Ch. 6: Lessons in Fire and Fury

The night after the bond, Kaelira couldn’t sleep.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw it—the surge of light, Zevran’s face inches from hers, the whisper of his pulse thrumming through her veins like it belonged there.

It should’ve terrified her. Instead, it felt too alive.

The bond had changed something fundamental. She could sense him even when he wasn’t near. His power, his heartbeat, his calm—like a tide brushing the edges of her mind. If she focused, she could almost hear his thoughts, like echoes under ice.

She hated it.

She hated how part of her didn’t want to block him out.

When dawn finally came, she found him outside, standing shirtless in the courtyard as mist rose from the ruined temple around them. His sword cut through the air in perfect arcs, silver light trailing behind every swing.

For a king, he fought like a man who had nothing left to prove—no wasted motion, no noise, just lethal grace.

He didn’t look at her when he spoke.

“I can feel you watching.”

Kaelira crossed her arms, keeping her distance. “Then stop being so watchable.”

He paused mid-swing, the faintest flicker of amusement ghosting across his mouth. “Careful, little wolf. You sound like you’re flirting.”

“I’m threatening to hit you with a rock.”

“Ah. Flirting, then.”

She groaned. “You’re impossible.”

He finally turned toward her, eyes silver even in daylight. “And you’re losing control of your power.”

Her sarcasm faltered. “You can feel that?”

“I can feel everything now.” He tapped his chest lightly, right over his heart. “That’s what the bond does. It links us—magic, emotion, even pain. So when you suppress your fire, I feel it burn.”

Her throat went tight. “Then teach me how not to.”

⸻

They began training in the clearing beyond the fortress, the ruins rising around them like teeth. The morning air was sharp and cold, carrying the faint metallic tang of moonstone dust.

Zevran drew a circle into the dirt with his blade. “Step inside.”

Kaelira did. The mark on her wrist pulsed in time with the faint tremor of energy under the earth.

“Now,” he said, “close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

“Kings,” she muttered under her breath, but obeyed.

“Magic,” Zevran began, “isn’t about power. It’s about balance. You’re a hybrid—witch’s blood wrapped in a wolf’s heart. That means your body and spirit are at war every time you draw on it.”

“Great,” Kaelira said. “So I’m my own worst enemy.”

“You always have been.”

The words were blunt, but not cruel.

She could feel truth in them.

“Now,” he said, “find your flame.”

She tried. At first, there was only her heartbeat and the smell of ash. Then—faintly—a warmth stirred under her ribs.

She followed it, let it grow, let it rise like a tide of sunlight. The air shifted. Her hair lifted around her face, weightless. Sparks began to curl from her fingers.

Zevran’s voice softened. “Good. Don’t push. Guide it.”

Her palms ignited, gold fire rolling across her skin. She should’ve felt pain, but it was warmth—steady and wild. The ground beneath her feet began to crack, the rune circle glowing brighter.

Kaelira smiled—then the heat surged out of control.

Her flames exploded upward in a torrent of light. Trees bowed from the force. The runes shattered. Zevran moved in a blur, tackling her to the ground just as the blast rippled outward.

When the dust settled, Kaelira lay flat on her back, staring at the sky through the thin haze of smoke. Zevran’s weight pinned her down, his hand braced on the ground beside her head, breath uneven.

For a heartbeat, neither spoke.

Then she said, “That went well.”

He exhaled a laugh—low, surprised, human. “You nearly set the forest on fire.”

“You told me to find my flame.”

“I didn’t mean burn the gods-damned continent.”

She grinned up at him, the sound of his voice grounding her. The laughter in his eyes died slowly as he realized how close they were. The air thickened. Her pulse hammered—his too; she could feel it through the bond.

Zevran’s gaze dropped to her lips.

For one dizzy, dangerous second, Kaelira thought he might close the distance.

Then he rolled off her abruptly, standing in a single smooth motion. “Again.”

She blinked. “You’re serious?”

“Until you learn to master it, your power will consume you. Or me.” He looked down at her pointedly. “And I’d rather neither happen.”

Kaelira pushed herself up, brushing soot off her arms. “You’re worried about me.”

“I’m worried about the structural integrity of the realm.”

“Sure you are.”

He gave her that unreadable almost-smile. “Again.”

⸻

By the time the sun climbed high, Kaelira’s hands shook from exhaustion. The courtyard bore the scars of her efforts—burnt earth, melted stone, and one very annoyed Lycan King with singed boots.

But she was learning. Every attempt, every failure, she came closer to control. The fire no longer flared wild—it listened.

On her final try, she lifted her palm, breathed, and whispered the command in the old tongue her mother had taught her in dreams:

“Velas.”

A small, perfect flame danced above her hand—steady, calm, golden.

Zevran watched silently. His expression gave nothing away, but his aura hummed with something she could feel through the bond. Pride. Admiration. Maybe even relief.

Kaelira smiled faintly. “See? I can be taught.”

“You can,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “But you’re still dangerous.”

“Good.” She closed her fist, snuffing the flame. “So are you.”

⸻

As they walked back toward the fortress, Zevran broke the silence. “The Dominion will sense that power now. Every creature tied to the moon will feel it.”

“Then let them come,” Kaelira said. “I’m done running.”

He glanced sideways at her. “You sound like a queen.”

She smirked. “I sound like myself.”

He didn’t argue. But when she wasn’t looking, he did glance at her mark—still glowing faintly where their tether pulsed.

The Lycan King had fought countless battles.

But as he watched the firelight dance over her skin, Zevran Kaelith realized he’d never faced one quite like her.