Page 26

Lexa

The last rune holds. Barely. I woke to the weight of him.mHis arm slung over my waist. His breath slow and warm against the back of my neck. The heat between my legs still slick, sore, and unmistakably his . And I wanted to scream.

The fire had died down to embers, the cave chilled and silent. But I was burning from the inside out—again. Not from heat. From regret.

Gods, what have I done?

I tried to move, to untangle myself from the mess of limbs and furs, but the second I shifted—

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he growled behind me, voice deep with sleep and something darker.

I froze.

His arm tightened around me, not violently, but enough to remind me of what he’d done. What I’d let him do. What I’d wanted—and hated myself for wanting. I shut my eyes, squeezing them tight as the shame washed through me.

The wolf inside me was purring. Stretching. Pleased. She was louder now, clearer than ever. I didn’t need to hear words—just the feeling of her circling, watching, waiting. She was closer to the surface than she’d ever been. Pressed right against it.

And I knew why. The fourth rune. The last.

Its magic was slipping. Thinning. I could feel it fraying like rotten thread, trying to hold back a force too big, too old, too wild.

I could barely breathe with her this close. My skin itched. My senses were sharp enough to hear the snow melt slowly at the mouth of the cave. I could smell everything—his skin, my sweat, the blood dried on my neck.

I was losing the war I’d fought my whole life. I hated him for helping break me. I hated myself for letting it happen. But most of all—I hated that part of me liked it.

“Get your hands off me,” I rasped.

He didn’t move. “You’re not going anywhere,” he said, voice calm but final.

“I need to leave. I need to—”

“You need to stay put,” he snapped, his voice sharp now, jaw tight against my shoulder. “You’re holding on by a thread. One more rune. You think you can ride through a fucking blizzard with that thing inside you clawing to get out?”

He shifted behind me, and I felt it—that smug, infuriating grin in his voice before he even spoke.

“Where the fuck were you going, Lexa?” he asked, his mouth brushing against my ear. “No food. No map. You don’t know this land. You had nothing but that ragged cloak and the fur in the saddlebag—which, by the way, was already strapped to the horse. You got lucky. That’s all.”

I tried to push up on my elbows, to peel myself away from him, but he moved fast. He pinned me again. His hand on my shoulder, his weight against my back. Not cruel. Just enough.

“Answer me,” he growled.

“As far away from you as possible,” I snapped.

“Right,” he scoffed, voice cold now. “So desperate to run, you were willing to freeze to death in a fucking blizzard? That’s not survival, Lexa. That’s suicide.”

“I didn’t ask for your concern.”

“No,” he said, pressing me harder into the furs, “but you left Dain behind.”

That hit harder than his body ever could. My breath caught.

“You were so hellbent on getting to that witch, you didn’t even look back. Was the craving that strong? Is your addiction to dark magic so fucking deep you’d leave the one person who actually loves you behind?”

“It’s not—” I bit out, anger flaring. “It’s not an addiction. I just want to—”

“ Shut up ,” he snarled, flipping me onto my back, face inches from mine, eyes burning. “Shut up about the damn wolf already. You keep blaming her for everything. Like she’s some disease you caught. Like you’re not her and she’s not you . Stop running from her. Just face it.”

My jaw clenched.

“You’re not broken, Lexa. You’re bound. And I’m the only one who’s ever seen what you could be if you stopped trying to kill yourself from the inside out.”

I looked away. He grabbed my chin and made me meet his dark blue eyes. “So tell me,” he whispered. “What exactly were you planning to do once the witch carved the last piece of your soul away?”

I glared up at him, eyes burning, throat aching with the words I didn’t want to admit. But the silence between us stretched taut and brittle, and eventually it snapped.

“Carve another,” I whispered bitterly. “And another. Keep carving until the magic either silences her forever or kills us both.”

His jaw tightened. Eyes narrowed. Anger flared, bright and hot. But I didn’t give him time to interrupt—I kept going, the words falling raw from my lips.

