Chapter 7 Tethered by Flame and Blood

The moon had shifted. It wasn't the kind of shift his wolf liked. It was heavier now. Drenched in something ancient, something primal. Kael stood on the cliffside balcony of the Blackfang citadel, his arms folded across his chest as the wind whipped his dark hair back. His golden eyes narrowed at the horizon, searching for something he couldn't name.

Something had woken.

"Alpha." His Beta, Roran, approached cautiously, tension leaking from every pore. "You feel it too, don't you?"

Kael didn't look at him. "It started three nights ago. Like a whisper in my blood."

"Mine too," Gamma Luthien added from behind them. "The pack is restless. Even the pups are growling in their sleep. Something's coming. Or someone."

Kael turned to face them. His face was carved stone, but his jaw clenched tightly.

"I've been dreaming of her," he said finally.

Roran's brows rose. "Her?"

"She's... soft. Light. But her power... it's deadly." Kael's voice dropped, thick with something raw. "Every night, I see her. Crying. Glowing. And when she looks at me, it's like my soul's on fire."

"Fated," Luthien said under his breath.

Kael didn't respond.

He didn't have to.

His body knew it. His wolf knew it.

But he'd resisted this pull for so long. He'd bedded willing she-wolves, killed rival Alphas, and built an empire of dominance so vast the other packs trembled at his name.

But none of them touched him.

None of them reached into the black core of his beast and made it ache.

Except her.

Seraphina.

He didn't know her name yet. But the gods had already carved her into his fate.

"You think she's witch?" Roran asked.

Kael nodded. "There's no other magic like that. It smells of moonstone and starfire."

"That's dangerous," Luthien said. "Witches don't give themselves easily. And their High Priestess... Morgana... she's plotting something."

"She's hiding her," Kael growled, his eyes flashing gold. "I can feel it."

Behind them, a sultry voice purred, "You don't need a witch, Kael."

Kael tensed as a familiar scent filled the air violet, sandalwood, and bloodlust.

Naera.

His favorite distraction.

She slinked into view like a panther in heat, her dark red dress clinging to her curves, eyes glowing with desire.

"You already have me," she whispered, wrapping her arms around his broad chest from behind. "Your body. Your bed. Your future Luna."

Kael didn't react.

Didn't touch her.

Didn't even see her.

He was lost in the image of glowing skin, trembling hands, soft eyes filled with stormlight. Her.

Naera's smile twitched.

She felt it. The distance growing between them. The chill in Kael's touch. The way his scent began shifting... bonding.

She bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to bleed.

No, she thought. I won't lose him. Not to a witch. Not to anyone.

He was hers.

And if anyone tried to take her place at his side , mate bond or not she would kill them.

Lyra's POV

The forest bled shadows as Lyra darted through it like a phantom, her body aching from the run. Her wolf was half-shifted limbs stretched, ears elongated, claws at her fingertips -but she hadn't allowed the full transformation.

Not when her mind was still burning with him.

Thorne.

Vampire king.

Death-bringer.

And her mate.

She cursed and leapt over a fallen tree, skidding through leaves, sweat mixing with blood from a graze on her thigh. Her heart was a drumbeat of fury and fire. Every time she remembered the feel of his mouth on hers, the taste of his hunger, her body reacted like it wanted it.

But he wanted to kill her.

She'd felt it.

Seen it in the twist of his jaw when he pulled away from her, disgusted by the bond.

The rejection cut deeper than any blade.

But she wouldn't die for a man who hated her.

She'd survive.

And she'd make him regret it.

Crack

A twig snapped behind her.

Lyra spun, claws out, breath ragged. "I know you're there, bloodsucker!"

The shadows stirred and Thorne emerged like a god carved from dusk and shadow. His crimson cloak fluttered behind him, his eyes molten with war and lust.

"You run well, little wolf," he said, voice like a blade unsheathed. "But not well enough."

"I'm not yours," she spat.

"No," he agreed. "But you're still mine."

He vanished.

Reappeared behind her.

She whirled, striking out he caught her wrist mid-air, twisting it until she gasped, then yanked her against him, hard enough that their bodies collided.

"You're fighting it," she hissed.

"So are you."

She swallowed hard, her breath catching as his scent invaded her senses - dark roses, ancient stone, him.

"Why do you hate me?" she whispered, pain leaking into her voice.

His grip softened.

"Because I can't control it. Because you were made for me, and I didn't get to choose. Because you're a wolf."

Tears burned behind her eyes but she didn't let them fall.

Instead, she kissed him.

Not soft.

Not sweet.

A furious, brutal clash of teeth and heat and desperation.

And he responded.

His hand fisted her hair, mouth devouring hers, his body pressing her to a tree with a growl that spoke of ruin and craving. His fangs grazed her throat.

One bite.

One mark.

One moment from sealing the bond.

But he didn't do it.

He tore away, stumbling back like he'd been struck.

"This is a mistake," he growled, voice ragged. "I will never claim you."

"Then stop following me," she snapped.

She vanished into the trees again, heart breaking, magic flaring behind her.

Thorne stood still.

Silent.

Haunted.

And behind him, hidden among the trees, Morgana watched with cold satisfaction.

"Let them break each other," she whispered to the night. "The prophecy will burn them all.