The fortress shuddered under the first echoes of attack.
I woke to the distant roar of steel against stone, the growl of wolves, and the faint thrum of the triplets' pulses within me—urgent, alert, alive. Ronan's presence was immediate, shifting beside me, body tense, golden eyes blazing like molten fire.
"They're here," he growled, voice low, almost a whisper. Yet the command in it made the walls themselves tremble. "The Purge won't wait."
I swallowed hard, wolf stirring beneath my skin, muscles coiled. "How many?"
Ronan didn't answer. Instead, he shifted, the bond flaring as our hearts aligned. I felt the triplets pulse, their small but insistent rhythms syncing with the energy of the fortress and with Ronan's own power. Together, we were a single force, a triad of strength.
By the eastern gates, the first scouts were already breaching the outer perimeter. Shadowed figures, agile and precise, their weapons glinting with blackened steel, intent on chaos and death.
"Ready?" Ronan asked, shifting into his full Lycan form. Towering, silver-gray fur rippling, claws like blades, teeth gleaming. Heat radiated off him, predatory and protective.
"Yes," I said, shifting alongside him, wolf instincts roaring to life. My bond surged, the triplets' energy weaving through mine, amplifying my speed, reflexes, and raw strength. I was no longer just Aria—I was Aria, the mother of prophecy, bonded, unstoppable.
The first scout lunged. I met him with a whip of silver energy, coiling around him like living steel. His scream was muffled as he flew backward, landing hard on the stone courtyard. Ronan tore through two more with claw and fang, moving with lethal grace.
I surged forward, energy flowing like fire along my limbs, shaping into sharp arcs and blades. Each strike was precise, calculated, enhanced by the bond, each pulse of the triplets' awareness guiding me to anticipate the enemy's moves.
Then—a shadow fell over me. A larger figure emerged, faster, stronger, cloaked in dark magic that twisted the air around him. My pulse spiked, heart racing, wolf growling fiercely.
"Stay close," Ronan growled, protective, his hand brushing mine. Heat flared between us, tension laced with lingering desire from the night before. Our bond hummed with urgency, desire, and raw power.
The figure attacked, and the fight became a blur. Steel clashed with claws, magic flared against silver light, the ground trembling with every strike. I felt Ronan at my side, guiding, protecting, pressing close when instinct told him I needed it, brushing against me in ways that sent heat and fire surging through me even as we fought for our lives.
"You're stronger than they imagined," Ronan growled, pressing close, lips brushing the side of my neck briefly as claws and energy struck in perfect rhythm. The sensation was intoxicating, impossible to ignore even amid chaos.
"I feel them," I gasped, letting the triplets guide my attacks. Silver arcs of energy lanced outward, wrapping around the enemy, binding, incapacitating. "The children… they help me!"
Ronan's deep growl was a mix of approval and raw possessiveness. "Good… use them. Use us. Use this bond."
We moved as one—Lycan, human, and the unseen energy of our unborn children flowing through every strike. Each pulse, each heartbeat, each surge of desire intertwined with the rhythm of battle. Even in the heat of combat, I felt him—Ronan—pressing against me, grounding me, claiming me, reminding me of what we were together.
The main attacker—a Purge lieutenant—charged, cloaked in dark energy meant to overwhelm, meant to kill. I shifted instinctively, wolf coiling, and channeled every pulse of the bond through my fists, unleashing a spear of silver light that struck him square in the chest. He stumbled, cursed, staggered, and tried to recover—but Ronan was there, claws and teeth tearing into the darkness, teeth grazing the lieutenant's arm in a warning, not fatal.
I felt the heat of Ronan's body press against mine as we moved, chest to chest, energy to energy. Every brush of skin, every touch, amplified the bond, our strength, and—yes—even the desire simmering beneath the surface from the night before. My pulse raced in multiple directions—fear, adrenaline, lust, power. All of it merged, controlled by instinct, skill, and the triplets' guiding rhythm.
Finally, the battlefield quieted, the remaining Purge forces retreating, unwilling to challenge our combined power. The courtyard was littered with fallen weapons, defeated scouts, and the echo of energy pulses fading into the night.
Ronan shifted back into human form, towering over me, chest heaving, golden eyes blazing. I pressed against him instinctively, wolf still roaring inside, energy thrumming between us.
"You fought well," he murmured, hand brushing over my cheek, thumb grazing lips still tingling from battle—and from memory. "And you're mine… in every sense."
I swallowed, leaning into him, feeling the residual heat, the bond, the triplets' presence guiding, anchoring, amplifying. "We… we survived," I whispered, voice trembling with exhaustion and lingering desire. "Together."
"Yes," he growled, possessive and raw. "And the Purge will remember tonight. They'll know the price of touching you, or them, or this fortress."
The fortress itself seemed to pulse with acknowledgment, the runes glowing faintly in response to our combined bond. My wolf relaxed slightly, but vigilance remained. Danger still lingered—inside and out.
Ronan leaned down, capturing my lips with a searing, demanding kiss, hands roaming possessively as if reminding me, claiming me, marking me even as the battle faded. I responded, arching into him, pulse and energy thrumming in harmony with the bond and the children inside me.
When we finally broke apart, breathless, flushed, and shaking from adrenaline and desire, I pressed my forehead to his chest, listening to the golden rhythm of his heartbeat. "We're… stronger together," I whispered.
"Yes," he said, voice low and husky. "Stronger than they imagined… and stronger than anyone alive."
The night was quiet again—too quiet—but we had won. For now.
But one truth lingered in the shadows, unspoken:
The Purge would return.
Stronger. Smarter. Deadlier.
And someone inside the fortress was still watching, waiting… planning.
And I knew, deep in my core, that the next fight would demand everything we had.
Body. Bond. Desire. Power.
And nothing—not betrayal, not fear, not even lust—would hold us back.