CH 1-10

Summary

🌶️He was the broken heir who couldn’t shift. She was the cursed mate raised to destroy him. But fate had other plans. Born from prophecy, Theron carries the blood of the First Wolves—but his power has always been dormant, locked away with a wolf that never came. Mireya was stolen by witches, carved with runes, and told to fear her own magic. She escaped with scars and silence… until the mate bond shattered everything. Now, with the witches rising again, Theron and Mireya must fight for their bond, their pack, and the truth of who they really are. A broken heir. A cursed mate. Together—they will rewrite destiny.

Chapter 1

POV: Eve

They were both asleep, and yet I couldn’t close my eyes.

Not with their warmth wrapped around me like armor. Not with the soft sound of Gavriel’s breath on my neck or the weight of Caelum’s hand splayed low across my belly, possessive even in sleep. My kings. My mates. My ruin and my salvation.

The night was thick with the scent of them—earth and smoke and something darker that belonged to Gavriel alone, like midnight forged into flesh. And Caelum, wild and evergreen, the storm I’d always been drawn to. I could taste them both still on my tongue. My thighs ached, my skin tingled, and yet there was a hollow part of me that refused to settle.

It had been years, but I still burned.

Even now, after everything we’d lived through—after blood and betrayal and the crown we built from the ashes—I still woke some nights needing to feel it all. To remember that we survived. That we were real.

That I was real.

I turned slowly, careful not to wake them. Gavriel stirred slightly, a faint crease between his brows that I brushed away with my thumb. He was always the first to feel my unrest. Even in sleep, he reached for me.

Caelum’s grip tightened instinctively, pulling me closer, his nose buried in the hollow of my shoulder. His growl was soft, almost unconscious. Like a wolf still dreaming of the hunt.

I smiled into the dark.

“Still mine,” I whispered. “Every gods-damned inch of you.”

I pressed a kiss to Gavriel’s jaw, then Caelum’s lips, slow and reverent. I could have stayed like that forever. And yet something tugged at me. A shadow at the edge of thought. The kind that prickled down your spine, too quiet to name.

It wasn’t fear. It was instinct.

I slipped from the bed, their groans of protest warm behind me. I stole one of Caelum’s shirts—threadbare and far too large—and padded barefoot to the balcony. The night air bit at my skin. Far below, the courtyard stretched silent, silvered in moonlight. Peaceful. Still.

And yet—

My eyes found the training field in the distance.

He was still there.

Of course he was.

Theron moved like a storm contained in muscle. Shirtless, drenched in sweat, blade in hand. His movements were brutal, relentless, precise. Again and again he struck, spun, dodged an invisible enemy. The moon caught the curve of his shoulder, the flick of his hair. Gods, he was beautiful.

And mine.

I watched him for a long time. Our son. Our legacy. A nineteen-year-old alpha who carried the weight of three bloodlines in his bones and yet still moved like he was trying to outrun something.

He didn’t know I watched him most nights. Didn’t see the way I reached for Caelum’s hand when Theron stumbled, or how Gavriel’s breath caught every time our son stared too long at his reflection—as if he was searching for the wolf that still refused to answer.

He hadn’t shifted. Not fully. Not once.

We’d never told him what that meant. What we feared it meant.

He was strong. Fierce. Respected by every warrior in the court. And still—there was a part of him that looked in the mirror and saw lack.

I felt it like a wound inside me. Because I remembered what it was to be marked as other. To carry power that didn’t behave the way the world expected.

And maybe that’s why I sensed it before anyone else.

The storm on the horizon. The coming dark.

Something was shifting. In the earth, in the wind. In him.

I placed a hand to my chest.

Let it come.

We survived fire before. We’d do it again.

I didn’t realize how tightly I’d been gripping the railing until Caelum’s arms wrapped around me from behind.

“You’re brooding again,” he murmured against my neck, voice rough with sleep. “It’s too late for that. Come back to bed.”

His mouth found that sensitive spot just below my ear, teeth grazing the skin like a promise.

I leaned into him, letting his warmth melt into my back, but didn’t answer. Gavriel joined us silently, always quieter than Caelum, always watching. His fingers brushed my wrist, grounding me.

“You’re thinking about him.” Not a question.

I nodded, unable to hide the ache in my chest. “He doesn’t stop. He trains until he bleeds. He thinks we don’t see him, but I do. I see everything. The way he stares at his hands like he’s waiting for them to turn into claws. The way he listens at the edge of the forest like something in him is broken and he’s waiting to hear the fix.”

Caelum sighed against my skin, his arms tightening. “He’s strong, Eve.”

“He’s hurting,” I shot back, voice low and raw. “And I don’t know how to help him.”

There was a long silence.

Then Gavriel stepped closer, his hand sliding up my throat, tilting my chin until I met his eyes. Those gold-flecked hazel depths I could drown in.

“You don’t have to fix him. You just have to love him. Like you did us.”

A shiver rolled down my spine.

He kissed me. Slow, deep, like he was pouring years of heat and heartbreak and devotion into my mouth. I melted under it, under him. Caelum’s hands drifted lower, sliding beneath the shirt I’d stolen, finding the heat between my thighs like he belonged there—because he did.

I gasped into Gavriel’s kiss as Caelum’s fingers slid deep inside me, slow and sure, curling just right. My knees buckled—but they were there, as always, catching me. Two gods forged in flesh. My protectors, my ruin. I was wildfire in their hands, and they didn’t fear the burn.

“I need—” I tried to say, but Gavriel swallowed the words with a kiss that stole the breath from my lungs.

“We know what you need,” he murmured against my lips, voice velvet and heat.

Caelum’s growl rumbled low in my ear, thick with hunger. “Let us take it from you, little queen. Let us take everything.”

He withdrew his fingers with a wet, deliberate slowness that made me whimper, and then Gavriel took my hands, his smirk dark and knowing as he pulled me gently inside the room. But they didn’t let me get to the bed—not yet.

We stood at the edge of it, my chest rising and falling fast. Caelum moved behind me again, sliding his fingers back inside me, deeper this time. My moan tore from me, raw and needy, as my head fell against his shoulder.

“You’re soaked,” he whispered, biting lightly at my neck. “So ready for us.”

Gavriel dropped to his knees before me, worship in every movement. “Let me taste you, love.” He pulled my shirt over my head in one smooth motion, his gaze drinking me in like he’d never seen anything more sacred. Then his mouth followed the path of Caelum’s fingers, his tongue hot and relentless as he licked me, sucked me, devoured me.

My hands flew to his hair as he groaned into me, as if the taste of me drove him mad.

Caelum whispered in my ear, low and rough. “You carry too much. Always trying to be strong. Let us bear it. Let us take you apart.”

His free hand came around to roll my nipple between his fingers, teasing it until it peaked hard. I couldn’t stop the sound that tore from my throat—somewhere between a sob and a moan.

They knew me too well.

Gavriel’s tongue moved in tight, perfect circles over my clit, unrelenting, wicked. I couldn’t hold back—I shattered, crying out their names, thighs trembling as the orgasm hit like lightning. Sharp. Devastating. Pure.

But they weren’t done.

. They kissed and claimed every inch of skin like it belonged to them—because it did. I was their fire, and they needed to burn.

By the time they carried me to the bed, I was shaking, breathless, undone.

Their hands roamed, mapping me again, as if they didn’t already know the way. Teasing. Awakening. Igniting every nerve until I was writhing beneath them.

“I need you,” I whispered, voice wrecked. And it was all it took.

Caelum took his place behind me, sliding into me with one long, slow thrust that made me cry out. His hand tangled in my hair, pulling just enough to make me arch back into him.

“Fuck, Eve,” he growled. “You feel like heaven.”

Gavriel kissed me through it, slow and deep, his fingers finding my clit again as Caelum moved inside me.

“Come for us, Queen,” Gavriel whispered against my lips, reverent.

And I did. I shattered again, pleasure crashing through me like a wave, dragging me under. My body pulsed around Caelum, and with a groan, he followed, thrusting deep as he came with my name on his lips.

But I wasn’t done.

I collapsed onto the bed, boneless, but Gavriel was already there—hard and ready, eyes full of fire. He slid inside me with a groan that vibrated through both of us, filling me completely.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered. “So fucking perfect.”

My body was sensitive, electric, every nerve ending alight. And they knew exactly how to unravel me.

Caelum’s fingers brushed my clit again, gentle but sure. My back arched as another orgasm slammed into me, and I clenched around Gavriel so hard it dragged a strangled cry from him.

“Eve—fuck—I’m coming—” he gasped, and then he was spilling into me, his body shaking above mine, mouth pressed to my shoulder.

And in that moment, wrapped in their heat, marked by their mouths and hands and love, I believed them.

For a little while, the storm inside me quieted.

Chapter 2

POV: Eve

I woke tangled in heat and limbs and the scent of sex.

Caelum’s hand was splayed possessively across my belly, his fingers brushing the curve of my breast with each slow breath. Gavriel had curled behind me, a leg thrown over mine, his face buried in my neck like he hadn’t moved all night. We were a knot of bare skin, sweat, and softness, exactly the way they liked me—naked and pressed between them, marked from the inside out.

I didn’t move right away.

For one precious moment, I just was. A woman. A mate. A mother. Not a queen. Not a warrior. Just… Eve.

Caelum stirred first. I felt his grin before I heard his voice.

“You’re awake.” His hand slid lower. “And still warm.”

“You’re always warm,” Gavriel mumbled, his voice still hoarse with sleep. “She’s perfect like this. Let her be.”

Caelum’s fingers brushed teasingly between my thighs. “I wasn’t planning on letting her be anything. Not yet.”

I laughed, soft and breathless. “You two are insatiable.”

