KAEL'S POV
The moment I hear Sera's sharp intake of breath, I know something's wrong.
She's sitting bolt upright in my bed, hand pressed to the crescent mark on her shoulder, eyes wide with shock. Her heart is racing so fast I can hear it from across the room.
"Sera?" I cross to her in three steps. "What happened?"
She doesn't answer. Just stares at nothing, her breathing ragged.
I've seen this before—magical communication. Someone just sent her a message directly into her mind. The question is who, and what did they say that's got her looking like her entire world just shattered again?
"Talk to me," I say, keeping my voice gentle. She's skittish as a wild animal, and after six hours of bond-torture, she's fragile in ways she'd never admit.
"Lyra," she whispers finally. "The Oracle lied. She's not my daughter. She's my twin sister."
The words hit me like a physical blow. Twin. Not daughter.
Which means the Oracle's message was designed specifically to break Sera—to make her think she'd failed her own child, to pile guilt on top of the impossible choice she's already facing.
Clever. Cruel. Exactly what I'd expect from an ancient entity that feeds on suffering.
"Then the Oracle can't be trusted," I say. "Which means everything she told you could be a lie."
"But if Lyra is my twin—" Sera's voice cracks. "Then who did I give birth to sixteen years ago? My mother said Morgana took a baby from my arms. If it wasn't Lyra, then where is my actual child?"
She looks at me with such raw pain that something in my chest constricts. This woman has been stripped of every certainty, every truth she built her life on, and she's still fighting. Still trying to save everyone even when she doesn't know who "everyone" is anymore.
"We'll find out," I promise. "But right now, you need to rest. Your body is still recovering from—"
"I can't rest." Sera swings her legs off the bed, trying to stand. She makes it two steps before her knees buckle.
I catch her before she hits the floor, and the moment my hands touch her bare arms, I feel it—the bond damage. She didn't just hurt herself with that six-hour separation. She nearly killed herself.
The incomplete mate bond is fragile. Push it too hard, and it shatters. If that happens, we both die.
"You're staying in this bed," I say, carrying her back. "And you're not leaving until your body has healed enough to survive another separation."
"You can't keep me prisoner." But there's no strength behind the protest.
"I'm not keeping you prisoner. I'm keeping you alive." I set her down gently, then pull the blanket over her. "The bond isn't a punishment, Sera. It's trying to protect you. But you have to stop fighting it long enough to let it work."
She glares at me, violet eyes blazing with stubborn fury. "I won't complete the bond."
"I'm not asking you to." I move back to my makeshift bed on the floor, putting distance between us even though every instinct screams to stay close. "But I won't watch you suffer either. The bond needs proximity. That's all."
"Proximity leads to other things." Her voice is barely above a whisper.
"Not unless you want it to." I meet her gaze steadily. "I've waited three hundred years for my mate, Sera. I can wait a few more days for you to decide if you actually want me or if you're just giving in to the bond."
She looks away first. "I don't understand you."
"What's to understand?"
"You know I was sent here to kill you. You know I'm connected to your enemies. You know that every moment I'm here puts your pack at risk." She turns back to face me, confusion and frustration warring in her expression. "So why are you helping me? Why not just lock me up, or reject the bond, or—"
"Kill you?" I finish. "Because I've spent three centuries watching prophecies destroy lives. I won't let this one destroy yours too."
"Even if it destroys you instead?"
"Even then."
The silence that follows is heavy with things neither of us can say. Not while Morgana might be listening. Not while the blood oath controls what Sera can reveal.
But I see it in her eyes—the war between what she was taught and what she's feeling. Between duty and desire. Between the weapon she was forged to be and the woman she's discovering underneath.
"Get some sleep," I say finally. "We'll plan our next move in the morning."
She lies back down, but I can tell from her breathing she won't sleep. Too much has happened. Too many revelations in too short a time.
I settle onto my blanket nest and close my eyes, pretending to rest while my mind races.
