Chapter Eight
Willow jolted awake, her body damp with sweat, her throat raw as if she had been the one screaming.
For a moment, she didn’t know where she was—the weight of the battlefield still pressed on her chest, the scent of smoke and blood choking her senses.
She saw Liam and Jacob falling again, Libby’s golden hair flying as she threw herself toward them and Matthew’s eyes blazing as he carved his curse into the world.
Behind him, dark-robed figures loomed, their hands raised in eerie synchronicity and though she didn’t know their faces, she felt the cold certainty they were a council of sorts, though she couldn’t say who or what.
Watching. Enabling. Silent executioners in the night.
Her own scream seemed to echo long after she sat up, pressing a hand to her abdomen where the tattoo burned faintly, the tether to her mates thrumming beneath her skin.
She wasn’t sure if it was her own memory or Libby’s, but the pain of watching them die had gutted her.
She remembered the curse. She remembered Matthew’s blade.
And worst of all, she remembered the moment the world went black, with nothing but grief left behind.
Through blurry, blood-soaked eyes she had seen three women—one she knew was her sister—running toward her, faces blurred by shadow and light before everything shattered.
That image clung to her, sharper than any dream had the right to be, leaving her shaking as she dragged in shallow breaths.
A shadow moved in the doorway and Willow looked up to see Ursula leaning against the frame, a mug in her hand and eyes full of questions. “Rough night?” the witch asked softly.
“That wasn’t just a dream,” Willow whispered, her voice breaking. “It was our memory. Mine. Hers. Both. I saw it all—the battle, the council, Matthew... I saw Liam and Jacob die.” Her breath hitched, tears spilling as she wiped angrily at them. “I felt it. Like I was there. Like I was her.”
Ursula set the mug down and crossed to sit beside her.
For once, the woman’s sharp tongue was still.
She laid a hand on Willow’s trembling arm.
“Sometimes the veil thins while you sleep, especially close to sunset. You’re tied to them through time.
It doesn’t surprise me that you would remember what came before. ”
Willow shook her head, her gaze desperate. “But there were others, Ursula. Women—my sister, I think and two more. I saw them running toward me through the blood. Who were they? Why can’t I remember past that moment?”
Something flickered in Ursula’s expression, gone as quickly as it came. She hesitated, then shrugged too casually. “Dreams blur. Memory plays tricks. What matters is what you know now—that Liam and Jacob are fated for you. That curse binds all of you together.”
Willow’s stomach clenched. “So, how do I break it? How do I stop him from taking me again?”
Ursula exhaled and leaned back, her gaze searching Willow’s.
“The curse is tethered to three cycles: dusk, shadow, and west. There’s a night coming, tied to the old calendar, when the veil will be weakest. If we prepare, if you and your mates are together in body and bond, Matthew will bleed like any man. Mortal. Breakable.”
Willow gulped, gripping the sheets. “So, there’s a way.”
“There’s a way,” Ursula confirmed, though her eyes held shadows Willow didn’t understand. “But it will take strength. And choice. The Fates don’t hand victories to cowards.”
Willow hesitated, staring at her. “You’re holding something back. Those women—I know what I saw.”
Ursula’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Maybe you did. Maybe they’ll matter later. For now, your focus must be on the curse, not ghosts of the past. Trust me when I say their time will come.”
The words only half-settled Willow. She lay back after Ursula left, the taste of ash and copper still thick on her tongue.
Images flooded her—Matthew’s sneer, the council’s silent ranks, Libby’s voice begging the Goddess, Liam and Jacob falling.
Her tattoo hummed faintly against her skin, as though her mates pressed close, waiting.
She thought of Libby’s vow, of her own scream blending with her past self and shivered.
The fear of loss was crushing, but beneath it something else stirred—a fierce determination.
She wiped her tears and whispered into the silence, “Tonight, when you come back, we talk. No more running. No more fear. If the Fates chose us, then maybe it’s time I start choosing too.”
The hours crawled by her nerves on a knife’s edge.
At first, with Ursula’s help, she prepared the roof top for her discussion with Liam and Jacob that evening.
Then, back downstairs, she tried pacing, reading, and then staring blankly at the wall as the city outside roared with its usual noise.
Nothing quieted the storm in her chest. At last, she stretched out on the bed again, Hugo pressed against her hip and stared at the ceiling until the shadows began to lengthen.
She felt it then—that subtle shift, like the air itself holding its breath.
Even as the world outside dipped toward dusk, the air in the room changed.
A hum built low in her stomach, heat spreading outward until her skin tingled, as though invisible threads pulled tight.
She pushed back the blankets and stood, her legs trembling but her chin held high.
The tattoo on her abdomen flared hot, then cooled and shadows began to curl and shimmer in the air before her.
Smoke coalesced, black as midnight, thickening and twisting until it took shape.
Liam and Jacob stood in the room, naked, powerful, utterly real.
Willow’s breath caught, her mouth going dry at the sight of them—shoulders broad, bodies carved from strength and survival, eyes glowing faintly with recognition and hunger.
They looked as though they had been waiting centuries just to stand before her again.
A wicked part of her wanted to just let them stay as they were, temptation incarnate.
Every inch of her screamed to close the distance, to touch, to claim.
But she forced herself to move, to find focus.