“And you love it,” Gavriel said, finally lifting his head to kiss my shoulder.

Caelum rolled on top of me with a growl, his weight delicious and familiar. “Let’s skip breakfast. I have other cravings.”

“Breakfast,” I said firmly, even as I arched into him. “We have a son who’s probably already finished training and is pretending he didn’t wait for us.”

Caelum groaned dramatically. “Theron can wait. He’s a big boy.”

“He’s our boy,” I reminded him, brushing my fingers through his messy hair. “And he’s nineteen, not immortal. Yet.”

Gavriel sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. “Fine. Food first. Then we spar. Then you can seduce her again, Caelum.”

Caelum flopped onto his back with a grin. “Deal.”

I rolled my eyes and slipped out of bed, feeling their gazes trace every step I took to the washbasin. I didn’t bother covering myself. Modesty had died the moment I claimed two alpha mates and let them claim me in return.

By the time we made it to the hall, the sun was high and Theron was already seated at the long table, hands braced on either side of his plate, looking like he’d been waiting a while.

He looked up as we approached, and my heart did that odd twist it always did when I saw him.

Gods, he was beautiful.

Tall like Caelum, all muscle and controlled power, with shoulders made for war and a jaw that could cut steel. His hair was a deep, wild brown like Caelum’s, always falling into his eyes no matter how short he kept it. But his eyes—those eyes—were pure Gavriel, that burnished gold-hazel, luminous and unyielding. And then there was the shape of his mouth, the sharp intelligence in his gaze, the fire in his heart.

That was mine.

He carried pieces of all three of us. A walking prophecy we never told him about.

When I’d first discovered I was pregnant, Kazzar had warned us: This child will not belong to just one of you. The blood of the first wolves will awaken again through him. He will carry you all—three parents in one. Three legacies, one soul. And with it, the power to either save the future or tear it apart.

We never told Theron. He already felt the weight of the world. No need to hand him the prophecy too.

“Good morning,” I said, taking my seat beside him, brushing my hand briefly over his. “Did you finish early again?”

He nodded, his jaw tight. “I ran drills before dawn.”

“You’re not sleeping,” I said gently.

“I don’t need much sleep.”

Liar. He was just like Caelum that way—too proud to admit when he was hurting, too stubborn to rest.

I softened my voice, but kept it firm. “You’ll eat. Then you’ll rest. That’s not a suggestion.”

He didn’t argue. Just met my eyes and gave a slight nod.

My fierce boy. My broken heir. My beautiful storm of a son.

Caelum clapped him on the back. “You know if you keep overachieving, Korr is going to start trying to recruit you.”

“I already spar with Korr,” he said. “He said I hit like a damn bear.”

“Language,” I said, though I was smiling.

Theron smirked. “Sorry, Mother Queen.”

Gavriel snorted into his cup. “He’s too much like you.”

“Good,” I said, and kissed my son’s forehead. “That means he’ll survive anything.”

The sun warmed the corridor floors as I walked slowly, trailing my fingers along the stone walls. The castle was quieter now, the breakfast chatter fading behind me, replaced by the hush of distant wind and the heartbeat I knew as well as my own. Gavriel found me near the terrace garden, the curve of his lips softening when he saw me.

“You’re too quiet this morning,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from my face.

I leaned into his touch. “I’m thinking about Theron.”

His hand paused, fingers lingering. “He’s strong, Eve.”

“I know. That’s not the problem.” I glanced past him, out to the horizon where the trees met the sky. “He still can’t shift. And it’s starting to change him.”

Gavriel’s arms circled me, pulling me into his chest. The safety of it nearly made me cry. “He’s just nineteen,” he whispered against my hair. “So young. Most wolves would still be fumbling through their instincts at that age.”

“He’s not most wolves,” I said quietly. “He was never going to be.”

We stood like that for a long moment, the scent of blooming nightflowers around us. “Kazzar told us when I was pregnant that he wouldn’t be just one man’s son,” I continued. “That the magic of the prophecy would fuse all three bloodlines. Yours. Caelum’s. Even mine. He carries something ancient, something more. And yet… what if that’s what’s breaking him? What if we’re the ones crushing him without even meaning to?”

Gavriel pulled back to look into my eyes. “He doesn’t know. He hasn’t been told any of that. That burden isn’t on him.”

“Not yet,” I said. “But maybe it’s time.”

His brows drew together. “You really think he’s ready for that truth?”

I didn’t answer. Because I didn’t know.

Later, I found Caelum in the training yard, his shirt damp with sweat, muscles flexing as he moved through a sparring sequence alone. Always needing motion, needing control when things felt uncertain.

“You should tell him,” I said when he noticed me watching.

He grabbed a cloth to wipe his face, breathing hard. “Tell him what? That his blood carries a prophecy none of us fully understand? That the gods twisted his body before he was even born?”

“That he’s not broken.”

Caelum’s jaw tensed. “He’ll feel like he is the moment he hears it.”

“He already does.”

He threw the cloth down, pacing a few steps. “Kazzar’s trying everything. The magic, the alchemy, even soulwork. Every week we go, and every week Theron walks away more frustrated. And I watch it eat at him.”

“I know,” I said gently. “You’ve been doing everything you can. We both have. But none of it matters if he doesn’t understand why he feels this way. If he doesn’t know what he’s fighting against.”

His gaze dropped, voice low. “I thought if I could just help him shift, none of the rest would matter.”

I stepped closer, touched his face. “It still matters. He needs the truth, Caelum. Not just the outcome.”

His expression cracked then—just slightly. The weight he carried was so close to mine, it hurt to see it on his face.

“We wait,” he finally said. “Just a little longer. Until we know what to tell him.”

I nodded. But my heart twisted.

I watched Theron from the eastern balcony as the wind pulled at his hair. He stood shirtless in the courtyard, tension lining his back, fists curled at his sides. He looked every inch the heir of three legacies—Caelum’s strength, Gavriel’s grace, and some stubborn wildfire that lived in me. But all that power seemed to weigh heavier with every passing day.

He didn’t move. Didn’t shift. Just stood there like stone.

I hate to see my son that way, doubting of himself.

I found him minutes later still in the yard, wiping sweat from his brow. He didn’t flinch when I came close—just glanced at me and lowered his head.

“You always watch me,” he murmured.

“I’m your mother,” I said softly. “It’s what I do.”

He offered a tired smile. “Worried I’ll crumble?”

“I’m worried you’ll think you have to hide if you do.”

He turned away, eyes on the training dummies. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t have to be,” I said, moving beside him. “Not with me.”

For a moment, silence wrapped around us again. But then he let out a shaky breath and leaned, just slightly, until his shoulder brushed mine. And I didn’t move. I just stayed, as steady as I could, while my son tried to hold himself together.

Chapter 3

POV: Theron

There’s a quiet that only comes before dawn—the kind that presses into your bones and makes you feel like maybe, just maybe, you’re the only one awake in the whole damn world. I like that feeling.

I breathe in the cold bite of morning air and press my palm to the dirt, grounding myself before the next set. The training grounds are still, shadows long and blue-gray, dew clinging to the grass like fragile armor. It’s my favorite time to train—no eyes, no expectations. Just me. My body. My discipline.

Because if I don’t have a wolf… I sure as hell better have that.

Everyone thinks being the son of Eve, Caelum, and Gavriel makes me untouchable. A born alpha. The future. And maybe I am… but sometimes it feels more like being the next test I might fail. The weight of their legacy—it doesn’t sit on my shoulders. It’s crushed into my spine.

They’re everything. My mother—the fiercest queen the North has ever known, but also the softest hands I’ve ever felt when she touches my hair after a long day. Caelum, with that gaze that sees through every lie and weakness. And Gavriel… gods, Gavriel is like breath after drowning. They’ve given me everything. Raised me with love, patience, fire.

But they’re legends.

And I’m the guy who still can’t shift.

I slam my fists into the wooden post, breath rough. Again. Again. My knuckles bleed, but I don’t stop. The sting is good. It means I’m still fighting.

Training is where I feel most like myself—when I move, when I push past the pain. When I pretend that I don’t hear the whispers, the quiet pity in the eyes of the elders. That maybe the prophecy was wrong. That maybe I’m broken.

But I’m not. I can’t be.

I won’t be.

I was born in the shadow of legends.

The kind of legends that don’t just rule—they are the myth.

Eve. Caelum. Gavriel.

My mother, the Queen marked by prophecy and pain, whose fire burns in the bones of kingdoms. My fathers, one carved from stars and storms, the other from silence and steel. Together, they are more than just rulers—they’re the force the world bends to.

And I love them more than breath itself. But growing up in their shadow? It comes with a weight I can’t even name. A pressure that tightens around my ribs every time I try—and fail—to shift.

Nineteen years old. No wolf.

That truth lives in the quiet hours between dusk and dawn. The hours where I train until my muscles burn and the air tastes like iron. Because fighting, pushing my body to its edge—that’s the only place I don’t feel broken.

My mother always says I was born fighting. That the first sound I made wasn’t a cry, but a growl. I think she meant it metaphorically. I’m not so sure anymore.

I still remember the first time they put a sword in my hands.

I was five…

The blade was dull and short, perfectly sized for my tiny hands, but I held it like it was sacred.

“Feet apart, baby wolf,” Caelum instructed, crouching beside me with a grin that made the sun jealous.

Gavriel stood behind me, calm and steady. “Grip it tighter. Your blade is an extension of you.”

“And don’t forget to look fierce,” my mother added, raising her hands into claws and growling. I giggled, cheeks flushed with pride.

They circled me like moons, each offering a piece of themselves. Caelum adjusted my stance, Gavriel corrected my arm, and Eve—she kissed my forehead before shouting, “Now strike!”

And I did. The wooden target didn’t stand a chance.

