The alarm horns screamed through the fortress.
Not once.
Not twice.
But three times—deep, ancient, and violent.
The triplets reacted instantly.
Pain sliced through my abdomen, sharp and sudden, stealing the breath from my lungs. I doubled over, clutching my stomach as silver-gold light flickered beneath my skin. The bond detonated like a live wire, raw and overwhelming.
Ronan was there in a heartbeat.
"Aria." His voice shook. Not with fear—never fear—but with something far more dangerous. Fury. "Talk to me."
"They're not hurt," I gasped, teeth clenched as another wave pulsed through me. "They're… responding. Calling."
Outside, the sky exploded with dark magic.
The Purge didn't come quietly this time.
They came with siege beasts—corrupted wolves twice the size of Lycans, their eyes glowing void-black. Dark casters lined the cliffs beyond the eastern wall, chanting in a language that burned my ears. The fortress wards screamed under the pressure.
"They're after the children," I whispered.
Ronan's hands framed my face, grounding me, anchoring the chaos. His eyes burned molten gold. "Then they die before they take one step closer."
The bond flared violently.
Heat flooded me—desire, power, rage, protection—all tangled together until I could no longer tell where Ronan ended and I began. The triplets pulsed again, stronger now, their energies distinct.
Three heartbeats.
Three flames.
Three wills.
"I can feel them," I said, awe cutting through the pain. "They're… awake."
A shockwave hit the outer wall.
Stone cracked. Screams echoed.
Ronan shifted instantly, bones snapping, power roaring free as he took his full Lycan form. Massive. Terrifying. King in every sense of the word. He turned back just long enough to press his forehead to mine.
"No matter what happens," he growled, voice vibrating through my bones, "you do not leave my sight."
I nodded.
Then the wall came down.
The Purge surged in like a tidal wave of shadow.
I stepped forward before Ronan could stop me.
Silver light erupted from my body, blasting outward in a dome that incinerated the first wave of attackers on impact. My scream tore from my throat—not in pain, but in release. The triplets' power poured through me, unfiltered, wild, ancient.
One force was cold and sharp—precision. Another burned hot—destruction. The third hummed low and deep—control.
"They're fighting with me," I whispered, tears streaming down my face.
Ronan roared—pure pride and savage joy—and launched himself into the fray.
We became devastation.
He tore through beasts with claws and teeth, every movement lethal and fluid. I stood at the center of the storm, silver-gold energy spiraling around me like wings. Every enemy that came too close was thrown back, crushed, or burned away.
A Purge caster raised his staff, aiming directly at my stomach.
Ronan saw it.
He crossed the distance in a blur, taking the blast across his shoulder with a snarl that shook the battlefield. He staggered—but did not fall.
"Ronan!" I screamed.
His eyes snapped to mine. "Do it," he commanded. "Trust them. Trust yourself."
I did.
I opened myself fully.
The triplets' power surged outward—not destructive this time, but commanding.
The ground froze.
Every Purge member within the courtyard dropped to their knees as an invisible pressure slammed them down. Their magic fractured. Their spells shattered.
Silence followed.
Then screaming.
Ronan shifted back, blood streaking his skin, chest heaving. He crossed to me and pulled me hard against him, hands gripping my back, his forehead pressed to mine.
"You are magnificent," he said hoarsely. "Do you hear me? You are everything."
I clung to him, shaking. "I was so afraid," I admitted. "That I'd lose you. That I'd fail them."
He kissed me—hard, desperate, consuming. Not gentle. Not soft. A kiss born of battle and survival and five years of longing compressed into one breathless moment.
"You could never fail us," he murmured against my lips. "You are their mother. My mate. My queen."
The words hit harder than any spell.
The remaining Purge forces fled.
When the courtyard finally stilled, bodies and broken weapons littering the ground, Ronan lifted me into his arms without a word and carried me inside.
The moment the chamber doors closed behind us, the restraint snapped.
He set me down carefully, hands roaming, reverent yet burning, as if confirming I was real—alive—still his. The bond hummed low and intimate now, no longer violent but deep and consuming.
"I felt you," he said, voice rough. "Every fear. Every spark. Every moment you ran."
"I was broken," I whispered. "And pregnant. And terrified."
"And you survived," he said fiercely. "You protected them. You protected yourself."
His hand rested over my stomach, warmth spreading outward. The triplets pulsed softly in response, calm now. Content.
"They know you," I said quietly. "They always have."
Ronan dropped to his knees in front of me, forehead pressed to my belly. The sight stole my breath.
"I swear," he said, voice shaking for the first time, "no force—no god, no prophecy, no army—will ever take you from me again."
I threaded my fingers through his hair, heart full and aching and whole.
The war wasn't over.
The Purge would return.
But tonight, for the first time since betrayal shattered my world, I knew this truth without doubt:
I was no longer running.
I was rising.
And so were my children.