~Elara's Pov~
There's a difference between holding power and becoming it.
Nyssa warned me, again and again, that the witches of old didn't just channel magic—they were magic. Their bodies were vessels, yes, but their souls were gateways. Once opened, you couldn't close them without bleeding. And I bled tonight.
It started with a whisper.
I was alone in the ruins, a few paces from where my mother had marked the stone. The air was thick, too still, too cold. I came here to practice—to pull the moonlight into my veins the way Nyssa taught me. But something else answered when I called. Something older than the moon, older than language. It didn't speak in words—it spoke in memories.
They poured into me like boiling water.
Visions that weren't mine, witches tied to trees, burned in silence, wolves howling as they were cursed into madness. Blood spilled in sacred circles. Screams swallowed by dirt. And always, the same black flame rising in the center of it all, hungering. Wanting. Beckoning me.
I opened my hands and tried to cast a simple binding spell, something light, harmless.
Instead, the flame answered.
It rose from my palm like a serpent, thick and dark, smelling of iron and old things. It didn't stop at my fingertips. It climbed. Up my arms, around my shoulders, curling like a living crown around my head. My eyes burned. My skin cracked with glowing runes I'd never seen before. And my voice, my voice—began to chant words I didn't recognize. The ground split at my feet.
I should've stopped.
But I didn't know how.
That's when he appeared.
Kade.
He came in a rush of wind and leather, eyes golden, voice thunder. "Elara, stop!"
I tried. Gods, I tried. But the magic wasn't mine anymore. It was using me. I was a vessel, not a master.
Kade rushed forward, pressing his palm to my chest. His touch burned, cold and searing all at once. His voice dropped to something low and primal as he murmured in the old tongue, words thick with command and desperation. The flame hissed in protest, lashing out like it knew him. Like it hated him.
He didn't stop.
And finally, neither did I.
I collapsed into him, gasping, drenched in sweat. The fire died. The runes faded. My heartbeat thundered like a drum summoning war.
"You could've been consumed," Kade growled against my ear. "Do you have any idea what you just tried to tap into?"
"No," I whispered. "But it knew me."
He pulled back, eyes wild. "That wasn't a spell. That was a summoning."
"A summoning of what?"
"Of her," he said darkly. "Of the Void Witch. The one who cursed the first bloodline. The one your ancestor bound to her blood to protect you. That fire is not from the moon, Elara. It's from something beneath it."
I tried to stand, but my knees buckled. Kade caught me before I hit the stone.
He held me longer than necessary.
I didn't push him away.
His touch steadied me. Infuriated me. Stirred things in me I didn't have time to examine. The bond between us pulsed like a second heartbeat, demanding attention I wasn't ready to give.
"I wasn't trying to summon anyone," I said finally. "I was trying to control it."
"Magic like yours doesn't like being controlled," he said, voice quieter now. "It remembers. It chooses."
"Then it chose me."
"Yes," he whispered. "It did."
I felt the words between us. Heavy. Final.
Kade helped me sit beneath the archway of the ruined church. Rain began to fall—soft at first, then in a steady rhythm, like the sky was weeping for what it couldn't change.
He didn't speak again for a long while. Just sat beside me, one hand wrapped around his knees, the other draped loosely near mine. Not touching. But close enough that I could feel his warmth.
"You knew my mother," I said.
He nodded.
"You said you tried to deliver me to the Tribunal."
Another nod.
"But it didn't work. Why?"
Kade's jaw tensed. "Because the moment I saw you, I couldn't do it."
I turned to him sharply. "You felt the bond even then?"
"No," he said slowly. "I felt something else. Guilt. Maybe recognition. Maybe... hope."
"And now?"
He looked at me. Fully. Honestly. And it hurt.
"Now I feel like I'm drowning in something I can't outrun. Like I've waited centuries for you and every step I take toward you puts us both in danger. And yet, I can't not take it."
The words settled in my chest like knives.
"Kade, I don't know if I trust you."
"You shouldn't."
"At least you're honest."
His laugh was bitter. "I wasn't always. I was a killer long before I was a mate."
I wanted to ask more. About who he'd killed. About the blood on his hands. About what he saw when he looked at me not just the bond, but the truth.
Instead, I reached for his hand.
He let me.
And for one brief second, I felt the magic between us still.
Not gone.
Not dormant.
But calm.
Like it too was waiting to see what we'd become.