition.

Like I’d spent my whole life underwater, and suddenly—I could breathe.

It felt so good that it hurt.

So good I was sure it had to be a trap. That any second now, the witches would drag me back by my throat and laugh at how easily I fell for it.

Because I was raised in pain. In silence. In fear.

I didn’t trust him. Not at first.

I didn’t trust anyone.

But gods, he made it so hard to hold on to that fear.

He wasn’t just beautiful—which he was. He wasn’t just strong, or powerful, or built like the warrior every girl dreams about in some far-off fairy tale.

No.

He was all of that—but it wasn’t what made me want him.

It was what I saw beneath it.

Because with me, Theron was soft.

Not weak. Open.

It was like… I cracked him.

Like all the walls he spent his life building around himself melted the second our eyes met, and somehow—I just stepped inside.

And he did the same to me.

No matter how hard I tried to shove him away, to close the doors and curl into the shell I’d lived in for so long—he didn’t leave.

He walked in.

And I let him.

No—I wanted him to. Craved him to.

Even when I didn’t understand what it meant.

Even when I was terrified to feel anything at all.

It went against every instinct I had left—but I belonged to him.

And somehow, I think I always had.

The first time our lips touched, I swear—

The world tilted.

Like everything had been off-center my whole life and suddenly it was right. Like something ancient inside me snapped into place.

And for the first time… I knew where I belonged.

I didn’t believe in love.

I didn’t even believe in hope.

But then there was him.

And suddenly, love had a name.

Chapter 16

POV: Mireya

When Kazzar cast his magic and I saw my wolf rise—small, curled in on herself—and then saw hers lift her eyes to his…

I felt it.

Truth.

Not the kind they carved into my skin.

Not the kind whispered by cruel mouths and broken gods.

The real kind.

My wolf recognized him.

And when our lights touched, when our magic merged in front of everyone, I knew—

I wasn’t cursed.

I wasn’t alone.

I was his.

He slept beside me like I was something fragile, something precious.

He curled around me and gave me warmth I didn’t know how to accept—but needed more than air.

Being in his arms wasn’t just safety.

It was home.

It was the closest thing to paradise I’d ever tasted—and I didn’t even know I’d been starving for it until I had it.

And when our kisses deepened…

When my hands slid under his shirt and I felt the heat of his body against mine…

I wanted him.

Gods, I wanted him.

Not just his strength.

Not just his warmth.

Him.

And my body answered his like it had always been meant to. Like it knew him.

But even then—when I was trembling with want, when I was ready to fall apart in his hands—

He stopped.

He said, “Not yet. Not until we’re ready.”

He said it like he meant it.

And I think… that was the moment I fell in love with him.

Truly.

Because he didn’t just touch my body.

He touched the part of me I thought was long dead.

And somehow, against every wall, every scar, every buried piece of who I used to be—

He found me anyway.

I smelled the spells before I heard the scream.

Before anyone shouted Witches.

I smelled the herbs—muddled, burning, wrong. The rot of old magic twisted with something worse.

It hit the back of my throat like acid.

My stomach turned to knots.

Theron’s instinct was immediate—he grabbed my hand, pulling me toward the pack house, toward safety.

And for a second, I almost let him.

The part of me that was still small and broken and afraid—she wanted that. She wanted to hide. To bury herself in blankets and close her eyes and pretend she’d never heard those words again.

To never see another witch again.

To never be dragged back into the hell she barely survived.

But then—another voice inside me screamed louder.

Fight.

Fight for the wolves who didn’t owe me anything—but still gave me safety.

For the pack that let me walk among them when I didn’t trust myself.

For the people who didn’t ask questions—who simply protected.

And for him.

Because this was Theron’s pack. His legacy. His future.

Because he is mine.

And I would burn for him.

So I stopped running.

I looked him in the eye.

And I said, “No.”

I told them I knew the witches.

I knew their tactics. Their hunger. Their lies.

I told them this attack—so loud, so obvious—was a trap. A distraction.

I told them where the real attack would come from.

And they listened.

Eve. Caelum. Gavriel.

They trusted me.

Even when I was raised by their enemy. Even when the lines were blurred and the risk was high—they believed me.

That spark of trust—

It lit something in me.

Hope.

And then—she came.

Albaneya.

The one who raised me in chains and pain.

The one who carved her name into my bones.

She appeared like a shadow crawling out of the dirt—and she was already on me before I could move.

I fought—I swear I did—but her arm locked around me, her power twisted into my skin like a brand, and then she leaned in.

And whispered—

“You move. You fight. And he dies.”

And I knew she meant it.

