That night, the rogues struck.
The forest lit with fire and shadow, wolves clashing in a frenzy of blood and death. Kael tore through enemies, his massive wolf a force of destruction, his claws dripping black ichor.
Aradia fought at his side, her fire blazing higher than ever, controlled but dangerous. For every rogue she burned, two more came.
And then—her fire surged too far.
Lightning split the sky, flames roaring from her hands, consuming everything in their path. Kael lunged to shield her, his body caught in the blaze.
"Kael!" she screamed, her fire cutting across his skin, leaving it blistered and smoking. She froze, terror choking her, her flames trembling uncontrollably.
Kael staggered, blood dripping down his chest, but his eyes—his green eyes—never wavered. He caught her trembling face in his burned hands, his lips curling in a fierce smile.
"You will never destroy me," he rasped. "Not fire. Not fate. Not death."
Her tears spilled, her fire bending to his voice, dimming, retreating. She collapsed against him, sobbing, while the wolves dragged away the last of the rogues.
And Kael held her, burned but unbroken, his love fiercer than any flame.