The bond screamed.
I woke gasping, clutching my stomach as pain—sharp and foreign—ripped through me. Not labor. Not fear.
Loss.
Ronan was already moving, power flaring as he sat upright beside me. "Aria—what is it?"
"They took someone," I choked. "The bond—something snapped. Someone close."
Before he could respond, the doors burst open.
A guard stumbled in, bloodied, eyes wide with terror. "My King," he panted. "They took Elin. From the lower wards. No alarm—no trace—just shadow."
Elin.
My healer. The woman who had stayed when others whispered. Who had sung softly when the triplets kicked too hard, grounding me when my control slipped.
"No," I whispered.
The triplets reacted instantly.
The second—my fire—flared hot and furious. Heat poured through my veins, wild and uncontrollable. The third—my quiet one—pressed down hard, heavy and still, forcing my breath to slow.
And the first?
The first went silent.
Too silent.
Ronan felt it too. His jaw clenched. "One of them just… disappeared from the bond."
Panic clawed at my chest. "What does that mean?"
Before he could answer, the air shifted.
The shadows in the corner of the room thickened—coiling, bending, obeying a will that wasn't mine.
A child's voice echoed.
Not out loud.
Inside my head.
They hurt her.
My breath caught. "Ronan… that was him. The first."
Golden eyes widened. "He reached outward."
The shadows twisted tighter, forming symbols—ancient Lycan runes I'd never learned but somehow understood.
A location.
A warning.
"They're using blood wards," I said hoarsely. "Trying to bait me. To make me choose."
Ronan stood, power rolling off him in waves that rattled the walls. "Then we end this tonight."
He turned to the guard. "Sound the war call. Wake every Alpha. Invoke the Rite of Ash and Fang."
The guard paled. "My King—that rite hasn't been used in centuries."
Ronan's voice was ice. "Then it's time it remembered why it exists."
The war circle burned.
Ancient symbols carved into stone ignited as Ronan stepped into the center, bare-chested, blood streaking his skin as the elders began the chant. The air thickened with old power—raw, brutal, unforgiving.
I watched from the edge, hands resting over my belly, heart pounding.
"This rite binds the king to war," Elder Maerith warned. "Once completed, there is no retreat. No mercy."
Ronan met my gaze across the flames.
"Mercy was burned out of me the moment they touched her," he said.
The chant reached its peak.
Ronan dragged a claw across his palm, letting blood drip onto the stone. The runes flared gold-red, responding to his sacrifice.
I gasped as the bond shifted—deepened—locked.
He was no longer just my mate.
He was war given form.
Then—
Pain exploded through me.
I cried out, dropping to my knees as something pulled free from my chest—not physically, but spiritually.
The first triplet tore a thread of the bond open.
Not breaking it.
Using it.
The shadows erupted outward from my body, racing across the ground like living things.
"They found her," I whispered, tears streaming. "He found her."
The elders recoiled in fear and awe. "A child unborn—commanding shadow?"
Ronan was already moving, grabbing me, lifting me into his arms. "Hold on to me," he growled. "Whatever happens—do not let go."
We shifted together.
Not fully Lycan. Not fully human.
Something in between.
The world bent.
When reality snapped back into place, we stood in a ruined cathedral deep in Purge territory. Blood sigils lined the floor. Elin hung suspended in a cage of shadow and iron, barely conscious.
Purge priests turned in horror.
"She came," one hissed. "The mother—"
I didn't let him finish.
Silver-gold power erupted from me, fueled by rage, fear, and the triplets' fury. Ronan tore through the first line of enemies like a storm, claws ripping, teeth snapping.
The first triplet struck again.
Shadows lashed out, snapping necks, crushing bones—precise, controlled, terrifying.
I screamed. "Stop—don't kill—"
They will hurt you again, the voice replied calmly.
The second surged—fire exploding outward, incinerating wards, burning priests where they stood.
The third pressed down—stilling the chaos, freezing enemies in place like statues.
I was shaking.
"They're not listening to me," I sobbed. "They're protecting me."
Ronan grabbed my face, forcing me to look at him. "Then guide them," he said fiercely. "You are their anchor."
I closed my eyes.
Breathed.
Centered myself in the bond—not fear. Not rage.
Love.
Enough, I whispered inside. I am safe. She is safe.
The shadows receded.
The fire dimmed.
The frozen enemies collapsed unconscious—not dead.
Ronan tore the cage apart and caught Elin as she fell, laying her gently on the ground. She coughed weakly, eyes fluttering open.
"You came," she whispered.
"Always," I said, sinking beside her.
The cathedral trembled.
Ronan stood, bloodied and magnificent, eyes blazing. "This is your warning," he roared to the remaining Purge. "Touch what is mine again—and there will be no mercy. No restraint. No survivors."
We left nothing standing.
Back at the fortress, dawn broke red.
I lay exhausted in bed, Ronan curled around me protectively, his hand over my stomach.
"They're changing," I whispered. "Too fast."
He kissed my hair softly. "Then the world will have to change with them."
Outside, the war drums began.
The Purge had crossed the final line.
And my children?
They had just declared their existence.