I knew what she’d done. What she could do. I’d watched her shatter minds. Snap bones with words. I had seen her rip the heart out of a man for less.

And this time…

It wasn’t just my life at stake.

It was his.

So I went still.

I let her take me.

I let her pull me away from my mate—away from the only thing that had ever made me feel whole.

Even when I saw the horror in his eyes.

Even when I knew they all believed I’d betrayed them.

Because I could survive returning to that hell.

I could survive the pain.

But I couldn’t survive knowing that he died because of me.

So I gave myself up.

And gods—it hurt.

It hurt more than all the years of torture combined.

But still… if I had to choose again—I would.

Because those days with him…

Those moments—when he held me, when he looked at me like I was something worthy, when I felt alive—

They were worth it.

Even if they were the only ones I’d ever get.

Even if I have to die for them now.

The moment we crossed the veil, I felt it.

The magic clawed at my skin.

The air changed—thicker, colder. It reeked of rot and spellwork. I couldn’t breathe without tasting blood and bone dust.

I was home again.

No.

Not home.

Never home.

Prison.

The sound of the coven gates closing behind me was the loudest thing I’d ever heard.

A sentence.

A scream.

A death.

They dragged me through the halls barefoot—my ankles scraped stone, and I didn’t fight. I couldn’t. If I moved wrong, she’d hurt him. If I screamed, she’d find a way to reach through the veil and crush his heart in my place.

So I went silent.

I let them chain me again.

Let them carve into my wrists.

Let them think they won.

But I watched.

And as they pulled me through the corridor toward the cages, we passed the alchemy table—the one near the storage wall, left carelessly by a lesser witch I once trained under.

I saw it.

The vial.

A potion I’d memorized years ago. A simple communication spell, used for brief magical projection—old, weak, but it would do.

I stumbled forward on purpose, letting my body fall hard against the stone.

As the guard cursed and reached down to haul me back to my feet, I reached under the lip of the table and slipped the vial into my hand.

Pressed it to my skin. Whispered the spell under my breath, just once.

“Show him.”

And then I clutched the memory of Theron’s eyes.

Of his touch.

Of the way he held me like I wasn’t something ruined.

And I let the spell carry it to him.

I don’t know if he saw me in that vision.

But I know what I showed him:

The cage. The runes. The message traced in the dirt:

I love you.

I left with them to protect you.

Please find me. Theron

So I went silent.

I let them chain me again.

I let them carve into my wrists.

They placed me in a cell so small I couldn’t stand.

And still—I didn’t cry.

Not yet.

Because the grief hadn’t landed.

Not fully.

It hovered above me like a storm that hadn’t broken.

Not until they sealed the door behind them.

Not until the last torchlight vanished.

Not until I was alone again in the dark.

Then I broke.

I screamed.

I screamed his name, even though I knew he couldn’t hear it.

I screamed until my throat bled, until I couldn’t breathe, until my own voice sounded like someone else’s.

And then I curled into the dirt and let it swallow me.

Because the only thing worse than pain—was losing the reason I survived it all.

She came to me the next day.

Albaneya.

Like I was a pet she was disappointed in.

Like I’d run off and she was just tired.

She crouched in front of my cell and watched me like I was something broken she could still fix.

“You ran,” she said softly.

“I bled,” I replied.

She smiled. “You found your mate.”

I didn’t answer.

“You’re foolish,” she said. “But not ruined.”

I spat at her feet.

And she just smiled wider.

“We will unmake what they gave you,” she whispered. “We will bury that wolf once and for all.”

But she was wrong.

Because I’ve seen my wolf now.

I’ve felt her rise for him. Felt her reach through magic and pain and scream mine.

And no rune, no potion, no witch will ever take her from me again.

I don’t sleep.

I don’t eat.

I sit in the dark and trace the message I left for him over and over in the dirt:

I love you.

I left with them to protect you.

Please find me. Theron.

I believe he saw it.

I believe he’s coming.

And this time, I’m not just hoping for rescue.

I’m planning mine.

Chapter 17

POV: Eve

I couldn’t sleep.

Even wrapped in their arms—even with Caelum’s hand stroking down my spine and Gavriel’s steady breath at my neck—I couldn’t stop the gnawing in my chest.

She was gone.

Mireya.

And gods help me, I didn’t know what to feel.

Was she a traitor?

Was she a victim?

Was she both?

“She didn’t fight,” Gavriel had said earlier, voice tight with suspicion.

“She didn’t scream,” Caelum added, jaw clenched.

I understood their doubts. I shared them. But still…

Still…

What if she didn’t have a choice?

The witches took me once too.

Years ago. Before Theron. Before the crowns. Before the bond was whole.

