Page 2

TWO

KAEL

K ael Fenrir watched the human girl vanish behind the iron gates, the final clang echoing through the citadel like a sentence handed down from the gods.

He clenched his jaw until something in it popped.

The scent of her still lingered in the courtyard—spice and storm-washed skin and something older, something beneath the blood. Something that twisted in his gut and made his wolf stir, low and restless.

She should not have smelled like that.

She shouldn’t have looked like that either—so damn breakable and defiant all at once.

And she sure as hell shouldn’t have talked to him like she had teeth sharper than his.

Kael exhaled slowly, shoulders rolling with pent-up tension as he turned away from the courtyard and stalked toward the war hall. The guards peeled away like smoke. No one dared follow him when he moved like this—sharp, cold, seething beneath the skin.

The old bones of the citadel groaned around him, stone and timber holding centuries of blood and secrets in their foundations.

His boots echoed against worn flagstones, the corridors quiet save for the occasional murmur of servants and the rustle of banners overhead—banners stained with House Fenrir’s crimson crest, the black fang of prophecy biting through a silver moon.

A symbol Kael had been born beneath.

One he’d hated ever since he was old enough to understand what it meant.

The moment he pushed open the heavy doors to the war hall, the scent of blood, old leather, and incense rushed up to meet him.

His father stood at the far end, arms crossed, silver hair braided with bone and iron, eyes like molten gold boring into Kael the second he entered.

“You made a show of yourself.”

Kael didn’t flinch. “She insulted me.”

“She challenged you,” Ruarc corrected, voice low and rough like gravel dragged across steel. “And you let her.”

“She’s human.”

“She’s a symbol .” His father took a step closer, the long braid swinging like a blade over one shoulder. “And symbols don’t bleed unless we want war on our doorstep again. Have you forgotten what’s at stake?”

Kael’s fists curled at his sides. “No. I’ve just stopped pretending any of this is sane.”

A low chuckle broke from Ruarc’s throat—void of humor, all teeth.

“She has old blood,” the Alpha King said. “The Veil called to her. The Mark will choose.”

Kael’s lip curled. “The Mark can go fuck itself.”

He turned on his heel, fury burning in his throat, but his father’s voice snapped like a whip behind him.

“You will stand beside her at the ceremony. You will accept whatever fate binds you—and if it binds you to her, you will seal it. ”

Kael froze. A silent war played out in the set of his shoulders, the tightness in his spine.

His wolf was pacing now, claws scraping just beneath his skin.

“She’s not one of us,” he said after a moment, low and cold. “She doesn’t belong in this court. In our blood. She’ll get eaten alive.”

His father smiled, thin and cruel. “Then let the fangs come. And we’ll see what survives.”

Kael didn’t sleep that night.

He didn’t try.

He sat on the outer edge of the training circle beneath the hollowed bones of the old moon temple, shirtless in the bitter cold, his breath fogging the air as the stars watched in silence.

A jagged scar curved over his ribs—a souvenir from the first duel he’d ever lost, a reminder that strength didn’t mean immortality. It meant choices. And consequences.

He’d killed three shifters in combat since then.

Had taken down challengers twice his size.

He’d survived wars, riots, prophecy-fueled madness.

But none of that haunted him like the idea of some girl he didn’t know—who smelled like rain and steel and mystery—being bound to him by forces older than memory.

Mate bonds were sacred. They were rare. They were irreversible.

And if the Blood Mark chose her?

If the Prophecy was real?

Then Kael was already halfway buried.

The next morning came in mist and silver light.

Kael stood at the edge of the inner courtyard where the ceremonial stone lay—ancient, cracked, veined with old magic that pulsed like a heartbeat when the moons rose high. It was said to burn truth into flesh.

Tonight, he’d be standing across from Selene Morwen under the moons.

Tonight, the ceremony would decide if they were fate-bound.

He’d rather face a war blade.

His sister’s voice cut into the stillness behind him.

“She’s pretty.”

Kael didn’t turn. “So’s hemlock.”

Nyra stepped up beside him, short silver hair catching the morning light, amber eyes flickering with amusement.

“I saw how you looked at her.”

“I was evaluating a threat.”

“Sure,” Nyra said dryly. “With your jaw clenched like a damn jawtrap and your eyes all gold. Definitely not intrigued.”

Kael shot her a warning look.

Nyra shrugged. “She didn’t look scared. That was fun.”

“She should be scared.”

“Or maybe she just doesn’t give a shit about our rules,” Nyra mused. “Which, you know, makes her kind of your type.”

Kael exhaled sharply and walked away, ignoring his sister’s low laugh behind him.

He made his way toward the outer wing of the guest chambers, the place they’d shoved the human girl for now. Guarded, of course, but still too close to the heart of the House.

He didn’t know why he stopped outside her door.

Didn’t know why he stood there, hand hovering near the carved wood, listening.

No sound.

No movement.

Just her scent. Soft and spiced and wrong in a way that made his teeth ache.

The wolf wanted closer.

Kael stepped back.

“Stay away,” he growled to himself.

But fate didn’t give a damn about what Kael Fenrir wanted.

And tonight, under the moons, he’d find out just how much of himself he was going to lose.