They cheered like I’d taken down a dragon.

That day still lives in my bones.

I wipe the sweat from my brow, breathing hard as I land another blow against the training dummy. Morning sunlight bleeds across the stone courtyard, and the castle behind me glows like it’s watching.

And she is.

My mother stands at the edge, beautiful as always, her arms crossed, face caught between pride and worry.

I turn to her and smile. “You don’t have to hover, you know.”

She walks toward me, slow and deliberate, her cloak trailing behind her like a shadowed fire.

“I like watching you,” she says softly, eyes scanning me with that impossible depth she carries. “You remind me of all of us. And none of us.”

I nod. I know what she means.

“I’m fine, you know,” I offer. “The wolf will come. Or it won’t. Either way… I’m not broken.”

Her jaw tenses. “I know you are not. You’re stronger than all of us, Theron.”

I step closer, gently touching her hand. “Then don’t carry this fear for me, Mother. Let me carry it for you.”

Her eyes shine, and she cups my cheek with a strength only she has.

Before she can reply, Caelum’s voice cuts through the moment. “Are you two done being serious?”

We turn to find him approaching with Gavriel beside him, both dressed to train. Caelum’s grin is pure trouble. Gavriel just raises a brow. “Theron’s had a head start. I think it’s time we even the odds.”

I look between the three of them and smile.

“Let’s see if the old wolves can still keep up.”

Caelum tosses me a second practice blade, and I catch it without looking.

“Cocky,” he says, smirking.

“Just well-trained,” I shoot back.

“Trained by me,” he points out, rolling his shoulders like a predator stretching in the sun.

Gavriel, ever the calm one, takes his position opposite us with quiet purpose, sleeves rolled, movements precise. “Let’s keep the egos in check, shall we?”

“I don’t know,” Eve says as she steps between them, barefoot on the stone, eyes gleaming. “I kind of like the egos. Makes it more satisfying when I knock them down.”

Gods, she’s terrifying. And beautiful.

They move like wolves in a dance. No commands, no cues—just instinct and years of fighting side by side. The spar begins with Caelum lunging toward Gavriel, who parries smoothly, while Eve slips behind me and flicks my ear.

“You hesitated.”

“I blinked.”

“Same thing in battle.”

“Mother.”

She grins, then swings her leg, sweeping mine from beneath me in one fast blur. I hit the ground with a grunt, breathless, stunned, laughing.

“You’re ruthless.”

“I love you,” she says, helping me up. “And I don’t go easy on people I love.”

Caelum joins us, hair already sticking to his forehead. “We’ll do teams. Theron and I against you two.”

“Unfair,” Gavriel says dryly, adjusting his stance. “Theron has your recklessness.”

“And my beauty,” Caelum adds.

Eve and I groan at the same time.

The spar descends into organized chaos. Blades clash, feet slide, laughter breaks through like sunlight through trees. Gavriel disarms Caelum with a flick of his wrist, while Eve tackles me to the ground with a laugh and a snarl.

She pins me, hair falling around us. “You yield?”

“Never,” I growl, twisting just like Caelum taught me, flipping her over.

She lets it happen. I know she could’ve stopped it. But she’s smiling like she’s proud.

Eventually we collapse in a breathless pile, all four of us sprawled on the grass beside the training ring. My muscles ache, my chest heaves, and my heart feels… light.

This—this is my favorite kind of magic. Not the kind Kazzar tries to coax from the shadows of my soul, not the wolf I haven’t yet found—but this.

Family. Fire. Laughter.

Eve rests her head on my chest, hand on my heart. “You’re going to be the greatest of us, Theron.”

“No pressure,” I whisper.

Caelum chuckles, flat on his back beside us. “You don’t need pressure. You were born already forged.”

“And loved,” Gavriel adds. “Never forget that part.”

I close my eyes for a moment. The weight of legacy is still there, but for now, it’s wrapped in something softer. Something stronger.

Love.

Chapter 4

POV: Theron

We’re still catching our breath when Korr rushes into the courtyard.

His face is tight, voice clipped. “My queen. My kings. We have a situation—at the western border.”

The air around us sharpens. Caelum is already on his feet. “What kind of situation?”

“A lone wolf. Unknown. Naked. Refuses help. The guards thought it was a trap.”

Eve steps forward, brows drawn low. “A wolf alone at the border doesn’t make it out alive unless she’s dangerous—or desperate.”

“She’s not shifting,” Korr adds, “and she won’t speak. We don’t know who—or what—she is.”

Caelum and Gavriel exchange a look. Then Eve’s eyes flick to me.

“No,” she says softly. “You’re not going.”

“I can help.”

“She could be dangerous, Theron.”

“So am I.”

There’s a silence. Heavy. Measured. Then Gavriel places a hand on Eve’s arm. “He’s nineteen, sweetheart. And if this girl is a threat, it’s better we’re all there.”

Eve presses her lips into a tight line but nods.

We ride fast. Through the woods that hum with early spring and nerves. My heart drums louder with every step the horses take, and I don’t know why. I don’t know why I feel this fire in my chest, this pull that grows with every mile.

And then I see her.

And for some reason, I let everything change.

She’s crouched low in the mud at the base of an old stone wall. Surrounded by a half-circle of guards with weapons drawn—but she’s not attacking. Not moving. She’s shaking.

But for me, she looked like the most beautiful woman I ever saw.

Red hair matted with blood and dirt. Skin streaked with grime. Brown eyes too wide and wild for someone that young.

She’s my age.

And she’s naked.

My mother dismounts first, her steps cautious but commanding. “We’re not here to hurt you,” she says, voice clear but gentle. “Tell us who you are.”

The girl flinches. She doesn’t speak. Just hisses like a cornered animal.

She doesn’t smell feral. Doesn’t look feral. But something in her is shattered.

And gods help me—I feel it.

Deep in my bones. Like my blood recognized something before my mind could name it.

“She’s terrified,” Gavriel murmurs beside me.

“She’s hiding something,” Caelum counters, sharp.

And me—I can’t move.

I’m frozen on my horse, staring at this girl who is all bones and bruises and fury. I don’t know her. I’ve never seen her before. But something inside me has already claimed her.

Protect her.

That’s all I can think. Not because she’s beautiful—not like this, covered in filth and fear—but because something in her is mine.

Not mine like possession. Mine like a promise I haven’t made yet.

“I want to go to her,” I whisper.

Eve snaps her head toward me. “No.”

But it’s not a command. It’s a plea.

“She’s afraid of us,” I say. “Maybe not me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I feel it, Mother. She’s not a threat.”

Eve holds my gaze. She sees it in me—the same knowing she’s trusted all her life. And reluctantly, she nods.

I dismount and move slowly. No weapons. No sudden gestures.

The closer I get, the more I feel it. This tether I can’t see but can’t ignore.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” I say, voice quiet.

Her eyes snap to mine.

Brown and bottomless.

There’s something ancient in her gaze—older than she should be. Like the world has already swallowed her and spit her back out.

She bares her teeth. Not a growl. Just instinct.

I stop just a few paces away.

“My name is Theron,” I say. “I’m not going to touch you. I swear it.”

She blinks. Something shifts. Not trust—not yet. But her trembling slows.

“You’re safe now,” I whisper. “I don’t know why, but I think I was meant to find you.”

She stares at me like she wants to believe me but doesn’t know how.

And even though she’s filthy and scared and looks like she’s about to bolt—I’ve never seen anything more powerful.

More miraculous.

She doesn’t speak.

But her eyes never leave mine.

Like if she looks away, the world will crumble under her feet.

I take one more step, slow and measured, my palms open at my sides. I can feel my parents behind me—watching, worried—but this moment doesn’t belong to them. It’s me and her. Whatever this is, it’s between us.

“You don’t have to come with me,” I say. “But I can’t leave you here.”

She sways on her feet, like the effort to stay upright is costing her. Her mouth opens just a little, but no words come out. Her lips are cracked. She’s shaking again. And still—still she doesn’t shift.

What kind of pain has she endured to bring her here?

“I won’t touch you unless you let me,” I promise again. My voice is barely a breath. “But please. Come with me.”

She stares at my hand when I extend it.

Then, slowly—so slowly—her fingers lift.

The second her skin brushes mine, I feel it.

A jolt, like lightning tearing through my bones. It’s not violent—it’s real. It’s every part of me waking up all at once. My breath hitches. My knees nearly give.

Her eyes go wide.

She felt it too.

But instead of comfort, it terrifies her.

She yanks her hand back with a hiss, stumbling, falling into the mud. Her entire body trembles. “Don’t,” she finally whispers, voice hoarse and cracked. “Don’t touch me.”

I kneel, not moving closer. Not reaching again. My heart’s beating like it’s trying to escape my chest.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t know that would happen.”

She covers herself with her arms again, curling into the smallest space possible.

But she doesn’t run.

And she doesn’t look away.

“I don’t understand this either,” I tell her. “But I think… I think you’re not alone anymore.”

That gets to her.

A single tear cuts through the grime on her cheek, and it hurts more than it should. I don’t know this girl. But I feel like I’ve been waiting for her. Like every part of my life was a straight path to this moment.

Even if she wants nothing to do with me.

Even if she’s terrified of whatever we just felt.

She lets me help her stand.

She doesn’t let go of my hand this time. Her fingers are ice, her body trembling, but she lets me guide her to my mother.

Eve’s eyes are locked on mine—sharp, searching—but she says nothing.

Gavriel pulls off his cloak and drapes it gently over the girl’s shoulders, not touching her skin. “We’ll take her to the healer’s wing,” he says.

“She needs food,” Caelum adds. “Rest. She’s been through hell.”

“She hasn’t shifted,” I murmur. “She might not be able to.”

They all exchange a look.

And I hate that part of me whispers, just like you.