They used magic to twist my body. To torture me,

They nearly killed me.

And if it hadn’t been for Caelum… for Gavriel…

I might never have come back.

So I know what witches are capable of.

I know the power of fear.

The way it coils around your ribs and tightens until you stop remembering who you are.

The way it makes you freeze when you should run. The way it makes you stay when you want to scream.

“I don’t think she betrayed him,” I said softly into the dark.

Caelum stirred behind me, his voice low. “Then why didn’t she fight?”

“Because she’s been taught her whole life that if she disobeys, someone she loves will die,” I whispered. “Because that woman whispered in her ear, and it paralyzed her.”

Gavriel was silent beside me.

“I’ve seen that kind of silence before,” I said. “I lived it.”

They didn’t argue.

Because they knew.

“I don’t trust her,” Gavriel said after a while.

“I don’t know if I do either,” Caelum added.

“I’m not asking you to,” I said. “I’m asking you not to turn your back on our son. Not yet.”

That silenced them both.

Because this wasn’t just about her.

This was about Theron.

Our boy.

Our strong, fierce, broken-hearted boy.

He believed in her.

He’d felt the bond.

And if we told him it was a lie—that she was a weapon, a trap—we’d be shattering something sacred in him.

And gods, wasn’t that what the witches had done to her?

Caelum pulled me closer. “We’ll find her.”

Gavriel pressed his lips to the back of my neck. “If she’s truly his mate, we’ll bring her home.”

“And if she’s not?” I asked.

Caelum was quiet for a long time.

Then, “Then we’ll bring our son home from wherever she left him.”

My throat ached.

My heart throbbed.

And still—I held onto hope.

Because I remembered what it felt like to be in chains.

And I remembered the first person who looked at me and saw more than what they’d tried to break.

Theron saw her.

And I couldn’t forget that.

The scream shattered the quiet.

“Mireya!”

I sat up so fast the blankets tangled around me. My heart launched into my throat.

Caelum was already moving. Gavriel cursed under his breath as we rushed from the room, feet bare against cold stone.

The sound had come from Theron’s wing.

He was yelling again, wild, desperate—his voice thick with something more than grief this time.

It was certainty.

We found him halfway down the hallway, shirtless, hair a mess, holding something in his hand.

“I saw her!” he said, eyes wide, voice ragged.

Caelum caught him by the shoulders. “Theron—”

“I’m not losing my mind,” he snapped, turning to all of us. “I saw her. I swear. I saw where she is.”

“What did you see?” I asked, stepping closer, my voice soft, steady—like I used when he was small and wounded and wouldn’t say why.

He opened his fist.

A lock of red hair lay across his palm.

“Mireya’s,” he said. “From her pillow. I… I couldn’t sleep. I went into her room and—something happened. It lit up in my hand. I saw her. In a cage. She left a message in the dirt.”

My chest ached.

I met Caelum’s eyes.

Then Gavriel’s.

“Kazzar.” I said.

He didn’t question it.

He never did when it came to our son.

We arrived at the tower moments later. Kazzar was already up, candlelight spilling over parchment. He blinked at us, then focused on Theron’s hand.

“You touched a magically charged object,” Kazzar said, his voice thoughtful. “And it responded to you—likely due to the mate bond.”

“She sent it,” I whispered.

He nodded. “She found a way. Crude magic, but strong. She sent him a vision. Which means we can tap into it.”

“Do it,” I said.

Caelum growled low with urgency. “Now.”

Kazzar took the hair from Theron, held it between his fingers, then dipped it into a bowl filled with moonwater. His lips moved in a language older than wolves, older than runes.

The water shimmered.

Then the room shifted.

My vision blurred.

And suddenly—I wasn’t in the tower anymore.

I saw her.

Mireya.

Small. Bruised. In chains.

The room was dark, runes glowing faintly red. She was barefoot. Surrounded by black stone, silver-lined walls, her face half-shadowed—but her eyes…

Her eyes were looking at him.

At Theron.

She was writing in the dirt again.

I love you.

I left to protect you.

Please find me. Theron.

I felt my knees buckle. Gavriel caught me. Caelum’s hand gripped my arm, hard, grounding me.

“Gods,” I whispered. “She didn’t betray us.”

“She sacrificed herself,” Gavriel said, voice quiet.

“She was threatened,” Caelum added, his voice like stone. “And she let them take her.”

“For Theron,” I breathed.

I looked at our son.

Tears lined his eyes, but he didn’t fall apart.

He stood still—a warrior, an alpha, a mate.

“She knew I’d come,” he said.

And something deep inside me shifted.

My instincts had been right.

