Elara did not make it far into the forest.
She had run.
He had hunted.
And no rogue wolf outran a hybrid king on a full moon.
By the time Kael caught her, the night itself seemed to bow to him. Shadows swallowed her path. The wind turned against her. And then he was there—behind her, in front of her, everywhere at once.
She had fought.
He had not even broken a sweat.
Now she sat in the dungeons beneath Blackthorn Castle.
The air was damp and cold, thick with the scent of stone, iron, and old magic. These cells were not built for ordinary prisoners. The bars were laced with silver and wolfsbane. Symbols carved into the walls glowed faintly, sealing in things that should never walk the earth.
Things like him.
Elara wrapped her arms around her knees, refusing to shiver.
She had not slept.
Every time she closed her eyes, she felt it again.
That moment in the clearing.
The snap.
The burn.
The bond locking into place like a chain forged in starlight and fire.
Her wolf—silent for three long years—was awake now. Restless. Pacing. Whispering one word over and over.
Mate.
And he had looked at her like she was poison.
Footsteps echoed down the stone staircase.
Slow.
Measured.
Dangerous.
The heavy door above creaked open. Torchlight spilled down the stairs, followed by the unmistakable scent of blood and night air.
Kael Voss descended alone.
No guards.
No witnesses.
Just the king in black leather and a silver-threaded cloak, dark hair loose around his shoulders, eyes burning faintly in the dim light.
He stopped three steps from the bars.
Elara lifted her chin.
She would not bow.
Not to him. Not to any alpha ever again.
"You're still alive," he said, voice low and smooth as steel sliding from a sheath. "I expected you to attempt escape again."
"I did," she replied evenly. "You just didn't let me finish."
A flicker of amusement touched his mouth.
"Bold," he murmured. "For a rejected stray."
The words struck clean and sharp.
For a split second, Ronan's voice echoed in her mind.
Unworthy. Weak. Broken.
Her stomach tightened.
But she did not look away.
"You felt it," she said. "The bond."
Kael's expression hardened instantly.
"I felt irritation," he answered. "Nothing more."
"Liar."
Silence filled the dungeon.
Heavy. Electric.
His eyes shifted—gold melting into crimson before returning again. The scent of him intensified. Pine. Smoke. And something darker beneath it. Hunger.
He stepped closer.
The magic in the bars hummed faintly as he approached.
"You think the Moon Goddess would bless me with a mate?" he asked quietly. Too quietly. "A hybrid. An abomination."
His jaw tightened.
For a heartbeat, she saw it.
Not arrogance.
Not cruelty.
Pain.
Raw and old.
"She mocks me," he continued. "As she always has."
"Then reject me," Elara said softly.
The words surprised even her.
His gaze snapped to hers.
"Say it," she pressed. "Break the bond. End it now."
She stood and walked toward the bars until only cold iron separated them.
"I've survived it before."
Something dangerous flashed across his face.
Before she could react, his hand shot through the bars and closed around her wrist.
Not crushing.
Not gentle.
Just enough.
Heat exploded up her arm. The bond flared, bright and violent. Her wolf surged forward, desperate, aching, alive in a way she had forgotten was possible.
Kael inhaled sharply.
His pupils widened. Crimson swallowed the gold.
"You smell like rain before a storm," he rasped. "And defiance."
His thumb brushed the inside of her wrist unconsciously.
The touch sent a tremor through both of them.
She saw it then—the war inside him.
Wolf pulling.
Vampire restraining.
King denying.
"If you don't want me," she whispered, leaning closer, "let me go."
For one dangerous second, she thought he might pull her against the bars and end the argument with his mouth.
Instead, he released her abruptly, as if burned.
He stepped back.
The mask slid back into place.
Cold. Untouchable. King.
"I do not need a mate," he said flatly. "I do not need weakness. And I certainly do not need you."
"You're shaking," she replied.
His eyes flashed.
He stilled instantly.
Perfect control.
Perfect lie.
"I will not be ruled by instinct," he continued. "You are nothing more than a complication."
He turned toward the stairs.
Elara's voice followed him through the shadows.
"Then why didn't you reject me?"
His steps faltered.
Just once.
The air thickened.
When he spoke, his voice was low and edged with something darker than anger.
"Because," he said without looking back, "if I reject you… my wolf will tear this kingdom apart trying to get you back."
Silence swallowed the dungeon.
Then the door slammed shut.
Elara stood frozen.
Her heart pounded against her ribs.
He hadn't rejected her.
He hadn't claimed her.
He was afraid.
A slow, dangerous smile curved her lips in the darkness.
Because kings who feared their own hearts were the easiest to break.
And she was done being the one who shattered.