KAEL POV
I stepped between Isla and Theron's wolves before my brain caught up to my body.
Stupid. Suicidal. These were NORTHERN wolves—the most disciplined warriors in the Beastworld. They wouldn't attack without Theron's command.
But my beast didn't care about logic. It only knew: female in danger, protect female, kill anything that threatens female.
"Stand down, Nightshade." Theron's voice was calm, almost amused. "My pack won't harm her. They're curious, not hungry."
"Curious wolves have killed for less." My core blazed hot—newly purified, stronger than it had been in decades. Ready to fight.
"Kael." Isla's hand touched my shoulder. "He's right. They're not attacking. They're... waiting?"
She was correct. The wolves weren't in hunting stances. They sat like students before a teacher, silver eyes fixed on Isla with something close to reverence.
"They recognize what you are," Theron said, standing from his ice throne. He moved like winter itself—beautiful, inevitable, dangerous. "My pack has been dreaming of your arrival for months. Every wolf, every night, the same vision: a female with golden light in her hands, pulling corruption from dying cores."
"You knew I was coming?" Isla's voice trembled. "How?"
"Prophecy runs in the Frostborn bloodline. We see threads of future tangled with present." Theron's silver eyes locked on mine. "I saw you bringing her here, Nightshade. Saw the corrupted temple collapsing. Saw you trust her enough to jump through an unstable portal."
My jaw tightened. "You could have WARNED us."
"Would you have believed me? Would you have trusted a rival Chief claiming prophetic dreams about the female who fell in YOUR territory?" Theron smiled slightly. "No. You needed to see her power yourself. Needed to feel her save your life. Now you understand what she is."
"What I am is standing RIGHT HERE," Isla snapped. "Stop talking about me like I'm not in the room."
Both Theron and I froze. Then Theron's smile grew genuine—impressed.
"Forgive me, Isla Chen. You're right." He bowed slightly, which shocked me. Northern Alphas bowed to NO ONE. "I've been waiting so long to meet you that I forgot you're a person, not just a prophecy."
Isla blinked, surprised by the apology. "Oh. Well. Thank you."
"However," Theron continued, "we have a significant problem. When you purified the Shadow Temple's pool, you created an energy signature that every corrupted beast within five hundred miles just FELT. They're all heading toward the Shadow Forest now, drawn to your power like moths to flame."
My blood went cold. "My tribe. They're undefended. I left my second-in-command in charge but if hundreds of corrupted beasts attack—"
"They'll be slaughtered," Theron finished grimly. "Unless we act fast."
"We?" I didn't trust easily, especially not rival Chiefs. "Why would you help my tribe?"
"Because Isla purified YOUR core completely. If she can do that for others, my entire pack needs her." Theron's mask of calm cracked, showing desperation underneath. "Seventy percent of my wolves are infected with early-stage corruption. In six months, maybe a year, they'll start going feral. I'll have to kill my own pack unless she can save them."
"I can try," Isla said immediately. "But I don't know how to do what I did in the temple on purpose. It just... happened."
"Then we need someone who understands Heartweaver abilities." Theron gestured to a side door. "Which is why I summoned Elder Kora. She was traveling through my territory when your energy signature lit up the sky."
An ancient female entered—so old her hair was pure white, her face lined with centuries of wisdom. She walked with a gnarled staff, but her eyes were sharp as winter stars.
Elder Kora. The OLDEST living shaman. The keeper of histories that predated written language.
She looked at Isla and her staff clattered to the floor.
"Blessed ancestors," Kora whispered. "A true Heartweaver. I never thought I'd live to see another."
"Another?" Isla asked. "There have been others like me?"
"Six throughout recorded history. Each one appeared during times of great crisis." Kora circled Isla slowly, examining her with eyes that saw far more than physical form. "Each one could see beast cores directly. Heal corruption others couldn't touch. Bond with multiple mates without losing themselves."
"The bonding part keeps coming up," Isla said nervously. "What does it actually mean?"
Kora's expression turned serious. "For normal females, bonding with a mate creates a connection—they can sense each other's emotions, locations, basic needs. But Heartweaver bonds are deeper. You would share your life force with your mates. They would become stronger, you would become more stable. Together, you would be nearly unstoppable."
"And the downside?" Isla asked, because she was smart enough to know there was always a downside.
"The bond is permanent. Once formed, it cannot be broken except by death. And because you share life force, if one bonded mate dies, it damages you severely. If ALL your bonded mates die..." Kora hesitated. "The last Heartweaver lost all four of her mates in a territorial war. The grief and power feedback killed her within days."
Silence fell like snow.
"So bonding could save them, but losing them could kill me," Isla said slowly. "That's quite a commitment."
"It's also the only way to stabilize your power," Kora added. "Unbonded Heartweavers burn too bright, too fast. They heal too much, give too much, and exhaust themselves within years. Bonded Heartweavers, with mates to anchor and sustain them, lived for decades."
I watched Isla process this, saw her brilliant mind weighing options. She'd already saved my life once. Was I really asking her to tie her existence to mine permanently?
"How many mates can a Heartweaver bond with?" Isla asked.
"The historical average was four to six. Though the third Heartweaver—"
"Morana," Theron interjected. "Had seven mates initially."
"Yes. And they destroyed each other fighting over her attention." Kora's voice went heavy with old sorrow. "Jealousy and possessiveness turned love into violence. By the time she had only four mates left, she was already broken. Then those four killed each other in a dominance battle, and she... changed."
"Into the monster hunting me now," Isla finished.
"Correct." Kora fixed Isla with an intense stare. "Which is why choosing the RIGHT mates is crucial. Not the strongest. Not the most powerful. The ones who can share, communicate, and put your wellbeing above their egos."
Her eyes flicked to me, then to Theron. Judging. Assessing.
I stood straighter under that gaze. Tried to prove I was worthy of consideration.
"I don't even know if I WANT mates," Isla said firmly. "My last relationship ended with my partner murdering me for career advancement. I'm not exactly eager to trust anyone with that level of connection."
Valid. Painfully valid.
"Unfortunately, time is not on your side," Kora said. "Your power is awakening rapidly. Without bonds to stabilize you, it will consume you within three months. And without your ability to purify corruption, the entire Beastworld will fall to the spreading darkness within a year."
"So my choices are: bond with multiple men I barely know, or die while everyone else also dies. Great options."
"There is a third option," a new voice said from the shadows.
Rhydian stepped through a window he'd apparently been perched outside of, his golden wings spread wide. "You could bond with US specifically—males who've already proven we can work together without killing each other. We protected you against an army. We're not perfect, but we're not going to destroy you either."
"Arrogant as always, Stormwing," I muttered.
"Confident," he corrected. "There's a difference."
"Where's Draven?" Theron asked, frowning.
As if summoned by his name, the temperature spiked. Frost melted off the palace walls. The wolves whimpered and retreated.
A massive shadow passed over the ice palace, blotting out the three moons.
Draven landed in the courtyard with an impact that shook the entire structure. His dragon form was FURIOUS—eyes blazing, smoke pouring from his nostrils.
Then he shifted, and I saw why.
His newly purified core—the one Isla had partially healed before—was flickering. The corruption was RETURNING, spreading from a point just above his heart where a black dart protruded from his skin.
"Morana," he gasped. "Ambushed me. Poison dart. It's... reversing the purification."
He collapsed, and his core went completely black.
Dead.
Draven, the ancient Dragon Lord, was dead.
And Isla screamed.