The morning after the Elder's ultimatum, the Pack estate woke to stillness. Not the usual predawn quiet—but a heavy, waiting silence. As if the land itself had paused for an answer I wasn't ready to give.
And me?
I was hiding in the library.
Not to be poetic—though the dust motes and leather tomes helped—but because it was the only place in the compound Kaelen wouldn't storm into. He hated books. Said they were full of outdated rules and worse ideas.
Ruvan, though?
He liked the smell of old paper.
That's where he found me.
"You're avoiding the arena."
His voice broke the silence like flint on stone.
I didn't look up.
"I'm avoiding a choice."
He walked over, took the seat across from me, and set something on the table with a dull clink. A sealed glass vial.
I blinked.
"Is that…?"
"A nullifier."
My heart stalled.
"You mean…"
"If you drink it, it severs any remaining effects of the forced bond Kaelen created."
"But those are permanent."
"Not if you're willing to burn the price."
I touched the vial gently, as if it might bite.
Nullifiers weren't just rare—they were dangerous. Created through blood rituals that only witches or wild shamans could perform. Expensive, excruciating, and sometimes fatal.
"Where did you get this?" I asked.
"Traded a favor to someone I never wanted to owe."
"Why?"
"Because I meant it. I don't want you bound to me—or him—unless you want to be."
That silenced me.
There was nothing romantic about nullifiers. Nothing flowery or symbolic. Just pain and aftermath.
But the gesture?
That was something else entirely.
"I can't ask you to—"
"You didn't ask," Ruvan said. "I chose."
I took the vial.
Not to drink.
Not yet.
But I held it like it meant something.
Because it did.
Meanwhile, Kaelen was unraveling.
Oh, not publicly. No. He was too polished for that.
But it started in the cracks—the sharpness in his tone at training, the wild glint in his eyes when Elders whispered too long behind his back.
And then came the rumor.
One of the guard wolves told Talia. Who told me. Who then confirmed it in the worst possible way:
Kaelen had gone to the Oracle.
The Oracle.
You don't just "visit" an Oracle. They weren't fortune-tellers or prophets. They were relics of the Old World—creatures bound by death and time, feeding off secrets, truths, and fear.
No one went to them unless they wanted something… twisted.
And Kaelen?
He wanted leverage.
Talia burst into my room before sunset, breathless.
"He's found something. I don't know what, but he came back from the Oracle's hollow laughing."
"Did he make a deal?"
"I think he made a threat."
We didn't have long to find out.
That night, Kaelen summoned a private audience—just me, Ruvan, and the Elders.
He wore the same calm expression he always did, but it was stretched thinner. Cracks beneath the surface.
"I've reconsidered," he said smoothly.
"You're calling off the duel?" Elder Thorne asked.
"No. But I believe Eira deserves context. Before she decides who to ruin."
"I didn't realize this was about me ruining anyone."
"Oh, darling," Kaelen said with mock sorrow. "You never realized much."
"Kaelen—" Ruvan warned.
"You want the truth? Fine. Let's all enjoy it together."
And then he pulled out a scroll.
Old. Sealed with a blood mark I didn't recognize.
"This," Kaelen said, unrolling it like a magician unveiling his trick, "is a binding pact signed nearly twenty-one years ago. Between my father—Alpha Malrik—and a very specific woman from the Ravelle bloodline."
My throat tightened.
"That's my mother's name."
"Mm. Yes. I thought so. You see, while you were busy being noble, brother… you forgot to ask the one question that mattered: Why was she in the Alpha's territory to begin with?"
No.
He was bluffing.
He had to be.
"Your mother," Kaelen said, smiling now, "offered her firstborn daughter as a future mate to secure the Ravelle clan's protection. In exchange, she was granted immunity, territory, and the right to bear a non-Pack child under Alpha protection."
"That's not true," I whispered.
"You were promised, Eira. To me. By your own blood."
Ruvan moved before I could.
Across the table, over the scroll, teeth bared and voice dark with fury.
"This is a lie."
"Check the seal," Kaelen said, pointing. "Oracle-marked. Truth-bound."
The world tilted.
Not because I believed it. But because I almost did.
That was Kaelen's talent.
He knew how to twist truths until you couldn't tell where the pain started.
"Even if it were true," I said slowly, "it doesn't matter."
"Oh?" he asked, sweet as poison.
"Because I still choose."
"And I still own your blood."
Ruvan grabbed my arm.
"Don't."
"I'm not scared."
"You should be. Kaelen isn't planning to fight fair."
"He never has."
We left before the Elders could comment.
And I didn't sleep that night.
Because how could I?
When everything I knew about my past was bending beneath me like ice cracking underfoot?
By dawn, I made a decision.
I took the vial.
I stood in the ruins, wind howling, moon fading—and I drank the nullifier.
It burned.
Gods, it burned.
My blood screamed. My veins turned to flame. I fell to my knees as the memory of Kaelen's bond shredded like paper inside me.
And when it was done—I was clean.
No forced bond. No claim.
Just me.
I went to the arena an hour later.
Elders gathered in half-circle silence. The ceremonial pit gleamed with morning dew and dried blood. Kaelen and Ruvan stood at either end, weapons in hand, forms rigid and waiting.
I stepped between them.
"Stop," I said.
Elder Thorne rose.
"The duel has been decreed."
"And I've made my choice."
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"I broke the bond. I used a nullifier. There's no claim left between Kaelen and me."
"That doesn't—" Kaelen began.
"Which means, by ancient law, he has no right to duel for me."
The Elder's eyes narrowed.
"You know what that means."
"I forfeit him."
Ruvan's breath caught.
Kaelen's hands balled into fists.
"You'll regret this," he snarled.
"Maybe," I said. "But not today."