Smoke still hung heavy in the air, clinging to every stone, every breath. The battlefield lay ruined, the snow blackened, the corpses of rogues and wolves alike smoldering in the wreckage.
Aradia stood at the center, her body trembling, her fire guttering weakly at her fingertips. Kael's arms wrapped around her, holding her close, but the pack did not look at her with gratitude.
They looked with fear.
"She burns everything."
"She'll destroy us."
"She's worse than the shadow."
Every whisper cut deeper than claws. Her fire flickered and dimmed, shame crawling through her chest.
Kael turned on them, his green eyes blazing, his voice a roar that shook the den. "She saved you! Without her, you would be ash beneath Ronan's shadow!"
But still, the whispers lingered, their golden eyes flicking away.
That night, Aradia sat alone, staring at her trembling hands. Kael found her, crouching before her, his rough fingers tilting her chin up.
"They fear what they don't understand," he murmured. "But I don't fear you. I never will."
Her voice cracked. "But what if they're right? What if I am worse than the shadow?"
His lips pressed against hers, fierce, demanding, silencing the doubt. His kiss was not comfort. It was claim.
"You are mine," he growled against her lips. "Not the shadow's. Not fear's. Mine."