“Because I don’t know how to live anymore.”

He stared down at me, his expression faltering for just a moment. Eyes softening as those words hit him—until his rage flared again, fiercer this time, drowning out any hint of sympathy.

“Great fucking plan,” he growled. “But wouldn’t it have been simpler to just jump off a damned cliff since you were headed into the mountains anyway? Why bother stealing from me—silver candlesticks, coins—to pay the witch if your end goal was oblivion?”

I flinched but didn’t look away. He leaned closer, anger making the lines of his face harsh in the faint morning light.

“And what about Dain?” he demanded. “You took that boy in, promised him a future. You became a mother to him, Lexa. What kind of mother abandons her child for the sweet comfort of dark magic eating her from the inside out? You gave him hope that he wasn’t alone, and then tore it away without so much as a backward glance. ”

I swallowed hard, shame coiling in my chest.

“He’s just a child,” Andros continued, voice dropping lower, thick with barely-contained fury.

“You chose to keep him, raise him, protect him. Was that a lie too? Or did you simply not care what your disappearance would do to him? That boy trusts you. He loves you. He needs you. And yet you’d willingly leave him alone, abandoned, again? ”

“Stop it,” I hissed weakly, tears stinging my eyes.

“No,” he snapped, pinning me with his gaze, relentless. “I won’t stop. Because you don’t get to pretend you’re the victim here. You don’t get to play martyr when your actions drag everyone else down with you. Do you even know what it was like, those nights you were locked away in my room?”

I froze, barely breathing.

His voice changed then—softer, quieter. And somehow that terrified me even more.

“The boy couldn’t sleep without you,” Andros said softly, his voice rough.

“He cried. For hours. Nothing soothed him. Not Garrick, not the maids. Not stories, not songs. Nothing. Eventually, I had to step in. I took him to my own bed, let him curl up next to me because he was so terrified you’d vanished for good.

Every damned night he asked me when you’d come back.

And every damned night, I lied and said soon. ”

My throat tightened painfully. I had no idea. Dain had never mentioned it, never spoken of those nights. But the image of Andros—dark, ruthless Andros—letting a child burrow against his side, whispering comfort, keeping away the monsters that haunted Dain’s dreams… it cut deep.

“When I found you gone yesterday, you know the first thing he asked?” Andros’s eyes burned into mine, furious but wounded. “He asked me what he did wrong to make you leave again.”

A sob choked out of me, ragged and broken.

“So run all you like,” Andros said bitterly. “Hate me as much as you want. But I will never let you fall into that darkness again. I’ll chain you to my bed, carve my name into your fucking bones if I have to—but you will not drag that child down with you. Do you understand me?”

His words burned, seared into my very marrow. And for the first time, when I looked up at Andros, I saw something more than just a monster. I saw the man who’d held Dain close in the darkness. A man capable of tenderness, of care.

“I didn’t know,” I whispered, my voice shaking.

“No,” Andros said quietly, his anger softening to something raw and aching. “Because you never cared enough to ask.”

His words struck something buried deep inside me, something hidden beneath years of denial and pain.

The image of him—this cold, ruthless Alpha—holding Dain close, guarding him through the night, murmuring reassurances to a frightened child…

it shifted something in my chest, unlocked a door I'd kept sealed shut for far too long.

Warmth spread through me, deep and primal, overriding logic, overriding sense. My wolf stirred fiercely beneath the surface—not angry, but possessive, protective. Her emotions bled into mine, tangling together until I couldn’t tell them apart.

Before I realized what I was doing, I reached for him. It wasn't gentle—it was desperate, instinctual. I pulled him closer, burying my face in his neck, breathing in the scent of cedar and snow that had haunted me for weeks.

And then, I bit down.

Hard.