I walk with her, slow and careful, all the way to the castle. She says nothing. Doesn’t let go of me, but doesn’t meet my eyes either. Whatever just sparked between us—it scared her.

It scared me too.

But gods, it also felt… right.

Once she’s settled in a guarded room near the infirmary, the healer rushes in. They’ll check her wounds, feed her, try to get her to speak.

I stand outside the door, back pressed to the stone, heart racing like I just came back from battle.

My parents find me there.

“She’s special,” Gavriel says quietly, standing beside me.

Caelum nods. “Something ancient lives in that girl.”

Eve doesn’t speak. She just looks at me, and I know she saw it. Felt it.

“What was that?” I whisper.

Eve places a hand on my shoulder. “We don’t know yet. But I think… I think Kazzar will.”

Chapter 5

POV: Theron

The healer’s door creaked open, and I shot up like I’d been set on fire. My parents stood as well, their presence steady beside me, but I could feel the same current of tension vibrating through them.

“She’s ready,” the healer said gently. “You… need to see this.”

We stepped inside. The room was quiet, warm, the scent of herbs and lavender clinging to the air. Mireya sat on the edge of the low cot, facing away from us, her red hair damp and cascading down her back in tangled waves. Clean now. Still naked. But no longer feral—just still. Frozen.

My breath hitched.

Because carved into the smooth skin of her back was a massive rune—etched in lines that shimmered faintly with a soft, golden glow.

No, not just a rune—a mark. Huge, carved deep into the skin of her back, still slightly raw around the edges. It shimmered faintly in the light, glowing silver-gold like starlight trying to break through.

“What the—” I heard my mother whisper.

The mark was… familiar. I didn’t know how, but my body reacted to it. A low thrum beneath my skin. My blood humming.

Because I’d seen something like that before.

On Eve.

On Caelum.

On Gavriel.

And on me.

It wasn’t the exact same shape—hers curled and wove in strange, ancient patterns—but the feeling was the same. Power. Origin. A root that reached somewhere older than memory.

Mireya turned slowly at the sound of our steps. Her eyes locked with mine.

And for a heartbeat, everything fell away.

The room. The silence. Even the magic buzzing in my chest.

All I saw was her.

And I knew—no logic, no explanation, no name for it—but I knew in my bones: I was meant to find her.

She flinched when Caelum stepped forward. Her body curled slightly, instinctively. Wary. Defensive.

“Nobody’s going to hurt you,” I said quickly, stepping forward, holding my hands up. “It’s okay.”

Her eyes—deep, guarded brown—met mine again.

My mother stepped closer, a sharp inhale slicing the air. “It’s… similar to ours,” she whispered. “But it’s not the same.”

Gavriel’s voice was low, reverent. “It feels… ancient.”

Mireya flinched at the sound of their voices. Her shoulders trembled. She didn’t turn.

I swallowed, the weight in my chest unbearable. She looked so small. So vulnerable. And I hated it—hated seeing her like this.

Without thinking, I grabbed the blanket folded at the foot of the cot and stepped forward. “Hey,” I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’m going to cover you, okay?”

She tensed but didn’t stop me.

I draped the blanket over her shoulders slowly, careful not to touch skin. But when my hand brushed her arm—just the lightest graze—something snapped between us. Like lightning lancing through my veins.

A spark.

Real.

Raw.

It wasn’t a metaphor.

Magic cracked down my spine like lightning, and her breath caught.

She gasped. So did I.

The rune on her back flared.

My wolf, buried so deep inside me I could barely feel him most days, stirred.

Holy shit.

I crouched in front of her, meeting her wide, terrified eyes. “You okay?”

Her lips parted. “What… was that?”

“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “But it’s not just you. I felt it too.”

She didn’t look away. Still shaking. But something changed in her expression—less fear, more confusion. And maybe… maybe the tiniest flicker of trust.

I reached for her hand. She let me take it. And her runes—oh, gods, the ones carved across her collarbone, down her side—they lit up.

Not all. Just the ones I touched.

But the light was soft. Not pain. Not torment. Something else.

She looked down at our joined hands and whispered, “They hurt… but not when you touch them.”

A knot twisted deep inside my chest. I hated whoever did this to her. I wanted to tear them apart. But right now, I just wanted to keep her calm. Keep her safe.

“I won’t hurt you,” I said. “Not ever.”

The door slammed open.

Kazzar froze in the doorway, his wild, white-streaked hair a mess, eyes locked on the girl—on the runes.

He staggered forward a step. “By the stars…” he whispered. “She’s marked.”

My mother moved toward him. “Do you recognize it?”

Kazzar didn’t answer immediately. He circled slowly, staring at Mireya like she was both a miracle and a curse. “That rune… it hasn’t been seen for ages.”

He looked at me, then down at our hands. “And she let you touch her?”

I nodded, voice dry. “Only me.”

Kazzar’s eyes narrowed. “Then we may have a lot less time than we thought.”

I stood, instinctively placing myself between Mireya and the others. “What do you mean?”

“She’s not just cursed,” he said grimly. “She’s tied. To you. And to something far older than any of us.”

I didn’t understand it. Not all of it. But I knew one thing.

I wasn’t letting her go.

“Tied?” I repeated, the word like a stone dropping into still water.

Kazzar blinked, dragging his gaze away from Mireya and looking at me. He didn’t smile. His expression was grave. “It means what you already feel, even if you don’t understand it yet.”

“What does it mean?” I asked again, slower this time, my voice tighter. My chest felt like it was caving in and expanding all at once.

Kazzar turned to my parents. “It’s time.”

Eve’s jaw tightened. Caelum’s eyes dropped. Gavriel stepped closer to her side, silent but steady.

“I don’t understand,” I said, stepping in front of them. “Time for what? What’s going on?”

No one answered for a moment.

Then Kazzar sighed and crossed the room, his eyes flicking to Mireya for a beat—gentle, curious—then back to me.

“I can confirm it with a spell,” he said softly. “But everything points to her being your mate.”

The words cracked through me like thunder.

Mate.

Mireya’s fingers curled around the blanket, her knuckles white. Her eyes widened—but not with joy. With fear.

I took a step back, like I could run from the meaning. “That’s not… That can’t be.”

“It can,” Kazzar said. “And it is. The way you reacted to her. The runes. Her mark. Your wolf—”

“I don’t have a wolf,” I snapped, too fast. Too loud.

Silence followed.

And then—Eve.

She stepped forward and placed a hand on my shoulder, grounding. Her touch always did that. “You do,” she said gently. “You always did.”

Gavriel came beside me. “We never told you. We thought it was safer to wait. We didn’t want to give you pressure or expectations.”

“Wait for what?” My voice broke. “You’re all dancing around something. Just say it.”

Kazzar exhaled slowly. “Then listen closely.”

And the world shifted.

Chapter 6

POV: Theron

“Long ago,” Kazzar began, “the First Wolves walked these lands—three ancient bloodlines, each holding part of the balance. The Vaelorian, the Cerynth, and the Elarion.”

I blinked, stunned. I’d never heard this before.

Caelum’s expression turned distant, remembering. “My first mate, Selene, and I were both descendants of those lines. She was Cerynth, I was Vaelorian. Our bond was sacred.”

“She died,” Eve said quietly. “Witches. Magic. War.”

“There was always a prophecy that would unite all those three families, the plan first was to unite the heirs of Caellum and Selene, with the one of Gavriel and Eve, and after Selene died,” Kazzar continued, “The Moon rewrote her paths, for the balance would not be restored until the three lines were joined again in one being. A child. Born from all three.”

Caelum nodded. “I didn’t know that but I knew that Eve was fated to death the same way as Selene was, so I came to Eve, the last of the Elarion bloodline. We made a pact, a political alliance first. She didn’t love me. I didn’t expect her to.”

I shook my head, stunned. “You didn’t love each other?”

Eve smiled softly. “Not at first. We grew into it. Through war, loss, and healing. It wasn’t always easy.”

“Then Gavriel came,” she added, glancing at him.

“My Moon mate,” she said, and Gavriel touched her hand gently. “But he also carried Selene’s bloodline. Cerynth. He didn’t know that. So when we three got together was the union of the three ancient bloodline of the First Wolves,”

“So when you were conceived,” Kazzar said, “you weren’t born of one blood. You were born of all three.”

My throat tightened. “All three…”

“You are the fulfillment of that prophecy,” he said. “The Vaelorian, the Cerynth, and the Elarion. In one body. One soul. The first true heir of the First Wolves in a thousand years.”

I didn’t know how to breathe.

They were all staring at me like I was something rare. Something sacred.

“I still can’t shift,” I whispered.

“Because your wolf is not like the others,” Kazzar said. “He is older. Wilder. He is waiting.”

“For what?” I asked.

Mireya moved slightly behind me. Her voice was quiet, rasped, like it hadn’t been used in years.

“…For her,” she said.

All eyes turned to her.

She looked at me. “First Wolves. I… I heard that before. Somewhere.”

She looked dizzy. Overwhelmed. Like the room was too small, and the past too loud.

I stepped closer to her. “It’s okay. You don’t have to—”

She flinched slightly. “You’re not like the others,” she said. “You… you didn’t try to touch me without asking.”

“You’re safe here,” I said. “With me.”

I looked down at her.

“What’s your name?” I asked her gently.

She blinked, eyes soft and stunned.

“Mireya.”

I said it again, quietly, tasting it like a vow. “Mireya.”

And when she didn’t flinch, I offered my hand—not to touch. Just to guide you.

“Come. There’s a room where you can rest.”

She nodded.

And walked with me.

Every step felt like gravity had shifted under my feet. Like the ground beneath me didn’t quite remember how to hold my weight.

I didn’t know how I was still upright.