From the very beginning.

This girl—this broken, fire-hearted girl—was good.

And mine. Not by blood, not by bond—but by pack.

“She’s one of us,” I said.

Theron turned to me, and for a moment I saw the boy he once was. The boy who used to crawl into my lap when he had nightmares. The boy who trained until his hands bled just to make us proud.

“I need her,” he said.

Caelum nodded. “Then we go get her.”

Gavriel’s jaw was set. “Whatever it takes.”

And me?

I stepped toward my son and placed my hand on his chest.

“We will bring her home,” I said.

“Even if we have to burn the coven to the ground.” Gavriel added.

“We’ve taken a mate from the witches once,” Caelum said, his voice a low growl of purpose. “We can do it again.”

He turned to Gavriel.

Gavriel nodded, the steel in his eyes unmistakable. “Let’s bring her home.”

Theron looked between them, confusion tightening his brows. He didn’t understand what they were saying—not fully.

He didn’t know the whole story.

And it was time he did.

I stepped forward, reaching up to cup his face in both hands. He always tensed at first when I touched him like that—still trying to hold everything together, still trying to be stronger than he needed to be.

But I didn’t let go.

I made him meet my eyes.

“We never told you this,” I said softly, “because it involves the prophecy… and the First Wolves. And because we didn’t want to put that weight on your shoulders before you were ready.”

His breath hitched.

I saw it in his eyes—the instinct to brace himself, like he knew something big was coming.

I nodded toward the nearest chair, and Gavriel was the one to pull it out for him. Theron sat, and for the first time in a while, I saw not just the Alpha he was growing into—but the boy we’d raised. His knees bent high, towering even from a seated position. My face was now eye-level with his.

And I couldn’t hide anything from him anymore.

“I was taken by the witches,” I whispered.

His whole body went still.

Caelum’s jaw clenched behind me, and Gavriel stepped forward, his voice gentle but firm.

“They took your mother because of the prophecy,” he explained. “Because without her… the First Wolves’ line would end. They needed her out of the way to stop what was coming—you.”

I could feel Theron’s heartbeat from where I stood. The disbelief. The fear. The grief he didn’t know how to hold.

Caelum stepped in then, his voice quieter than I’d ever heard it.

“I wasn’t always… the man you know now,” he said. “When I found your mother, I knew she was Gavriel’s true mate. But I took her anyway.”

Theron’s brows furrowed. He looked at Caelum like he didn’t understand.

“You… what?”

Caelum nodded once. “I was desperate. I believed that the only way to save our kind—to destroy the witches—was through the prophecy. And I knew the First Wolves’ heir had to be born. So I marked her.”

“And I hated him for it,” Gavriel said quietly. “He was my best friend. And I couldn’t even touch her.”

“We weren’t proud of who we were back then,” I said, placing my hand over Theron’s. “We fought. We hurt each other. But even when we couldn’t stand one another, they slept beside me. They curled around me because I couldn’t sleep without them.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Sounds familiar,” Gavriel murmured.

Caelum snorted. “You’re just like us. When Mireya couldn’t sleep, you stayed. Wrapped around her like a shield.”

“And you think that was coincidence?” I said gently. “You carry all of us. Every bloodline. Every instinct. You were made of this love. Of this fight.”

Theron swallowed hard, blinking fast.

Caelum crouched in front of him now. “When your mother was taken… we didn’t hesitate. We worked together. We made a plan. We tracked her, and we fought our way through hell to get her back.”

“We took a witch hostage,” Gavriel added. “Forced her to show us where they kept your mother. Then we attacked. We got her back. Killed the coven leader. We thought it was over.”

“But some of them escaped,” I said. “Those are the witches that have Mireya now.”

Silence fell.

And then Theron whispered, “Why didn’t you tell me all of this before?”

“Because we didn’t want to give you a reason to hate the world before you had a chance to love it,” Caelum said, voice soft. “Because we thought we had time.”

“Because we didn’t want you to carry the same pain we did,” Gavriel added.

“But now?” I said, my throat tightening. “Now you deserve to know. Because you are strong enough. Because you are ready. And because Mireya needs you.”

He looked up at me, tears burning in his hazel eyes.

“I’m going to get her back,” he said.

I leaned down and kissed his forehead.

“We’re going to get her back,” I whispered.

Chapter 18

POV: Theron

I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard.

I stared at them—my parents. The pillars of my world. The unshakable trio who raised me with so much love, so much certainty, that I’d never questioned what they were before me.

To the outside world, they are perfect.

And to me… they always have been.

The way they look at each other—hungry and soft, wild and gentle. Like gravity keeps pulling them together no matter how many times the world tries to tear them apart.