Sera's mother is alive and can communicate telepathically—that's an advantage Morgana doesn't know about. If the mother can bypass the blood oath surveillance, she might be able to feed us information without triggering Morgana's traps.
But why wait until now to make contact? What's changed that made her reveal herself?
Unless she's been waiting for something specific. For Sera to be desperate enough to listen. Or for the mate bond to activate so she'd have an ally in me.
I'm still working through possibilities when I feel Sera's pain spike again.
My eyes snap open. She's curled on her side, arms wrapped around her middle, trying not to make a sound even as the bond tears at her.
Three hours. She lasted three hours before the separation pain started again.
"Stubborn," I mutter, standing up. "Move over."
"What?" She looks up, eyes glassy with pain.
"The bond needs contact to heal properly. You lying there suffering while I'm on the floor three feet away is pointless torture." I sit on the edge of the bed. "I'm going to hold your hand until the pain stops. That's all."
"Kael—"
"You can fight me or you can let me help. Choose quickly before you pass out again."
She stares at me for a long moment. Then, slowly, she extends her hand.
The moment my fingers close around hers, I feel the bond snap into sharp focus. The pain drains from her face, her breathing evens out, and the tension in her shoulders melts.
"Better?" I ask.
She nods, not trusting her voice.
We stay like that—her lying on the bed, me sitting beside her, our hands linked in the darkness. It's not the romantic first touch poets write about. It's survival. Necessity.
But it feels more intimate than anything I've experienced in three hundred years.
"Thank you," Sera whispers eventually.
"For what?"
"For not forcing this. For giving me choices even when the bond makes choice almost impossible." Her thumb traces small circles on the back of my hand, and I don't think she realizes she's doing it. "Morgana never gave me choices. Everything was orders, commands, missions. Even love was conditional on obedience."
The casual cruelty of it makes my wolf snarl. Morgana took this brilliant, fierce woman and tried to break her into a tool.
"You deserve better than that," I say.
"I'm a trained killer who was sent here to murder you in your sleep."
"And I'm a male who killed his own brother to stop a rampage. We've both done terrible things." I squeeze her hand gently. "That doesn't mean we don't deserve a chance at something better."
She's quiet for so long I think she's fallen asleep. Then: "What if I can't save everyone? What if I have to choose between you and Lyra, or Lyra and my missing child, or—"
"Then you make the choice that lets you live with yourself afterward," I interrupt. "And I'll support whatever you decide."
"Even if I choose to complete the mission?"
My throat tightens, but I force the words out. "Even then. Though I'll try like hell to change your mind first."
Her laugh is soft and broken. "You're a terrible Alpha. You're supposed to be ruthless and commanding and—"
"I am ruthless," I correct. "I've killed more enemies than you can count. I've made decisions that cost lives to save my pack. I've done things that would horrify you if you knew the details." I pause. "But with you, I can't be that male. With you, I just want to be enough."
The confession hangs between us, dangerous and honest.
Sera's hand tightens on mine. "You're more than enough. That's the problem."
Before I can ask what she means, her crescent mark blazes with light again.
She gasps, eyes going unfocused. Another message from her mother.
When she comes back to herself, she's trembling.
"What?" I demand. "What did she say?"
Sera's voice is hollow. "My child. The one I gave birth to sixteen years ago." She meets my eyes, and the devastation in her gaze nearly breaks me. "She says Morgana didn't just take the baby. She raised her as her own daughter. Trained her as the Order's next great weapon."
My blood turns to ice. "Sera, what are you saying?"
"My daughter isn't missing." Tears stream down her face. "She's been here all along. Working for Morgana. Trying to help me complete this mission."
Understanding crashes over me like a tidal wave.
"Cassius," I breathe. "Morgana's son who came to 'assist' you."
"Isn't her son." Sera's voice breaks. "Cassius is my daughter. And she's been trying to help me kill you because she has no idea I'm her mother."