My body moved—one foot in front of the other—but inside, I was unraveling. Thread by thread. Thought by thought.

The corridor outside the healer’s chamber was silent. But my mind was a storm.

My mate.

They’d said she was my mate.

And I was what?

The heir to a prophecy?

The vessel of some ancient force I couldn’t name, let alone control?

The first of the First Wolves reborn?

My lungs felt too tight. My ribs like they were shrinking around my heart.

But Mireya—barefoot, wrapped in the blanket I’d given her—walked beside me in silence. Her eyes were wide and sharp all at once, her posture stiff with the tension of someone who expected the world to strike at any moment.

She didn’t believe she was safe.

Not yet.

I wanted to tell her she was.

That I would burn the world before I let it hurt her again.

But I didn’t even know who I was anymore.

I opened the door to the room closest to mine. Warm. Small. A fire already crackling in the hearth, thick furs layered on the bed. I hadn’t realized until that moment that I’d brought her to my wing of the castle.

Close. Too close.

But I didn’t care.

I held the door open for her.

She paused just outside the threshold, fingers gripping the edge of the blanket like it was armor. Her gaze flicked across the room like it might trap her. Like comfort itself was suspicious.

“It’s not so big,” I said quietly. “But it’s warm. And it’s yours, for as long as you want it.”

Her knuckles whitened on the fabric.

“No one will come in,” I added. “No one will touch you. I swear it. You’re safe here.”

She looked up at me then.

Not like a girl.

Not like a victim.

Like a survivor learning how to breathe again.

Her eyes were darker now. Not from shadows, but from clarity. The dirt and fear were washing away, and underneath… was something fierce.

“You haven’t asked me who I am,” she said, voice low. “Or where I came from.”

“No,” I said. “You’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

Her lower lip trembled.

No one had given her that before—

Time.

Choice.

Space.

I was sure of it.

She stepped inside slowly, like each inch was a test. She didn’t go to the bed. Just stood in the center of the room, eyes scanning every corner like she was waiting for the walls to close in.

I stayed by the door. Not moving. Not pressing. Watching without staring.

Wanting to reach for her, but not daring.

She turned to face me, her voice hoarse. “Why are you being kind to me?”

A hundred answers burned in my throat.

Because I feel like I’ve known you in every lifetime I never lived.

Because something inside me reaches for you like I’ve been starving my whole life.

Because I saw the pain carved into your skin, and I wanted to tear the world apart for letting it happen.

But all I said was, “Because you deserve it.”

She blinked.

And then, slowly, like it hurt to let go of the tension, she sat on the edge of the bed.

Blanket still wrapped tight around her like a second skin.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “For not being like the others.”

My chest twisted.

“You don’t have to thank me for that.”

“I do,” she said, voice barely audible. “You don’t know what they did to me.”

I stepped back like her words had struck something raw in me.

“I don’t,” I admitted. “But… if you ever want to tell me—I’ll listen. I’ll always listen.”

She nodded once.

Not today.

Maybe not for a long time.

But someday.

I turned toward the door, ready to leave her the space she needed. But I hesitated.

“I’ll be just across the hall,” I said. “If you need anything. Even if it’s nothing. Even if you just want to sit and not talk.”

There was silence behind me.

I was almost out the door when I heard her voice—fragile and full of something that cracked me open.

“Theron…”

I turned, slowly.

She was still sitting on the edge of the bed, but her eyes had found mine.

Red-rimmed. Raw.

And for one breathless second, they held something I hadn’t dared hope to see.

Trust.

“I’m scared,” she whispered. “Of what I feel when I look at you.”

I swallowed hard, then nodded. “Me too.”

When I got back to my room, I sat on the edge of the bed and dropped my head into my hands.

Everything burned.

My parents had hidden so much from me—not out of cruelty. Out of love, maybe. Out of fear, definitely.

I could see it now, in the way they looked at me. Like I was made of fire and glass.

Like they weren’t sure if I would shatter, or explode.

But I wasn’t a prophecy.

I wasn’t some mythical rebirth.

I was just a boy who couldn’t shift.

And now I had a mate.

A girl carved in runes and raised in shadows. A girl who flinched from kindness but calmed under my hands.

Cursed.

Mireya.

Even her name made my chest ache.

Made something old and ancient stir inside me.

I laid back on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

Wondering if she was asleep.

Wondering if she could feel this thread tying us together, pulsing between the walls.

Wondering if I was enough.

Strong enough to protect her.

Strong enough to deserve her.

Strong enough to face what I really was.

Chapter 7

POV: Theron

The fire in my room had burned low, casting shadows that stretched long across the stone walls. I hadn’t moved from the bed, barely blinked. Just breathed.

One moment at a time.

I thought I was alone—until I heard the knock. Soft. Rhythmic.

I didn’t answer.

The door creaked open anyway, and I didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

My mother entered first.

She was quiet, barefoot, wrapped in her robe. Moonlight touched her hair and made her look almost unreal—like some vision born of starlight and storm. Caelum and Gavriel stood just behind her, silent as always, shadows of strength.

Eve walked to the edge of the bed and sat, her hand finding mine like it always did. Like she knew I wouldn’t reach for her first.

Her touch was grounding.

I stared at our hands.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

Eve frowned. “For what?”

“For… not being what you expected. For not shifting. For not knowing what to do with this thing inside me.”

Her other hand lifted to my face, gentle fingers brushing along my jaw. “Theron. Look at me.”

I did.

Her green eyes were fierce.

“You were never broken. Not even for a second. That is not the reason we never told you this,”

My throat closed.

Caelum stepped into the room, arms folded across his chest, the quiet power of him filling the space. “We didn’t tell you everything because we didn’t want to burden you too soon. Not because we doubted you.”

Gavriel followed, his voice soft as water, always steady. “You’ve carried enough, Theron. Since the moment you were born, you’ve been bearing the weight of a legacy you didn’t ask for. We only wanted to give you time to just be our son.”

“But I’m not just your son,” I murmured. “I’m something else. Something ancient.”

Caelum crouched in front of me, his hands braced on his knees. His gaze met mine—sharp and warm, filled with memory and pain and pride. “You are our son first. Always. But yes, magic lives in you, Theron. Old magic. Wilder than anything this world remembers.”

Eve’s thumb brushed my cheek. “You were born from a bond that defied fate. You carry all three bloodlines. You are the first of your kind. You were never less because you couldn’t shift.”

“You’re more,” Gavriel said, stepping closer. “So much more.”

I looked between them—my mother, my fathers.

And for the first time, I let myself believe them.

I swallowed hard. “I feel her, you know.”

They didn’t ask who I meant.

“She calms the noise,” I said. “When I touched her… the magic in me didn’t feel like it was eating me alive. It fit. It was quiet. Whole.”

Eve leaned in and pressed her forehead to mine.

“You were never meant to face this alone.”

Gavriel moved beside me, placing his hand on my shoulder. “And you never will.”

Caelum rose, his hand resting briefly on my head, solid and warm. “When you’re ready, we’ll tell you everything we know about the prophecy. We’ll fight together.”

Together.

That word wrapped around my chest like armor.

They turned to go, giving me space again—but Eve lingered at the door.

She looked back, and her voice was barely a whisper. “Theron… your power is not a curse. It’s a gift. One the world will need.”

Their presence felt like warmth in winter—soft, strong, and anchoring me to something solid. I didn’t want them to leave yet. Not before I asked the question that had been clawing at the edge of my chest since the moment I touched Mireya.

“Wait,” I said, before they could cross the threshold. My voice was low, unsure. “Can I… ask something?”

Eve turned back instantly. “Anything.”

I swallowed hard. “The mate bond. What is it supposed to feel like?”

They looked at one another. A long, weighted glance that said more than words ever could.

Caelum stepped closer first, his arms crossed but his voice gentle. “It’s… complicated. It’s ancient. Primal. It’s tied to the soul and the wolf. When the bond snaps into place, it’s not something you question. You feel it everywhere.”

“But I don’t feel everything,” I admitted. “With Mireya, I feel drawn to her. I feel like I need to protect her. That I would burn the world to keep her safe. But it’s… confusing. I don’t know if it’s the bond or just me.”

“It’s both,” Gavriel said softly, moving to my other side. “The desire to protect? That’s instinct. It’s what leads you there. But the bond itself—it’s tied to your wolf.”

Caelum nodded. “And your wolf is still sleeping, Theron. He’s not gone. Just… waiting. Maybe because he’s different. Older. Wilder. But he’s there. And when he wakes, everything will make sense.”

Eve sat beside me again, her voice tender. “When I met your father,” she said, brushing a hand over Caelum’s, “there was no bond. Just a choice. We fought. We clashed. And then… I learned to see him. To let him in.”

Gavriel chuckled softly. “I showed up late and ruined everything.”

“You saved everything,” Eve corrected him, her eyes glowing with warmth.

Caelum smiled, his gaze distant for a moment. “When the bond snapped between us, it felt like falling into a storm and finally finding calm. Like all the noise inside me silenced. I wanted to protect them more than I wanted to breathe.”

“It’s not just love,” Gavriel added. “It’s connection. You feel them in your bones. Even in silence. Even in pain.”

My chest ached at the way they looked at one another. It was soft. Fierce. Real.

“I don’t know if I can feel that,” I whispered.

“You will,” Eve said, firm but kind. “When your wolf wakes, you’ll know. But what you feel for Mireya now? It’s not nothing, Theron. It’s real. Even without the bond fully formed.”

“Talk to Kazzar,” Gavriel said, squeezing my shoulder. “He helped us more than once. He understands how the mate bond works better than anyone.”

“And he’s not subtle,” Caelum smirked. “So be prepared.”

I managed a small laugh. “Thanks. I think.”