They are everything I ever wanted in a mate bond.

And now I knew the truth.

It wasn’t always like this.

It wasn’t perfect.

My fathers—who act like brothers now, who tease and train together like they’ve never known distance—they hatedeach other once. Fought. Tore each other apart.

And my mother…

She was taken.

By the same witches who now hold Mireya.

I know it wasn’t the same. Being taken and being raised by them are different kinds of torment—but still. My mother knows. She understands what it’s like to be dragged into the dark and told you’re not worth saving.

And somehow, that made everything feel even heavier.

Because now I wanted to get Mireya back not just for me—but for all of us.

For the broken girl my mother once was.

For the bond my fathers nearly lost.

For the legacy they fought to protect.

And for the love I’d barely tasted—but already couldn’t breathe without.

I inhaled deeply. My chest ached with too many truths. Too many emotions I hadn’t even named yet.

But I stood up from the chair and said the only thing I could:

“Then let’s track them.”

My parents exchanged a look.

Kazzar tilted his head, sensing something shift in me.

I turned to him. “You already sent the report to the Council, right?”

“Yes,” he said cautiously. “They’re aware of the breach. Of the witch involvement.”

“Then let’s push for more. Ask them for reports. For sightings. For magical activity. Any sign of movement. Anything strange.”

I turned to Caelum. “Let’s not strike yet. Let’s understand them first. Let’s study them. Know every step they’ll take before they take it.”

His mouth twitched with something like pride.

Gavriel folded his arms, nodding slowly. “Strategic. Calculated. You’re thinking like an Alpha.”

I didn’t answer. Because it didn’t feel like strategy.

It felt like survival.

“I want everything we know on witches,” I said. “All of it.”

I looked up, locking eyes with my mother.

Her green gaze softened the moment she met mine.

I saw the worry in her.

The need to wrap me in her arms and never let the world touch me again.

But she knew.

She knew I wasn’t a boy anymore.

“Theron…” she whispered. “It’s late. Please. Sleep. We can do this in the morning.”

Caelum was the one who placed a hand on her shoulder.

And Gavriel leaned in, wrapping an arm around her waist, his voice low and tender. “You know he won’t sleep, Eve.”

She looked at me again.

This time, she didn’t argue.

Caelum stepped forward. “Do you need anything?”

Gavriel added, “Can we help?”

I shook my head. “Not right now. I need to align my mind.”

They understood.

My mother didn’t want to leave, I could feel it in every line of her body—but my fathers understood the storm inside me.

So they nodded.

And they took her with them.

I stayed behind.

Kazzar brought me a stack of books. Runes. Histories. Spells. He gave me space—but I knew he was watching from the shadows.

Just in case.

I didn’t sleep.

I trained.

I struck the post again and again until the calluses reopened and my arms shook from exhaustion.

I read until the words blurred.

And when I couldn’t read anymore—I moved.

Punch after punch.

Strike after strike.

Until the rhythm of it became something more than motion.

It became focus.

It became clarity.

I could see the plan forming—piece by piece.

I could feel her.

And then, in one strike, it hit me.

A flash.

A spark.

Her.

It was like the mate bond screamed inside me. Like her soul brushed against mine from across the distance and whispered:

I’m still here.

My chest heaved.

My fists stilled.

And I knew.

I would get her back.

And I had a plan.

The hours bled together.

Then the days.

And I didn’t stop moving.

I trained until my hands cracked open and my muscles burned so deep I forgot what peace felt like. I read until the ink bled into itself and the pages stopped making sense. And still—I kept going.

Sleep was a stranger. When it came, it was the crash of exhaustion, not rest. And when I woke, it was with a gasp in my throat and her name on my tongue.

Mireya.

Gods, I could still feel the way her magic had touched mine. I could feel the ghost of her warmth, the scent of her skin, the curve of her hand resting just above my heart. And I could feel the tearing weight of her absence like a second spine.

But I didn’t break.

I couldn’t.

Because I’d already shattered once. That night I fell to my knees, when Gavriel bled on the battlefield, when I thought I’d failed everyone who ever believed in me—that was the last time I let myself fall apart.

Now?

I built.

I turned every bruise into a map.

Every ache into a pattern.

And I started seeing things differently.

Kazzar had gathered all the documents the Council could provide. Reports of witch movements over the last few decades, coven outposts, dead magic zones, symbols found at attack sites, even scattered notes from survivors who’d escaped before their tongues were stolen.

And something started to click.

They always stage a distraction. A flare on one end of the territory, loud and brutal—so they can strike where no one is watching.

That’s what happened with Mireya.

