Chapter 4

The shock of his fangs piercing my skin sent a jolt of fire straight through my bloodstream.

I didn't scream. Instead, my hands flew to Ronan’s massive shoulders, my fingers digging into the hard muscle of his back as a torrent of golden, divine energy flooded into my veins.

It wasn't the agonizing, soul-draining sensation of Alaric’s blade; this was a roaring, tempestuous tide that surged into every hollow space inside me, searing away the cold lingering ghost of my past.

The wound on my collarbone knitted together in seconds under the heat of his mark.

Where Alaric’s blood-pact ritual had sought to hollow me out, Ronan’s bite filled the void with thick, unyielding power.

Ronan pulled back slowly, his golden eyes glowing like twin suns in the dim subterranean cavern. A thin line of crimson painted his lips, but his gaze was entirely fixed on my face.

I gasped, clutching my throat. My skin burned beneath my collarbone, radiating a fierce, pulsing warmth.

I looked down.

Glowing gold runes—intricate, royal Lycan marks—were now permanently etched over my flesh, swirling outward from the center of my chest where the sacrificial wound had been.

"What did you do?" I breathed, my fingers tracing the glowing lines.

"I claimed what the moon destined to be mine," Ronan said softly, his deep voice vibrating against my palm as he gently captured my hand. "And I gave you back your stolen breath."

He stood, towering over me once more, and extended a massive, calloused hand down to where I lay on the cold granite.

"Stand, Vesper. A Queen does not lie at the feet of her empire."

I took his hand.

The moment our fingers entwined, a wave of liquid shadow surged from my feet, wrapping around my body like a protective shroud.

My legs, previously weak and battered from the fall, held firm. I stood tall, my silver eyes locking onto his.

Inside my chest, the cold shadow magic I had felt during the ritual began to hum in harmony with Ronan’s golden aura.

It was no longer a dormant, suffocating weight. It was an extension of my own mind—a lethal, waiting blade.

"How do we break out of this place?" I asked, looking around at the sheer, vertical rock walls of the Forbidden Chasm stretching up into total darkness. "Alaric sealed the iron doors at the top."

Ronan let out a low, dangerous laugh that rumbled through the cavern floor.

"Those rust-eaten doors were built to keep out weak wolves. I was kept here by ancient royal wards—wards that were keyed to my blood."

He stepped toward the shattered altar stone, where my blood had broken the crimson seal minutes earlier.

"When your family drained you, they believed they were stripping away a useless Null," Ronan continued, his expression darkening with vicious satisfaction.

"They had no idea that your blood carries the purest strain of the First Blood Register. Your blood dissolved the ward that bound me to this mountain for a century."

Ronan turned his head toward the dark mouth of a massive tunnel extending off the side of the cavern floor.

"The chasm does not just lead up to your father's pathetic packhouse, Vesper. It connects to the ancient royal transit arteries carved beneath the continent. We do not need to climb back into Alpha Dracon's lap just yet."

"No," I said, my voice cold and precise as a winter frost. "We aren't running away to hide, Ronan. Dracon, Lysandra, and Alaric believe I am dead at the bottom of this pit. They are preparing to announce my 'accidental death' while celebrating Cressida’s ascension."

I stepped closer to him, my silver eyes flashing with a sharp, calculating light.

"If we leave through the underground tunnels, we give them time to consolidate power. We give Alaric time to secure his title as Alpha. Revenge is useless if it is delayed long enough for the victim to rebuild their defenses."

Ronan’s eyes widened slightly, a dark, dangerous fascination dawning across his features.

He leaned down, his face inches from mine.

"You want to strike now? You have barely processed your mark, little wolf."

"I have spent twenty years processing their cruelty," I replied, my voice steady and unyielding. "I don't need time to heal. I need them to see that the girl they threw into the dark did not break—she found the monster that will devour them."

A slow, terrifying grin spread across the Lycan King’s face.

He raised his hand, resting his palm flat against the solid granite wall of the cavern.

"Then let us make an entrance they will never forget."

Dark shadow magic erupted from Ronan’s arm, pouring into the stone.

Deep cracks snapped through the rock face, spreading upward like a spiderweb toward the surface. The entire mountain shook, dust and pebbles raining down from above as the ancient stone groaned under his monstrous strength.

"The Ironfang Pack believes they own this land," Ronan growled, his golden eyes blazing with feral power as the cracks broadened into a massive fissure.

"They forgot that the mountains answer to the King."

With a deafening CRACK, a section of the cavern wall collapsed, revealing a wide, hidden stairwell lined with ancient torch sconces that ignited with blue flame one by one as Ronan’s magic swept through them.

The stairs spiraled upward, cut directly through the living rock toward the outer defense perimeter of the Ironfang Packhouse.

Ronan stepped onto the first stone step, then paused, turning back to offer me his arm.

"Lead the way, my Queen. Tell me whose throat you wish for me to tear out first."

I placed my hand on his arm, feeling the terrifying, raw power thrumming beneath his skin.

"None of them yet," I said softly, my mind already three steps ahead, mapping out the layout of the upper guard barracks and the main banquet hall.

"Quick deaths are a mercy. We are going to strip them of their dignity, their titles, and their fearlessness first. By the time I am done with Alaric and Cressida, they will beg for the cold of this chasm."

Side by side, we began our ascent into the light.