Eve leaned in again, her forehead brushing mine. “Whatever happens… we’ll figure it out together.”

They rose one by one, pausing at the door.

Caelum turned back, his voice low but steady. “You were never broken, Theron. You’re just becoming. And we’re right here.”

Always.

The door clicked shut, and the quiet returned—but this time, it wasn’t empty.

It was full of something I hadn’t let myself feel in a long time.

Hope.

I stayed on the bed, staring into the low flames, heart aching, soul heavier and lighter all at once.

And in the silence, I felt something stir deep inside me.

Not just pain. Not just fear.

But the first whisper of a wolf.

Night had never felt so long.

I couldn’t sleep. Not really. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her—curled up on the cot, too still, too quiet. Like she was afraid even in sleep. I’d tried to rest, pacing my room, lying in bed, sitting by the window. Nothing worked. The pull in my chest wouldn’t let me.

When the scream tore through the quiet, I was already halfway to her door.

I didn’t knock.

She was sitting up, clutching the blanket to her chest, her eyes wide and wild in the candlelight. Breath coming fast. Skin slick with fear. She looked like she was fighting to stay in her own body, to not be dragged under by whatever haunted her.

“Mireya.” Her name came out low and soft as I stepped inside, like it belonged to my mouth. “It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re in the keep. No one’s going to hurt you.”

She flinched when I got closer. So I sank to my knees slowly beside the bed, not reaching for her yet. Just being there.

She didn’t say anything. Just stared. Her lips trembled, her chest rising and falling too fast. But she didn’t pull away when I brushed the hair from her face, gentle as I could.

“I’m not gonna touch you unless you want me to,” I murmured. “But you’re not alone. I’m here.”

The shaking slowed.

Still wrapped in the blanket from earlier, she looked impossibly small now. Someone had left clothes for her on the dresser, a simple cotton nightgown folded neatly. I grabbed it and knelt beside her again, lifting it.

“Can I?” I asked.

She gave the smallest nod.

I turned my back, giving her time to shift the blanket, to let me help her without making it harder. My hands didn’t tremble, but something in me cracked as I slipped the gown gently over her head and pulled it down her body. Her skin was marked and glowing faintly, but I didn’t stare. I only moved with care.

When I was done, she looked at me—really looked. And I couldn’t take the distance between us anymore.

So I did what I’d never done with anyone before.

I climbed into the bed beside her.

She stiffened. But then… she leaned in.

I didn’t ask. I just opened my arms.

She curled against me, her face buried in my chest, her fingers gripping my shirt like it might disappear. The tears came quiet at first. Then harder.

I held her through all of it. One hand gently stroking her hair. The other pressed to her back, right where those painful runes were carved into her skin. I didn’t press. I just anchored her.

“Am I hurting you?” I asked against her temple.

She shook her head against my chest. “No,” she whispered, voice cracking. “It feels… good.”

Gods

The words undid me. Not because they were soft or grateful. But because they were so full of surprise, like she hadn’t known that something could feel good.

She had no idea how much I wanted to make sure she never felt anything less again.

I wanted to kill and burn everyone that hurted her before.

Neither of us said anything else. We just stayed like that, tangled together, her legs wrapped in mine, her body finally starting to relax.

I didn’t know what this was between us yet. But I knew it was real. And I knew I’d fight anything that tried to take it away.

She fell asleep in my arms, the faint glow of her runes flickering softly against her skin like embers.

And for the first time since this all began, I finally closed my eyes and let sleep take me—with her breath warm against my chest.

Chapter 8

POV: Caelum

I woke to warmth and softness pressed against me—Eve’s back to my chest, her bare skin like silk under my hand. Her scent was the first thing that hit me, earthy and sweet, laced with the faintest trace of wild roses. She sighed as I buried my nose in the crook of her neck, her body instinctively curling closer.

Beyond her, I could feel Gavriel’s steady presence. He lay facing us, one arm draped lazily over Eve’s waist, his hand resting on my forearm like we were one tangle of limbs and breath. We were.

Morning light filtered through the open window, golden and soft, and for a moment, I didn’t move. I just listened—to Eve’s even breathing, to the birds outside, to the familiar rhythm of my heart that always beat differently when I was wrapped around the two people who made me whole.

“You’re awake,” Eve murmured without opening her eyes.

“You always know,” I whispered against her shoulder.

“Because you get tense when you’re thinking too much,” she replied, a teasing lilt in her voice. “Even when you’re pressed up against me like a furnace.”

I chuckled, slipping my hand over the curve of her waist and down to her thigh. “Can you blame me?”

“No,” Gavriel answered, his voice still thick with sleep, low and rough. “But if you keep touching her like that, we won’t make it to breakfast.”

Eve smiled, a soft, lazy thing that always wrecked me. “Maybe I don’t want to make it to breakfast.”

I rolled her gently onto her back, caging her between me and Gavriel. “Careful, love. You say things like that and we’ll keep you in bed all day.”

She bit her lip, her eyes dancing between us. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

Gavriel leaned in and kissed her shoulder, slow and deliberate. “Both.”

She sighed, arching a little, and I leaned down, brushing my lips over her neck. There was no rush—there never was. With them, everything burned slow and deep. Familiar. Safe. Eternal.

But as much as I wanted to lose myself in her, again… something tugged at the edge of my mind. Theron.

Eve must’ve sensed it. Her fingers found mine and squeezed gently.

“He’s okay,” she said softly. “I felt it last night. Something changed.”

“I know. But it’s starting now, isn’t it?” I looked down at her, brushing her hair from her face. “The prophecy, his wolf, Mireya… everything.”

Gavriel nodded. “We should talk to Kazzar soon. See what more he can sense from her now that she’s slept.”

Eve exhaled and rolled onto her side again, facing Gavriel, her back to me once more. I pulled her in close, my hand resting protectively over her heart. Gavriel met my eyes over her shoulder. A silent conversation passed between us—love, trust, worry.

“We’ll handle it,” I murmured.

“Together,” Gavriel added.

Eve hummed, her voice small but sure. “Always.”

Eve slipped out of my arms with the quiet grace she always had. The sheets whispered against her skin as she sat on the edge of the bed, stretching slowly. My eyes followed every curve of her back, the dip of her waist, the trail of our shared marks along her spine. She reached for the robe hanging by the chair, and when she stood to tie it around herself, the silk clung in all the right places.

Gods, after all these years, she still undid me with a single glance, even when she wasn’t trying.

She padded barefoot toward the door, glancing over her shoulder with a soft smile. “I want to check on him.”

I nodded, watching her go with the weight of a hundred thoughts pressing on my chest. I trusted Theron with my life. But I also knew what it meant when the mate bond began to stir—especially if it was only partially awakened. The pull. The confusion. The need.

Moments passed in silence. Gavriel had dozed again beside me, peaceful and warm, but I sat up when I heard her voice echo from the hall.

“Where is he?”

There was panic in her tone. Sharp. Immediate.

I was out of bed in a second, pulling on my pants and yanking a shirt over my head as I ran. Gavriel was right behind me, silent and alert. We reached Theron’s room just as Eve pushed the door wide, her robe loose around her, hair a storm down her back.

“Theron?” she called again.

Then his voice, calm but close—too close. “I’m here.”

We turned to find him stepping out of the guest room just down the hall—Mireya’s.

His hair was tousled, his eyes tired but clear. “She had a nightmare,” he said. “She was afraid. I… I stayed.”

Eve blinked, her hands still gripping the edge of his open door. “You slept in there?”

“She was scared,” he said again, softer now, like the weight of it was still heavy in his chest. “She didn’t want to be alone.”

I stepped forward, pride and ache twisting in my chest as I looked at my son. Taller than me now. Wiser in ways I hadn’t expected.

I pulled Eve gently into my arms. She was still trembling a little, and I kissed the top of her head before looking back at him. “He’s just like us,” I murmured. “You remember, don’t you? When you couldn’t sleep. Gavriel and I didn’t leave your side.”

Eve softened against me, her hands gripping my forearms. “We couldn’t sleep apart.”

Theron glanced down the hall toward Mireya’s room, his voice rough. “I didn’t touch her like that. I just… held her. She cried. And then she finally slept.”

“I know,” I said gently. “And it’s exactly what she needed.”

He nodded once, the tension bleeding slowly from his shoulders.

Gavriel stepped forward, resting a hand on his son’s back. “You did good, cub.”

Theron huffed a soft breath. “I didn’t know what else to do. It just felt right.”

“Instinct,” I said. “It’s louder when it comes to your mate.”

He glanced at me, then back at the room behind him. “It doesn’t feel complete. Just… raw. Strong.”

“It’ll come,” Gavriel said. “Your wolf is waking.”

Eve stepped out of my arms and walked down the hall. “I’ll get her something else to wear. Something soft.”

She disappeared into the dressing room, and I turned back to Theron. “Come on. Let’s have breakfast. All of us.”

He blinked. “Even her?”

I smiled. “Especially her. She’s one of us now, whether she knows it or not.”

He nodded, quietly overwhelmed. I clapped a hand on his shoulder before following Eve.

She sat at the table like it might bite her.

Mireya’s hands hovered above the food without reaching, her eyes darting between the plates like she couldn’t decide what was safe. The others were already seated—Eve beside me, Gavriel on her other side, and Theron directly across from Mireya, watching her with that quiet, steady focus he’d always had when something mattered to him.

The table was full—breads, fruit, cheese, warm spiced porridge, even honeycakes fresh from the kitchens. All of it comfort food. All of it untouched on Mireya’s side of the table.

She hadn’t said a word since she came downstairs.

Eve had offered her a soft dress, pale and loose, with a shawl over her shoulders. Mireya had accepted it with a nod, but I could tell she felt no comfort in fabric or warmth. She looked like someone who had never been allowed to relax.