And now I could see the same pattern reemerging.

There were whispers of dark magic surfacing in the southwest valley. Weak pulses. A wolf gone missing. Silver disturbed from storage.

It was subtle.

Too subtle.

Which meant it was exactly right.

I pinned it on the map and everything inside me thrummed.

That’s where they had her.

The plan came together slowly, one piece at a time. Not with a strategist’s mind—but with the instincts of someone who had everything to lose.

I wouldn’t face them head-on.

I’d use their own tactics.

Kazzar could conjure two illusions—soldiers in full formation. They’d ride out toward the eastern ridge, stir attention, make noise. A perfect decoy.

Meanwhile, the real strike would come from the west.

Me.

My parents.

Ten elite warriors.

And Kazzar with a battle spell strong enough to blind a god.

But I’d go in first.

No one knew her scent like I did.

No one would hear her scream like I would.

I had to reach her before they used her against me again.

Sometime in the early hours, I fell asleep at the war table.

I didn’t remember closing my eyes.

But when I woke, there was a blanket around my shoulders. Soft. Worn. It smelled like lavender and warm skin and something only one person in the world could give me.

Eve.

My mother.

I hadn’t heard her come in.

But she’d been there.

She saw me bent over scrolls and ink and fury—and instead of asking me to stop, she simply gave me warmth. Covered me.

She always knew how to love in silence.

And gods, I needed it.

Chapter 19

POV: Theron

That morning, I walked into the strategy room.

They were already waiting—Caelum with his arms crossed, Gavriel pacing, Eve watching me with those sharp green eyes that always saw straight through me.

I laid out the map.

I explained the coven pattern. The decoy plan. The real flank.

I told them where I believed Mireya was. How I’d studied the movement of silver and magic. How I’d factored in the landscape and the battle histories. Every piece I’d stitched together.

And when I was done, they didn’t interrupt.

They just looked at me.

Like something had shifted.

Like they saw me—not as their boy, not even just as an Alpha—but as someone they would follow into the fire.

Caelum stepped forward first. “It’s a good plan. We’ll have to adjust the timing slightly—use the fog to our advantage.”

Gavriel moved beside him. “I’ll take the eastern edge. If anything breaks through, I’ll be waiting.”

Eve didn’t speak for a long time.

She just looked at me.

And I felt the weight of her gaze like a blessing and a test all at once.

Then she walked toward me, placed her hand on my chest, and whispered:

“You’re ready.”

I didn’t feel ready.

But I nodded.

Because sometimes you don’t wait to feel it.

You move because you must.

Because your mate is chained.

Because your father almost died.

Because your wolf is finally pacing beneath your skin, and you know—

This is who I was born to be.

The air in the war room was heavy. Not with fear—

—but with purpose.

Armor clinked. Swords slid into sheaths. Every movement around me was deliberate, quiet, final.

We were leaving within the hour.

The final strategy was set. Kazzar had started the spell for the illusions. Our warriors were already moving into formation. My wolf, still buried deep in my skin, paced more than ever before.

But in the stillness that followed preparation, I stood alone, strapping my leather gauntlets with trembling fingers.

And then I heard footsteps.

Caelum stepped into the room like a shadow—silent, tall, carved from power. His dark hair was tied back, his chest already armored, his cloak fastened with the mark of our house.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood beside me and adjusted the chest plate of my armor, fingers precise.

“You always wear it too tight,” he murmured. “Constricts your breath. You fight better when you’re loose.”

I didn’t answer right away.

I was still trying to breathe.

Then his hand stilled on my shoulder.

And when I looked up, there was nothing but fire and pride in his eyes.

“I was born to lead,” Caelum said, his voice low. “But you, Theron… you were born to change everything.”

My throat closed.

“You carry all three of us in your blood,” he continued. “The instinct of an Alpha, the soul of a warrior, the heart of a queen. And still—what I’m proudest of… is that you’re yours. Your own kind of leader.”

He stepped back, but didn’t break the look.

“You’re not walking in our shadow anymore. You’re walking beside us. And gods… there is no one else I would trust to carry our legacy.”

My wolf stirred in my chest.

A ripple. A slow rise. Not the storm—but the dawn before it.

I felt my wolf closer, more wake.

Caelum nodded once, then did something I didn’t expect—he placed his forehead against mine. Just for a breath.

Then he turned and left.

The door opened again.

This time, it was Gavriel.

He didn’t speak.

He walked straight to me, wrapped his arms around my shoulders, and pulled me into the kind of embrace that was less comfort—more grounding. Like he knew I was one breath away from spiraling, and he’d catch me before I fell.

My cheek pressed into his chest. I felt the steady beat of his heart.

