I pause, the memory tugging something strange out of my chest.
I was eight when my parents died. Too young to shift. Too young to fight. My uncle stepped up without hesitation and held the throne until I was ready. And when I finally claimed it at nineteen — the youngest Alpha King in history — he threw a party for himself so loud I thought the palace would collapsefrom the celebration alone. I’ve never seen the man drunker. Or happier.
He was a nightmare during my training. Brutal. Unrelenting. Pushed me harder every day, like he was racing against an invisible clock. I used to hate it.
Now I understand it saved me.
He still serves on the Council as Bloodwulf’s representative, but he only shows up for the big stuff now. High-level votes. War councils. The kind of things you can’t skip.
Camara suddenly leans forward, and I stiffen as I catch her sniffing the air.
“What are you doing?” I ask, leaning back slightly.
Her face tightens. “Nothing. That’s the problem. I can’t sense a damn thing. No magic. No trace. My wolf can’t pick up anything.”
She rises to her feet. “Let’s see if your Spark shows now. Shirt off.”
I hesitate for a second, then do as she says. I pull my shirt over my head and stand still.
She freezes.
Her eyes are locked on my chest. On the bruise.
“That mark,” she says slowly, pointing to it. “How long have you had it?”
“It showed up the day I first shifted,” I say. My voice comes out low, almost hoarse. “When Kass…” I swallow. “When she cloaked her side of the bond.”
“And it hasn’t healed since?” she presses. “Draven, your healing is faster than anyone I’ve seen. This should’ve disappeared in seconds.”
I nod once. “As you can see, it didn’t.”
“Could it be the leash?” Kass asks, stepping closer. Her tone is sharper now. Concern buried under irritation.
Camara frowns. “Maybe. I don’t know. I’ve seen a lot in my life, but I’ve never seen this. Not even in shifters who’ve survived rejection.”
I run a hand down my face. This just keeps getting worse.
“Let’s see about that Spark now,” Camara murmurs, her voice soft with wonder as she lifts her hand and presses a single finger to the center of my forehead. “Close your eyes.”
I do.
She begins to chant the old words, her finger slowly trailing down my skin. My chest rises and falls with each breath. I remember the first time she did this, when I was a teenager. I’d felt… nothing. Just cold emptiness.
But this time?
This time, the moment her palm flattens against the center of my chest — burning.
A fire erupts beneath my skin, licking at bone, white-hot and sudden. My eyes fly open and I choke on a gasp, staggering back from her touch on instinct alone.
Both women move at once.
“What happened?” they ask in unison, voices laced with alarm.
“Your hand,” I manage to say, clutching my chest. “It burned. Like I was on fire.”
Kass’s head snaps toward Camara, fury blooming across her face. “What the hell did you do to him?”
But Camara just smiles, not startled at all. “Nothing beyond the usual ritual,” she says calmly. “But this... makes sense. If your bond is forged in hellfire, then someone calling it forward would burn. That’s a good sign — it means it’s finally responding. It’s waking up.”
