Chapter 17: The Throne They’ll Never Touch Again
1070 Words
They rode through the ghost forest at nightfall, their horses breathless, sweat dampening Kael’s collar and soaking through Luna’s boots. The air here hung thick with old spells, the kind that clung to your ribs and whispered in your ears.
Luna hated this place.
Not because it was cursed.
Because it remembered.
They dismounted in a hollow where nothing grew. No wind. No birds. No light except the shivering moon above, barely visible through the gnarled branches. Kael knelt in the dirt, unwrapped the casket from its leather binding, and placed it on the ground with care that made her throat tighten.
The Ashbone Box.
Still humming. Still alive.
Still trying to whisper to him.
Luna drew her dagger. Sliced her palm. Let her blood drip onto the earth.
Kael did the same.
Their mingled blood steamed in the dirt, curling into runes only the old wolves would recognize.
She spoke the binding oath.
“You will not rise. You will not speak. You will not burn through what is ours.”
Kael added his voice.
“You have no name here. No place. You do not belong to this love.”
The box screamed.
Not loud, but low—like something dying slowly.
Luna kicked the dirt over it.
Kael pushed in a rune-carved stone.
And together, they buried it.
They didn’t speak after.
They made camp a mile away. Fireless. Cloaked. Hidden.
Kael didn’t eat.
He sat with his back to the trees, head down, his breathing uneven. His skin had gone pale under the scarred bronze. His eyes hadn’t glowed since they left the throne hall.
Luna crouched in front of him. “You feel it, don’t you?”
Kael nodded. “Like it’s still in me.”
“Can you fight it?”
“I don’t know.”
He made her eyes then. And what she saw there made her blood turn.
Fear.
Not of death.
Not of pain.
Fear of what he might become.
He fell asleep in her arms that night, legs tangled in hers, his forehead pressed to her collarbone.
But he didn’t stay asleep.
It started with the shaking.
She woke to his body arching in the dirt, breath ragged, jaw locked. His back bowed. His hands clawed the ground.
Then came the growl.
Low. Guttural.
Not human.
She grabbed him by the shoulders. “Kael!”
He didn’t hear her.
His arms thickened. Skin split into fur. His spine curved. His jaw dislocated. One eye burned gold—the other pitch black.
He wasn’t shifting.
He was fracturing.
She shoved him onto his back and straddled his hips, pinning him.
His hand shot up—gripping her throat.
Not tightly. But there.
She didn’t pull away.
“Kael. Look at me.”
He blinked. Once. Twice.
The black eye flickered. The gold one flared.
“You’re not gone,” she whispered. “You’re still there." You’re still mine.”
His chest heaved under her. Muscles spasmed. Nails dug into the dirt.
She leaned down and pressed her lips to his.
His mouth didn’t respond.
So she kissed harder. Deeper.
Her hips rolled against his. His body twitched.
“I know what you need,” she said.
“I know how to bring you back.”
She tore off her tunic, baring her chest to the cold night air. She grabbed his hand and placed it over her heart.
“Feel that?” she whispered. “That’s you." That’s me.”
She undid the ties of his pants, pulled them down just enough, then guided his c**k to her entrance.
“Don’t think. Don’t speak. Just feel.”
She slid down onto him.
And everything stopped.
His body convulsed.
His back arched.
But she didn’t stop.
She moved slowly, grinding her hips, her breath hot against his ear.
“You are mine, Kael Alaric.”
She moved again.
“And I am yours.”
Another thrust.
“You do not belong to the dark.”
She clenched around him.
“You belong to me.”
He gasped.
His hands flew to her hips, gripping hard. His eyes snapped open—both glowing gold.
His wolf surfaced.
But this time… it didn’t take over.
It blended.
They moved together, slow but hungry, his hips rising to meet hers, their rhythm steady, grounded, desperate.
She kissed his jaw.
He buried his face in her throat.
“I’m here,” he groaned. “Luna—I’m here.”
She cried then, riding him faster, her body aflame, the cold night forgotten.
He wrapped his arms around her and thrust her up hard, sending her over the edge.
She went with a sob.
He followed, pulsing deep inside her, groaning her name like a prayer.
When they stopped, she collapsed onto him, shaking.
He held her like she was all that tethered him to the world.
She didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Just lay there, still joined, his heart racing against hers.
Alive.
Together.
Still theirs.
By morning, Kael was quiet again. But not lost.
They packed camp in silence.
But Luna could feel it.
The shift.
Something in him was changing. Evolving.
Not broken.
But reborn.
They returned to the ridge by dusk. Their people waited.
Kael stood before them, taller than before. Eyes brighter. Voice steadier.
“We are no longer running.”
He pulled Luna beside him.
“We are not victims. We are not rebels. We are not beasts.”
He raised her hand.
“We are the rightful flame.”
The crowd howled.
Luna looked up at him.
And for the first time, she wondered:
How long can this last?
How long can two cursed creatures pretend the world won’t crack beneath their feet?
Far away, in the palace…
The Queen donned a silver crown.
Knelt at a mirror.
And whispered, “Let them come. Let them die as they were born.”
A shadow behind her whispered back.
“Your son is not the boy you tried to chain.”
She turned.
“He is still mine.”
And on a high mountain cliff, Luna sat alone that night.
Watching the moon rise.
Kael was asleep behind her, breathing slow, her body finally at peace.
But her heart was not.
Because now she knew:
The more they touched fate,
the more fate bled.
And someday soon...
She would have to choose between saving Kael—
and saving what remained of herself.
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