A warrior’s heart.

Just like mine.

When he pulled back, his hands stayed on my arms.

“You’ve already won,” he said.

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“The moment you chose to fight for her. Not because of legacy or prophecy. Because she’s yours. That’s when you became the kind of warrior this world needs.”

He smiled—small and solemn.

“I was always the calm in battle. The one who kept my head when others lost theirs. That instinct… that stillness… it’s in you too. You fight with fire, but your mind is cold. That’s your greatest weapon.”

His thumb brushed my jaw—just once.

“I’m proud of you, Theron.” His words made I feel my wolf closer now, more wake then ever.

And with that, he turned and left me alone again.

Or almost alone.

Because the door opened a third time.

My mother.

Eve.

Her steps were softer. Slower. But she was wrapped in the same armor I’d seen her wear to war when I was a boy. Her blonde hair was braided, her lips set with something between sorrow and steel.

And in her hands, she held a bracelet.

Thin. Golden. Etched with ancient symbols that shimmered in the firelight.

“I haven’t worn this since your birth,” she said. “It was my father’s. He gave it to me the day I became Luna.”

She walked to me slowly, and without asking, took my hand.

She wrapped the bracelet around my wrist, fastening it tight.

It pulsed warm.

“Theron,” she whispered. “I am proud of your strength. But more than that… I’m proud of your kindness. The way you held her. Protected her. Not because of what she is—but who she is to you.”

My throat burned.

She cupped my face with both hands.

“I’m sorry we hid the prophecy from you. The bloodlines. The weight of it all. But even now, knowing what you carry—I still see the boy who ran barefoot through the gardens and begged to spar with a wooden sword.”

A soft laugh slipped from her lips.

“You’re still my boy,” she whispered. “Even as you become more than any of us ever dreamed.”

My vision blurred, but I didn’t look away.

“We are a family,” she said. “We are a pack. And we will bring her home. Together.”

I nodded, unable to speak. But I felt my wolf again, there, with me, all my parents words waking him up.

She kissed my forehead, just like she used to, then held me a moment longer.

And when she left, I stood still in the center of the room.

Not alone.

Never alone.

I had my fathers’ strength.

My mother’s light.

And the pulse of a mate bond stronger than fate.

I closed my eyes.

And my wolf stirred again.

Almost ready.

Chapter 20

POV: Mireya

Days had passed.

Or maybe more.

I didn’t know anymore.

There was no sun here. No moon.

Only cold stone and rotting air and the way my body shivered when the potions hit my bloodstream.

The runes on the wall changed daily. That’s how I counted time now—by the way they scraped symbols into the stone and my skin.

They were planning something.

I wasn’t stupid. I saw the way they moved—sharper. More focused. The way they whispered more in corners, scribbled into their grimoires with shaking hands.

They were preparing.

And it was big.

I didn’t know what the ritual was for.

But I knew I was the center of it.

They were using me. Just like they always had.

My skin was raw from the last carving. The runes they etched into my arms today weren’t the same as before. They glowed longer. Burned deeper.

“Why?” I asked the guard witch with the twisted lip. “Why new ones?”

She smiled at me, all teeth and rot.

“We’re preparing you.”

I knew better than to ask for more.

They never answered questions with truth.

That night, I puked again.

They’d forced a potion down my throat. Bitter and sharp and full of silver essence—I recognized the taste now. I could name ingredients from the smell.

But I was smarter now.

I didn’t swallow all of it.

When the guards turned their backs, I spit what I could into the darkest corner of my cage, covering it with straw.

It was disgusting.

But it meant my wolf still had a chance.

I still had a chance.

The air smelled worse now. Like copper and damp leaves and something dead beneath the floor.

I watched them from the bars of my cell. They moved in pairs now. Chanted longer. The Mother Witch—Albaneya—was cloistered in the tower for hours every day.

Something was coming.

I felt it in my stomach. In my bones.

In the way the runes on my skin began to pulse on their own, even when no magic was active.

That morning—if it was morning—they dragged me to the altar again.

My wrists were raw from the shackles. My knees scraped and bruised. And still, I stood tall.

Albaneya circled me like a vulture, her fingers dancing along the new rune on my neck.

She leaned close.

“You’re nothing, little wolf,” she whispered. “Do you really believe he’ll come for you? That they will?”

I said nothing.

Her hand tightened around my chin.

“They see what you are now. Raised by witches. Cursed. You were born in the dark, Mireya. That wolf of yours? It’s a lie. It will destroy you. Like it destroyed your real parents.”

I flinched before I could stop it.

She smiled. She liked that.