Theron pushed a cup of tea closer to her, his hand brushing hers in the movement. I caught the way her shoulders stiffened—then, just as fast, softened. She took the cup but didn’t drink.

“She doesn’t have to eat everything,” Eve said gently, “but she’s welcome to whatever she wants.”

Mireya nodded once but still didn’t move. Her fingers curled tight around the cup.

I watched her in silence for a long moment. There was something wild in her—untamed and sharp. Like a creature who’d never been offered kindness without consequence. She was trying to figure out if we were safe.

My gaze shifted to Theron. He wasn’t afraid of her wildness. He felt it. Was drawn to it. And that bond—that pull—it made this girl mine now too, in some small, complicated way.

She was my son’s mate.

And yet… we knew nothing about her. Nothing but pain carved into her skin and a rune on her back that whispered of power more ancient than anything I’d seen in decades.

I couldn’t ignore that. No matter how gentle she looked sitting there with the shawl slipping off one shoulder. No matter how much Theron was already losing himself to her presence.

“After breakfast,” I said, carefully, keeping my tone even, “I’d like to speak with Kazzar. I think it’s time we learn more.”

Mireya looked up sharply. Her eyes flicked to Theron first—almost as if asking whether she should be afraid.

Theron didn’t speak. He only nodded once, slow and firm. Whatever she saw in him was enough to make her ease back in her chair.

She didn’t answer me directly. But the tension in her spine lowered a fraction.

“We’ll talk to Kazzar,” I said again, softer now. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. But we need to understand. For your safety… and for his.”

Eve reached across the table and gently laid her hand over Mireya’s. “He’s not just a friend. Kazzar is family to us.”

Mireya blinked at that word—family—like it didn’t make sense in her language.

I let a slow breath fill my lungs. So many pieces were moving, and none of us knew how they would land. But one thing was already clear: this girl wasn’t just the mystery we’d stumbled across in the woods.

She was the start of something bigger. And she belonged to my son.

That was all I needed to fight for her.

Even if I wasn’t ready to trust her yet.

Chapter 9

POV: Theron

After breakfast, everything felt too quiet. Too still.

The others gave us space. Maybe they thought we needed it. Maybe they knew I wouldn’t take my eyes off her otherwise.

I followed her to the garden just off the main corridor—a quiet space surrounded by stone archways and vines twisting along the columns. Mireya stood near one of the benches, her fingers brushing lightly over the lavender blooms, like she didn’t know what softness felt like.

She didn’t sit. Neither did I.

For a while, we didn’t say anything.

I just… looked at her.

Really looked.

The dirt was gone, the blood washed clean, her hair still damp and curling gently around her shoulders. The loose dress Eve gave her clung to her in places it wasn’t supposed to, and it did dangerous things to my focus. But it wasn’t just her body that had me caught—it was her eyes. The depth there. The fragility masked behind sharp instincts.

Gods, she was beautiful.

Not delicate. Not porcelain.

Powerful.

And I wanted her—more than I’d ever wanted anything. Not just the mate bond whispering between us. Me. I wanted her.

I stepped closer, slow enough not to spook her, but close enough to let the air change between us. Her head turned slightly, her gaze lifting to meet mine.

“I can’t stop looking at you,” I said quietly. “Is that weird?”

Her lips parted, and for a moment I thought she’d turn away. But she didn’t.

“I thought you were just being kind,” she said softly, voice low and rough.

“I’m not that good,” I smiled. “But I am being honest.”

She swallowed hard. Her hands stayed clenched at her sides, but she didn’t move away.

“Can I—?” I lifted a hand slowly toward her face.

She nodded.

Just once.

My fingers brushed her cheek, and it was like touching fire that didn’t burn. Her skin was warm beneath my hand, soft and still healing. Her eyes fluttered closed for a breath. And for a second—just one—she leaned into the touch.

“I’ve never had someone touch me like that,” she whispered. “Without taking.”

My chest twisted. “I’ll never take from you. Not unless you want me to.”

She opened her eyes, searching mine. “You’re… different.”

I tilted my head. “In a bad way?”

Her lips twitched—barely a smile, but it was there. “No. Just… you don’t look like someone who would be soft.”

I huffed a laugh. “I get that a lot.”

“I like the way you look,” she added suddenly, and then immediately blushed. “I mean… you’re handsome.”

That made me falter. For someone who’d been so guarded, the honesty in her voice hit like a punch to the chest. I didn’t move. I didn’t want to scare it away.

“Thank you,” I said, my voice softer now. “I like the way you look too. Even when you’re trying to bite everyone.”

“I wasn’t trying,” she muttered. “I was ready to.”

I laughed, and gods, she smiled.

It changed everything.

Then it faded, and she looked away.

“I ran,” she said suddenly. “From the place that raised me. I was never allowed outside. They told me the world was dangerous. That magic was evil. That people would hurt me if I left.”

“But you left anyway.”

“They lied about everything else,” she said. “I started to think maybe they lied about that too.”

“Who were they?” I asked.

Her hands clenched. “Witches.”

My blood ran cold.

I didn’t push her further. She was already braver than anyone I knew.

Before I could say another word, footsteps echoed down the path.

Gavriel.

He moved slowly, giving us space, but his expression was serious. “Kazzar is ready to speak with you both. He says it can’t wait.”

Mireya stiffened.

I turned to her, gently brushing a knuckle down her arm. “We’ll go together. You don’t have to face anything alone now.”

She looked at me—really looked.

And she nodded.

I could feel her trembling beside me.

Mireya’s hands were hidden beneath the edge of the cloak Eve had given her, fingers curled tight in the fabric like she was bracing for a storm. Her shoulders were drawn, spine straight, but I saw the tension in her neck. The way she was holding her breath.

She hadn’t spoken yet. No one rushed her.

The air inside the chamber felt heavy—thick with waiting. My mother and fathers stood at the head of the table, quiet but commanding. Kazzar leaned forward, unnervingly still, his eyes burning with the kind of curiosity that made people nervous.

I sat beside her, silent.

Not pressuring. Just present.

Finally, Mireya drew a shaky breath. “You want to know where I came from.”

Caelum nodded once. “Yes.”

She looked down. “I don’t know everything. Just pieces. Glimpses.”

Gavriel’s voice was low. “Start there.”

Her lips parted, then closed. She glanced at me.

The air between us pulsed. I wanted to reach for her hand, but I didn’t. Not yet.

“I was taken,” she said. “When I was a child. I don’t remember how old. Maybe four. Maybe five. I had a family once—I think. I remember… screams. A woman’s voice calling my name. Then everything went dark.”

I leaned forward, heart pounding in my ears. Her voice cracked—gods, it cracked—and I wanted to shatter with it.

Eve stepped forward slightly, concern etched across her face. “Taken by who?”

Mireya hesitated.

She looked at the fire.

Then, softly—like the word itself hurt—she said, “Witches.”

The silence in the chamber snapped like a bone breaking.

Caelum’s posture went rigid.

Eve whispered, “That’s not possible. We ended the coven. The last known ones died during the war.”

Mireya shook her head, quick and desperate. “Not all of them.”

Gavriel’s voice was sharp. “How do you know that?”

“Because they raised me.”

My breath caught. The floor might as well have opened beneath my feet.

“They raised you?” Kazzar echoed.

Mireya nodded. “They told me I was cursed. That there was something inside me that would destroy everything if it ever got out.”

Her voice faltered again. She swallowed.

“They called it… the wolf.”

My stomach twisted. Something inside me recoiled. Her wolf.

“They gave me potions. Spells. Every day. They said it was to protect the world from me. But it wasn’t.” Her voice grew tighter. “It was to keep me small. To make sure I never shifted. Never connected. Because if I did… you’d find me.”

Her eyes met mine. “And I’d find you.”

I couldn’t breathe.

The look in her eyes—it wasn’t fear anymore. It was grief. Pain so old and deep it had roots in her soul.

“I tried,” she whispered. “I tried to reach her—my wolf. I felt her, once. When I was little. But then they punished me. They said if I ever tried again, they’d burn her out.”

“Gods,” Eve breathed.

My jaw clenched. I didn’t speak because if I did, I’d scream. I wanted to kill someone. Anyone. I wanted to break the world that had done this to her.

“Every day,” Mireya went on, voice breaking now. “They forced the spells. Fed me pain like it was food. They carved the runes into my skin to keep me from bonding. To keep him”—she looked at me again—“from knowing I was out there.”

And I knew.

It was because of me.

Everything inside me twisted, guilt pouring like acid down my throat.

“I ran,” she said. “I broke a spell one night. I don’t even know how. Something inside me screamed and I just… ran. I didn’t know where. I didn’t know you were real. But I felt like I was running to something.”

“To me,” I said, voice hoarse.

She nodded. “To you.”

I reached for her hand this time.

She let me.

And when her fingers slid into mine, everything clicked. My chest still ached. My hands still shook. But the guilt didn’t drown me—it burned. And I needed to do something with it. Protect her. Heal her. Fight for her.

Because no one else ever had.

Mireya’s words still hung in the air, like smoke after a fire. My chest was tight, my blood too loud. But I hadn’t let go of her hand. I wouldn’t.

Then I heard it—my mother’s voice, sharp and full of something I didn’t often hear from her.

Horror.

“They did that to you?” Eve whispered. “To a child?”

Mireya looked down.

“They carved into you,” she went on, breath shaking, “spelled your body, poisoned you, tortured you—because of this?” Her voice cracked as she motioned between us.

Kazzar stepped forward, magic already building at his fingertips. “I can see what they did.”

Mireya’s head snapped up.

Her fingers tensed around mine.

