Page 33

THIRTY-THREE

KAEL

K ael knew something was wrong the moment he reached the eastern guard post and saw the blood.

Not much.

Just a smear. A drag mark. A scuffed boot print in the dust where the passage bent toward the old ridgeline trail.

But it was fresh. And Selene’s scent was woven through it like silk through a blade.

A wild pulse of terror cracked through him.

“Selene,” he breathed and ran.

He tore through the passage, mind racing. His body already shifting as fury overtook thought. Veilroot still lingered in the air—muted now, but enough to mask a scent trail.

They planned this. They fucking planned this.

She was gone.

And it was his fault.

Because he let her believe he didn’t care. Let her walk alone, think she wasn’t worth guarding, wasn’t worth fighting for anymore.

Kael snarled.

He reached the exit to the ridgeline and found the scout team Nyra had dispatched—dead.

Clean kills. Throats slashed. Eyes open. A warning. A message.

They’d taken her and wanted him to find the trail.

He didn’t stop to call for backup. He never did. He didn’t trust anyone else to get there in time.

He shifted fully—pain forgotten—his wolf form bigger now, sharper, darker. Powered by rage and bond-magic that refused to die no matter how he’d tried to bury it.

He ran like his soul was on fire.

It took less than an hour to find the scent trail.

Another to follow it across the eastern ravines and down through the hollowed roots of the Whispering Glen.

The Rising Flame’s camp wasn’t hidden. It was a monument.

Torches burned in a ring. Tents staked with bone. Symbols carved into bark and rock, older than any shifter creed. A broken altar at the center, bound in iron and Veilthread.

And Selene, chained at its base.

Her eyes met his the moment he stepped from the trees. Wide. Bright. Unafraid. But her face was pale, her wrists bloodied, her chest rising in shallow, measured breaths.

He hadn’t reached her in time.

A sigil beneath her glowed blue-white. Whatever they were planning had already begun.

And Kael. Lost. It.

He didn’t roar, he exploded .

His wolf hit the nearest cultist. Bone cracked. Screams rose. He tore through them like they were paper. No technique. No finesse. Just vengeance.

He caught the first by the throat and it sprayed across the altar’s edge. The second he slammed into the dirt, stomping down until the skull caved under his massive paws.

A third lunged toward Selene with a blade to threaten him.

Kael’s jaws met the man’s shoulder that wielded the sword and ripped it clean off.

Screams. So many screams.

But all Kael heard was the bond in his blood screaming hers.

He shifted back, his swords and clothes still strapped to his back now that he was in human form, thanks to the enchantresses that worked in the war room. He reached the altar and Varyn stepped between them cloaked in red. Smiling.

“You’re too late,” he said.

Kael didn’t answer. He just charged.

Their blades met in a shriek of sparks.

Kael drove forward, fury behind every blow. Varyn dodged fast— too fast—his own blade lined with some kind of enchantment that clashed with Kael’s aura.

“You think this is about you?” Varyn shouted, parrying. “You think she was ever yours?”

Kael’s blade found the bastard’s shoulder. Blood splattered.

“You were the fool that made her vulnerable,” Varyn hissed, eyes wild. “You severed her protection. You made this possible.”

Kael tackled him. They hit the ground hard. Kael didn’t try to fight clean. He punched. Again. And again. Until Varyn’s face was barely recognizable, and his own knuckles bled.

And still, the ritual glow pulsed beneath Selene like a heartbeat made of magic.

“Selene,” Kael breathed, crawling to her side once Varyn lay there motionless.

Her eyes fluttered open. Weak. Pain-filled. But there.

“I’m here,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

Her lips moved. He leaned close.

“You’re late,” she breathed.

Kael nearly laughed. Nearly cried.

He sliced through her chains, hands trembling.

The moment the last one fell away, she collapsed forward into his arms.

And the mark between them flared—hot and violent, surging against the half-completed ritual circle like it meant to break the world in half.

The bond wasn’t dead.

It was angry.

And Kael?

Kael had never felt more ready to burn everything down.