The morning after was quiet. Too quiet.
Lucien had left before dawn to meet with his inner circle. Something about a rogue pack spotted near the eastern border of the city. Sera woke alone, naked in his silk sheets, sore from his touch, and aching in places she didn't want to admit.
She should've felt safe.
But all she felt was… watched.
The mirror across the room flickered.
Just for a second.
And in the blink of a breath, her reflection didn't move with her.
It smiled—even though she hadn't.
She scrambled from the bed, panting. But the mirror was normal again.
Lucien's scent still clung to the pillows, grounding her. And yet the echo of Veylor's voice from the night before was louder than anything else:
"You're not just a mate. You're a weapon."
The Witch Queen
Later that day, while Lucien was still gone, a woman arrived.
Tall. Dressed in black silk. Her eyes were violet and ageless. The guards let her in without question.
Sera backed away instinctively. "Who are you?"
The woman smiled. "A friend of the blood."
She moved with liquid grace, circling Sera like a panther might circle a sleeping lamb.
"My name is Alira. I'm what's left of the Blood Witches—the old ones who walked before the packs."
Sera's heart pounded. "What do you want?"
"I want to show you what's been hidden."
Alira raised a hand, and a glowing sigil blazed to life mid-air—an ancient crest. A twin-headed wolf wrapped around a bleeding rose.
Sera gasped. She'd seen that in her dreams.
"It's your crest," Alira said softly. "Your family was slaughtered before you could walk. But your blood survived. Hidden. Buried. Until Lucien's bond woke it."
Sera staggered back, but Alira caught her.
"You're not a girl who fell in love with a wolf, Sera. You're the last heir of the Crimson Line."
Alpha's Fury
When Lucien returned that evening, Sera was pacing the balcony, wind whipping her hair. Her eyes were red from crying. Her hands trembled.
"You knew," she whispered as he approached.
Lucien stiffened. "What did she tell you?"
"That I'm not just your mate. That I'm from a bloodline you were supposed to destroy."
He didn't answer immediately. His jaw flexed. His fists clenched.
"I didn't want you to carry that weight," he said finally. "You were innocent. I wanted to keep you that way."
She stared at him in disbelief. "You lied to me."
"I protected you."
"From what? Myself?"
He stepped closer, cupping her face roughly, his gold eyes glowing.
"No. From them. From what they'll do when they find out who you really are."
"Then maybe I should let them," she spat, yanking away. "Maybe I'm tired of being protected like I'm breakable."
Lucien growled low in his throat, eyes flashing.
"You want danger?" he snarled. "You'll get it."
He slammed her back against the glass, lifting her effortlessly.
His mouth crushed hers—furious, possessive, wild.
And she kissed him back just as hard, biting his lip, moaning when he pressed against her, hard and demanding.
They made love against the balcony windows, lit by the city lights, their moans lost in the roar of the storm building outside.
But even as he held her afterward, even as he whispered her name like a vow…
She knew something had shifted.
He loved her.
But he feared her, too.