“No pain,” Kazzar said quickly, his voice gentler than I’d ever heard. “Not like what they did to you. This is only light. Pure magic. It reveals what’s hidden. Nothing more.”

Mireya stood.

I did too.

She backed away from all of us, shaking her head. “No. No spells. No magic. I can’t—”

Her voice caught. Her body turned slightly toward the door, legs ready to bolt.

I moved before I could think.

“Mireya.” My voice stopped her. “Look at me.”

She did.

I stepped into her space—slow, sure, unwavering. “He’s not like them. He’s family. He helped my mother… my fathers. He helped me. He won’t hurt you.”

“But what if it wakes something again?” she asked. “What if it breaks me?”

“You’re already stronger than anything they ever tried to make you,” I said. “You’re here. That means they failed.”

Her lips trembled.

“I’ll be with you the whole time,” I promised.

She didn’t answer. Not yet.

Then my mother stepped forward, tugging her hair over one shoulder. “Then do it on me first,” she said to Kazzar. “Let her see.”

Chapter 10

POV: Theron

Kazzar didn’t hesitate.

His hands lifted, light pouring from his fingers, forming into a glowing sigil that pulsed gold. It washed over Eve like soft sunlight, wrapping around her like a veil.

And then—her magic formed.

A delicate, gold shimmer spun outward, shaping itself into a wolf—small, elegant, fierce in its own way. It stood beside her, eyes bright, tail curled high.

Eve smiled at Mireya. “See? Nothing to fear.”

Next, Gavriel stepped up.

Kazzar repeated the spell, but this time, the glow turned blue—deep and calm, like the sea during a storm.

Gavriel’s magic wolf emerged, larger, solid, a protector. The way it stood beside Eve’s was natural. Like they had always belonged together.

Caelum followed.

Green light swirled around him—darker, heavier. His wolf formed massive and steady, its presence like a mountain. The earth responded to it. I felt it in my bones.

Then—

Kazzar turned to me.

“I’m not sure what will happen,” he said.

“Do it anyway.”

The second the spell hit me, I felt it crack open something inside.

Magic surged up my spine—violent, ancient, wild. Not gold. Not blue. Not green.

All of them.

It burned and shimmered and twisted through the air, the colors bleeding into each other until they became something new. Something alive.

And then my wolf stepped forward.

Huge.

Impossible.

The ground shook beneath its weight.

Even Kazzar stumbled back.

The wolf—my wolf—was made of swirling gold, green, and blue fire. Its eyes glowed silver. Its fur moved like smoke and lightning. And it stood taller than Caelum’s by a full head.

No one spoke.

Mireya stared, frozen. Her breath caught.

Kazzar’s voice was barely a whisper. “Gods. It’s the First Wolf.”

Then he turned to her.

She hesitated.

I reached for her hand again. She let me take it.

Kazzar lifted his hands, slower this time. “This won’t hurt,” he said again. “I promise.”

Red light spilled from his palms.

It wrapped around her—and she flinched. But it didn’t burn. It shimmered.

Her wolf appeared in a burst of soft flame—smaller than the others, curled in on itself, trembling. It looked terrified.Not weak. Just afraid.

And then—something happened.

Her wolf’s head turned.

And saw mine.

And I swear to the gods—they moved.

Not the projections. Themselves.

My wolf stepped forward, slow and steady. Hers stayed frozen, but its ears perked. Its chest rose. And when mine knelt—lowered its massive head to hers—she moved too.

Their foreheads touched.

And in that moment, the magic between us sang.

My chest felt like it might split open. The bond wasn’t complete—but it was real. And alive. And growing.

Mireya’s breath stuttered.

Tears slid down her cheeks.

She didn’t speak.

Neither did I.

Because we knew.

The room was silent, except for the hum of magic slowly fading.

Kazzar took a step back, breathing a little harder than before. His gaze moved from the swirling image of our wolves—still touching, still connected—to the stunned faces around us.

“That’s enough,” he said quietly. “We don’t need more.”

The images flickered and dissolved, light vanishing like mist in sunlight. The air shifted. Colder. Still.

Mireya was still staring at the space where our wolves had touched.

My mother was the first to speak. “I’ve never seen magic respond like that. Not even with us.”

Gavriel said nothing, but his eyes were fixed on me with a kind of awe that made my chest twist.

Caelum’s voice came low. Controlled. “That wasn’t just a mate bond. That was something older.”

“I agree,” Kazzar murmured. “Ancient. Feral. Unwritten.”

I barely heard them. My focus was on her.

Mireya stood beside me, her arms wrapped tight around herself like she was trying to keep from breaking apart.

“I need air,” she whispered.

I nodded. “Come on.”

I led her through the side door and into the courtyard beyond the hall—quiet, cool, shadowed by stone walls and soft ivy. The silence felt thicker out here. But she didn’t let go of my hand.

We stopped beneath an old archway, her face tilted up to the stars. I watched her more than I should’ve. The way her throat worked when she swallowed. The way her lashes trembled like she was trying not to cry again.

She finally turned to me.

“I felt it,” she said. “Did you?”

I nodded. “Every part of it.”

She looked away. “It was beautiful. And terrifying.”

“Yeah,” I breathed. “It was.”

She was quiet for a moment. Then, softer, “I’m scared, Theron.”

I stepped closer. “I know.”

“But I trust you,” she said, voice catching. “I don’t know why. But I do.”

My chest cracked open. I reached up, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. Her eyes fluttered closed at the touch.

“I feel guilty,” I admitted. “Every time I look at you, I wonder if all of this happened because of me.”

Her eyes opened, sharp and wet. “Don’t.”

“They took you because of the bond,” I said. “Because of what I am—what we are.”

“They took me,” she said firmly. “The witches. Not you. They’re the ones who hurt me. The ones who tried to steal who I was. You didn’t do that.”

Her voice shook, but she didn’t look away.

“You found me.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. The emotion in her words gutted me. I reached for her again, this time letting my hand settle lightly against her jaw.

Her skin was warm. Soft. So fragile, and yet the strongest thing I’d ever touched.

“I want to protect you,” I said.

“I know,” she whispered. “And for the first time in my life… I want to be protected.”

And that was it.

She was so fucking beautiful.

Her red hair framed her face like wildfire, strands catching the moonlight as if they held secrets of their own. Her brown eyes, narrowed and shining, locked onto mine—not with softness, but with steel. Her features were delicate, almost too delicate, like a rose growing through broken stone.

She was tough. And broken. And still standing.

Beautiful in the way survival makes you beautiful.

I wasn’t confessing it aloud—not yet—but gods help me…

I loved her.

There was no sudden movement. No rush of breathless heat. Just gravity—inevitable, certain—as she leaned into me.

Our foreheads touched first.

Our breaths tangled.

Her chest rose in short, shallow gasps, and mine followed like we shared the same lungs. My heart beat so loud I could feel it in my throat, hammering like it was trying to escape my body just to reach her.

Then I kissed her.

Our lips touched—warm velvet, hesitant and sacred.

Slow.

Careful.

Like she was a secret I’d waited my whole life to find.

I moved.

And her lips followed.

Like a dance. Like we already knew the steps.

She melted into me, hesitant at first—but then she opened, her mouth parting, her soul pushing through in the way she tilted her face up to meet me fully.

It was instinct when my tongue slid against hers, and she responded like fire meeting air—her head tilting back, her fingers gripping my shoulder, grounding herself.

My hand slid to her waist, pulling her closer until every inch of her pressed against me.

Gods.

The feeling of her body on mine—it was like the ache inside me had finally found its counterpart. Like every road I’d walked, every moment I’d doubted myself, had led me here.

To her.

To this.

And suddenly I knew—this was the path. She was my path.

When we finally pulled back, her lips were swollen, her cheeks flushed, her breathing uneven. Her eyes fluttered closed, as if she was afraid the moment might disappear if she looked too soon.

Then she whispered, voice shaking, “This feels real.”

I nodded, breathless. “It is.”

She didn’t move.

Her forehead rested lightly against mine, her breath still shaky as it passed over my lips. Her hands stayed curled in the fabric of my shirt like she wasn’t sure if I’d vanish if she let go.

And gods, I didn’t want to move either.

So I didn’t.

I wrapped my arms around her, fully this time. Not tentative. Not waiting for permission. I just pulled her into my chest and held her like I was trying to keep the pieces of her soul from slipping through the cracks they’d carved into her.

She didn’t resist.

Her arms slid around my waist slowly, then locked behind my back. She exhaled like she hadn’t breathed in years. And her body softened against me—still trembling, still guarded, but trusting.

That trust gutted me.

I closed my eyes, resting my chin against her head, one hand holding the back of her neck, the other splayed across the small of her back.

“I don’t know everything they did to you,” I whispered into her hair. “I might never fully understand what it felt like. What it broke inside you.”

She stiffened slightly.

“But I see you,” I said. “And as your mate, I swear to you—I’ll never let anyone hurt you again.”

Her breath caught.

“I’ll protect you,” I murmured. “Even from the shadows still living inside you. Even when you push me away. I’ll stay.”

I felt the smallest tremor run through her chest—like her body was trying to believe it before her mind could.

“I’ll be here,” I said. “Every time. For every bad night. Every fear. Every fucking memory they forced into you. You won’t face any of it alone anymore.”

Silence. Thick. Fragile.

Then her voice—quiet, cracked open. “What if I’m too broken?”

I pulled back just enough to see her face. My thumb brushed the line of her jaw, and I looked into those eyes that had been filled with pain for so long.

“You’re not broken,” I said. “You were shattered. And still, you’re standing.”

Her chin quivered. Her mouth opened to speak—but no words came. Just a breath, thick with emotion.

So I pressed my lips to her forehead and whispered the only truth that mattered now.

“You don’t have to survive alone anymore. I’m here. And I’m not leaving.”