CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: The Unleashing

Maxim wasn’t breathing.

Zara knelt beside him, heart thundering against her ribs as the ruin of the ballroom swirled with smoke and shattered glass. The remains of the Blood Pact circle still glowed faintly on the marble, cracked lines of silver burning into the floor like an old scar refusing to heal.

Victor was gone, having fled into the chaos after releasing the beast within Maxim—but not before twisting the magic, making sure it came at a cost. The spellwork had been precise, surgical. Victor hadn’t just unsealed Maxim’s curse. He’d corrupted it. Turned the ritual into a weapon and left the monster behind to tear the rest apart.

Zara gripped Maxim’s hand. “Don’t you dare die on me.”

His body convulsed.

Then came the sound—low, guttural, and wrong.

Maxim's chest heaved once, then again, before his back arched. His eyes snapped open, glowing gold but flickering—like a flame caught in wind. Bones cracked. His suit split down the spine as black fur began pushing through his skin. But this wasn’t like before. This wasn’t the controlled shift of an Alpha.

This was the curse unbound.

“No,” Zara whispered, rising to her feet as his hands—no, claws—scratched at the floor, muscles spasming. His mouth opened wide, too wide, as a monstrous howl ripped free of his throat. The glass walls remaining around them trembled, then shattered with a piercing ring.

Guards rushed in—witches, wolves, even humans with anti-magic weapons—but Zara threw up a barrier, her palms burning as she yelled, “Stay back!”

She didn’t trust them not to fire, not to finish what Victor started.

Maxim surged forward, eyes wild, barely seeing her.

“Maxim—it’s me.” Her voice trembled. “You have to fight it. You know me.”

His snarl froze mid-air.

Blood dripped from his fangs. Claws twitched.

She took a step forward. Her magic rose unbidden, instinctive, spiraling around her in thin threads of violet light. “You promised you wouldn’t lose yourself. You promised me.”

Maxim blinked. Then he screamed—inhuman, tortured.

The beast reared back, slamming into the marble pillar behind him. The structure cracked. He was fighting it, but the curse was older than him, crueler than anyone knew. Zara’s magic flared brighter, reacting like a second pulse to his suffering. She could feel him slipping—thoughts breaking, instincts taking over. And still, she stepped closer.

She pressed her palm to her heart, where his moonmark still shimmered beneath her torn dress. “You’re not a monster. You’re the man who stayed up with me through my nightmares. You’re the boy who buried his own name so no one could hurt his pack again.”

A flicker of gold recognition passed through his eyes.

For a moment, everything held still.

Then Maxim’s form stilled mid-shift—half-beast, half-man, his body trembling like a fault line. His voice, guttural and fractured, rasped, “Zara... I can't—”

“You can.”

Behind her, someone shouted. A dart flew past—meant for him. She turned, a wall of flame bursting from her outstretched arm, sending the attacker skidding back.

“Try it again,” she warned the others. “I dare you.”

Then she turned back to Maxim.

Zara stepped into the circle, ignoring the burning silver against her heels. Magic crackled underfoot, trying to reject her presence. She forced it to accept her—bent the spellwork beneath them into something new. Something hers.

“I’m rewriting the circle,” she whispered. “Not to bind you—but to anchor you.”

He groaned, collapsing to one knee. Fur melted into skin. His breath came ragged.

“I trust you,” she said.

His gold eyes met hers—and locked.

Slowly, with a sound halfway between agony and relief, Maxim shifted fully back into his human form. Naked, bruised, bloody—but himself. The curse was still inside him, still burning—but she had called him back.

Someone cheered. Others stared. No one dared approach.

Zara knelt before him, cupping his face. “You’re here.”

His voice was gravel. “You brought me back.”

“Always.”

A cough echoed behind them. Maxim—his older self—emerged from the shadows of the ruined entrance. Of course.

“Well,” he said coolly, stepping over debris in his pristine vest. “Now that the melodrama’s over, perhaps we can discuss what in the hell just happened.”

Maxim rose slowly, blood sliding down his side. “Victor corrupted the circle. He twisted the heir trial into a death sentence.”

“And yet you’re alive,” the elder Maxim said, his expression unreadable. “Curse partially lifted?”

“Unstable,” Zara answered, stepping in front of Maxim. “But containable—for now.”

“You mean you can contain him,” the elder muttered, gaze flicking to the silver and violet runes still glowing beneath her skin. “How poetic.”

Maxim’s arm slid around her waist. He was shaking, but grounded. “You’ll give the Council our terms. If they refuse, we dismantle this system from the top down.”

The elder arched a brow. “You’re still bleeding.”

“And yet standing,” Maxim said. “That’s more than Victor can claim.”

The other man didn’t smile. But he didn’t argue either. “I’ll see what I can do.”

As the others cleared out and guards began damage control, Zara and Maxim remained in the broken circle.

He leaned against her, bruised and shaking. “You could’ve run.”

“I did,” she said. “Straight to you.”

He chuckled, low and raw. “You shouldn’t have. I could’ve killed you.”

“But you didn’t,” she replied. “And you wouldn’t.”

His eyes flicked to hers, gleaming gold once more—this time, steady. “I almost lost everything.”

“You didn’t,” she said softly. “You have me. You always will.”

He exhaled, shaking his head slowly. “You have no idea what it felt like. That… that thing inside me. It wasn’t just rage. It was grief. Fear. All the things I buried. And Victor knew.”

“I know,” she said. “But I also know who you are underneath it. That’s who I came for.”

He looked down at their joined hands. His nails still hadn’t fully retracted. His body still trembled with aftershocks. “The council will see this as weakness. A flaw.”

“They’ll see what I let them see,” she said. “They’ve underestimated me before. Let them do it again.”

“You’re terrifying,” he murmured.

She grinned, worn but defiant. “I try.”

Then softer, as her thumb brushed a cut on his cheek: “But really? I’m just someone who refused to lose you.”

His hand brushed her cheek, reverent. “Zara... why?”

She smiled, tired but fierce. “Because you didn’t save me. I saved you—and I’d do it again.”