“Good,” she murmured. “Feel it. Let the truth rot inside you. Because no one’s coming, Mireya. No mate. No mother. No savior. Just the spell. Just the end.”

She left me kneeling in the cold.

My body shook.

Not from fear.

From fury.

I curled into the corner of my cage after that, away from the worst of the stink, away from the corner where I hid the vomit. My stomach was twisted in knots. My limbs ached. I could barely feel my fingertips.

And still, I kept whispering to myself:

He’s coming.

He’s coming.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him.

His hands. His warmth. The fire in his eyes.

Theron.

I missed the sound of his voice. The way he always touched me gently first, like I might break if he didn’t ask for permission. I missed the way his magic calmed mine.

I missed the way his parents looked at me like I mattered.

I missed the pack house.

The sheets.

The scent of him on my pillow.

The first night I ever fell asleep without fear.

Now all I had was dirt. Runes. And the sick knowledge that they were getting closer to something. Something final.

But still—

I was not broken.

I would fight to the last breath.

Even if I had to do it alone.

The sound of the lock sliding open sent every muscle in my body rigid.

Footsteps. Cloaks dragging. Voices I couldn’t hear yet, but felt in my bones.

They were coming for me.

Again.

The door creaked, then banged against the wall.

Albaneya entered first.

Her gaze raked over me like I was nothing more than a vessel—an object. Not a girl. Not a wolf. Not a person.

“Time,” she said.

Two guards hauled me to my feet before I could even stand on my own. My knees buckled. One of them slapped my face—not to hurt, just to make sure I was conscious.

I wish I wasn’t.

They dragged me down the hallway, through stone corridors that smelled of death and old blood. I could feel my body trembling, skin raw where the runes had been carved too deep, too fresh.

I didn’t ask where we were going.

I already knew.

They took me to a chamber I’d never seen before.

Not the cage. Not the altar.

This place was older. Darker. Carved into the mountain itself. The walls were slick with moss and ancient spells that vibrated through the air like whispers. The floor was lined with obsidian and silver powder. Symbols—new ones—glowed faintly beneath my feet.

At the center was a basin.

Steam rose from it.

And the second I smelled it, my stomach curled.

It was a bath. A potion bath.

One I would not come out the same from.

“No,” I said, trying to twist away.

A slap this time, hard across my face. My lip split.

“Strip her,” Albaneya commanded.

Hands tore at my clothes, the last remnants of what I wore the day they took me. The fabric shredded like paper. I was bare, and shivering, and every instinct in me screamed to run.

They shoved me into the basin.

And it burned.

Not hot water.

Not warm.

It was acid laced in petals.

Every cut on my body—every rune—lit up.

I screamed.

Gods, I screamed.

The potion soaked into my skin, fizzing against the wounds. The carved runes reacted violently, glowing brighter, shifting, consuming. It was like the pain became sentient, like it watched me scream and fed on it.

They said nothing.

Just poured more over me.

White. Violet. Crimson. A different kind of torture.

It wasn’t meant to cleanse.

It was meant to prepare.

When they pulled me out, I could barely stand.

My legs buckled. I collapsed, panting, shaking, my skin burning like fire lived beneath it.

And then they chained me.

Heavy cuffs around my wrists and ankles.

They dragged me to a circle carved into the floor—a ceremonial ring of ancient magic. One I’d only heard whispers about. A place for sacrifice. For channeling. For death.

I was placed at the center.

Naked. Weak. Bleeding.

Around me, they poured my blood into the runes—collected from the carvings they’d reopened on my thighs and stomach. The runes pulsed red, humming with old spells.

On the other side of the circle, Albaneya stood opposite me.

She bled herself into a different set of runes—darker ones. The blood looked black as it hit the stone.

Ours never touched.

They poured between us like rivers, curving around the edge of the spell, never mingling.

They knew we were different.

My arms were raised and shackled overhead.

My knees on cold stone.

Magic swirled around me, sickly sweet, thick as smoke.

And I felt it.

The shift in the air.

The final stages of a ritual meant to end something.

Or someone.

My head dropped forward. Sweat slicked my temples. My body screamed. But my wolf—

My wolf was fighting.

Clawing at her cage inside me.

Snarling. Pacing.

She wanted out.

She felt it too.

Something was coming.

Not the spell. Not the witches.

Him.

Theron.

Please, I whispered in my head. Please come. Please find me.

I didn’t know if he could hear me. If the mate bond, as broken and unfinished as it was, could still carry a thread of thought.

But I hoped.

I prayed.

I held onto him.

Because I couldn’t fight much longer.

And if I was going to die tonight, I wanted my last breath to know—

I believed in him.