My teeth broke his skin, copper-rich blood flooding my tongue. Andros jerked, a sharp hiss of pain vibrating through him. But he didn’t push me away. He held perfectly still, his muscles tense beneath my fingers.

Slowly, I pulled back, breathing hard. My mind raced, panic setting in—what had I just done?

But Andros’s eyes weren’t angry. They burned bright with triumph and possessiveness as he reached up, gently wiping a drop of his blood from my lower lip.

“You marked me,” he murmured softly, eyes locked onto mine, voice thick with emotion and triumph. “Do you even understand what that means, Lexa?”

I shook my head numbly, heart racing. “I—I don’t—”

“It means you chose me back,” he said quietly, his gaze softening with something deeper, more raw. “You just claimed me as your mate, Lexa. That bite isn't just a wound—it’s a bond, sealed by blood. It means you accept me as yours, just as I accepted you.”

A strange sort of relief, mixed with terror and confusion, flooded me. “I—I didn’t—”

“You did,” he whispered, gently cupping my face in his palms. “Your instincts took over. Your wolf knew exactly what she wanted.”

His thumb brushed my cheek, softly, carefully, as if I might break. Then he groaned softly, eyes falling shut as his head dipped closer to mine.

“Fucking finally,” he growled, voice raw and broken, thick with pain and relief and need. Before I could answer, his mouth crashed onto mine.

This kiss wasn’t violent—it wasn’t angry. It was desperate, claiming, possessive in a way that reached down into my bones. For the first time, I didn’t protest, didn’t pull away.

I gave in.

My lips parted under his, inviting him deeper. My hands tangled in his hair, holding him close. For once, I didn’t fight him.

He kissed me again, slow this time. Tender. As if I was something precious that might break beneath his touch. It frightened me how much more terrifying this softness was than his rage had ever been. He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against mine.

His thumb traced gentle circles along my cheek, wiping away tears I hadn’t even realized had fallen.

“Please, Lexa,” he whispered, his voice shaking slightly, vulnerable, in a way I never imagined an Alpha like him could sound. “Don't erase this beautiful part of yourself again. Don’t go to the witch. Don’t run. Stay with me.”

My chest tightened painfully, breath catching. I forced myself to hold his gaze.

“Why?” I whispered, voice trembling with confusion. “Why do you even care?”

“Because,” Andros murmured, brushing his lips against mine again, softly, carefully. “Deep down, I always knew we were meant to find each other. To be together.”

I tried to shake my head, but he gently cupped my chin, stopping me.

“And somewhere even deeper, beneath all your fear and anger and pain,” he continued softly, eyes warm and fierce with sincerity, “you knew it too. You didn’t travel two thousand miles across the continent just to escape, Lexa.

You felt a pull. A call. Something you couldn’t name.

And if you hadn’t silenced your wolf with runes and dark magic, maybe we would have met sooner. ”

I swallowed hard, my heart racing wildly in my chest. “You don’t know if that’s true.”

His mouth curled into a small, gentle smile. “Maybe not. But I choose to believe it is. Now the question is, what will you choose? You—not the bond, not your wolf. You, Lexa.”

Slowly, I looked toward the cave entrance. Snow still fell steadily outside, thick and relentless, blanketing the world in white. Cold and harsh.

“It’s still horrible out there,” I murmured, my voice quiet. “I’m not going anywhere right now.”

His gaze brightened slightly with cautious hope.

I leaned in closer, pressing my mouth gently against his, tasting his warmth, his breath mingling with mine. Pulling back just enough to whisper against his lips, I smiled softly, finally letting the truth reach my eyes.

“Lucky for you, I have enough heat to keep us both warm.”

He smiled back at me then—real, beautiful, and utterly devastating. And as I kissed him again, surrendering myself entirely, something inside me loosened.

This time, when we made love, it wasn’t about dominance, or power, or submission. It was about finally letting go. About giving into something I’d denied far too long. It was about choosing him.

Choosing myself.

Choosing us.