Snatching up the two pairs of shorts Ursula had left folded on the chair, she crossed the room and pressed them into their hands.
“Here. Put these on. We need to talk.” Her voice was steady, but her pulse thundered in her ears.
They accepted the shorts slowly, reluctantly, as if the thought of covering themselves was the true offense.
Their eyes never left hers and what she saw there stole her breath.
Hunger, yes, but something deeper, something urgent and unspoken.
From the look in their eyes, Willow knew they had something they needed to say too.
And for the first time since the nightmare, she was ready to listen.
****
Liam’s wolf surged the instant his feet touched solid ground.
He could feel Jacob’s fury vibrating in the air beside him, their mate’s scent clinging like a lifeline, warm and real.
After centuries of half-existence, after endless years of waiting, they were here—and the need to set things right nearly overwhelmed him.
“Enough,” Jacob snapped, his voice edged with steel as he paced a line across the room. “We wasted too much time in that void. We’re not letting her go through another moment of this curse without fighting back. We will end this.”
Liam nodded, his own chest heaving. “We will make it right. For us. For her. For the ones who will come after. This ends with us.”
He turned toward Willow, his voice firm, unyielding. “And you will not give yourself to Marcus. That is something we will never allow. Do you understand, love? That is not an option. Not in this life, not ever.”
Jacob growled in agreement, his hands clenched into fists. “We’ll fight him, burn the world down if we have to. But you will never belong to him. You are ours. Always.”
They expected her to argue. To shout back, to rage at the unfairness of it all, to throw her walls up as she had before. They braced for it, hearts pounding, wolves straining at the leash.
But she didn’t.
Silence stretched. They looked at each other, confusion flickering between them, then turned back to her. Willow hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken—until she did.
She stepped forward, slowly, purposefully and laid a hand on each of their chests, right over their hearts. The heat of her touch seared through him, branding him more deeply than any mark of fate ever could.
Her eyes shimmered with tears, but her voice was steady.
“I’m sorry. I have been fighting this, fighting you, when the truth is.
.. I can’t. Hell, I don’t even want to. I miss you even when you’re standing right here, especially knowing that it is temporary.
If the Fates believe this is best, who am I to fight them?
Who am I to fight you?” She gulped, her gaze lifting between them. “I choose you. Both of you. Always.”
For a heartbeat, Liam couldn’t breathe. The weight of centuries seemed to ease off his chest in one glorious rush. Jacob’s jaw tightened, his eyes shining with a raw emotion Liam had only seen a handful of times before.
They moved at once, but Willow lifted her hands, stopping them inches before she would have been enveloped in their arms. “Not yet,” she whispered, her lips trembling into a smile. “Come with me first.”
“Anywhere,” Jacob said hoarsely.
“Always,” Liam added, his throat tight.
She led them through Ursula’s home, up the narrow stairwell and out into the rooftop garden.
Magic shimmered faintly around the edges of the space, cloaking it from sight, muffling sound.
Candlelight flickered along the walls, casting warm glows over the riot of flowers and herbs.
A low table was set with food and wine, music humming softly from unseen speakers and in the center lay a massive pallet bed draped with blankets and cushions, decadent and inviting.
Liam’s chest clenched. She had done this—for them.
“I wanted...” Willow faltered, then squared her shoulders. “I wanted our first night to be ours. Chosen. Not stolen. Not cursed. Just us.”
Jacob brushed her cheek reverently. “Sweet, you have no idea what this means.”
“Then show me,” she whispered, her gaze darting between them. “Show me what it means to be yours.”
The air thickened with desire, with the undeniable pull of bond and fate and love reborn.
Liam claimed her first kiss, slow and reverent, tasting of wine and promise.
Jacob followed, fierce and tender in turn, until Willow was gasping, her body pressed tight between them, the night air trembling with heat.
Clothes scattered. Hands roamed. Words tangled with moans and laughter as the three of them tumbled onto the pallet bed. It was messy and desperate and perfect.
Liam moved first, taking his time, worshipping every inch of her with lips and tongue.
He kissed her neck, her collarbone, the swell of her breasts, teasing her nipples until she whimpered.
He soothed the trembling of her stomach with tender kisses before sliding lower, inhaling the scent of her arousal that made his wolf growl with hunger.
He buried his face between her thighs, lapping at her with long, deliberate strokes that had her crying out, twisting her fingers in his hair.
“Liam... please,” she gasped, her hips arching into his mouth. He groaned at her taste, devouring her like he’d been starving for centuries—and he had. He circled her clit with his tongue, flicking, pressing, until she shattered above him, screaming his name as her release pulsed through her body.
He didn’t stop. He drank her down, prolonging her pleasure, coaxing another peak until she trembled, limp and panting, whispering his name like a prayer. Only then did he rise, his mouth wet with her, his chest heaving with his own need.
Her hands trembled as they reached for him, guiding him to her. “I need you,” she whispered.
Liam groaned as he pressed inside her, the hot clasp of her body making his vision blur. He stilled for a heartbeat, savoring the sensation of being buried deep in his mate after lifetimes of waiting. “Mine,” he rasped, voice breaking with emotion.
“Yes,” she breathed, clutching at his shoulders. “Yours.”
He set a rhythm, slow at first, each thrust deep and reverent, but the sounds she made—moans, gasps, pleas—drove him harder, faster.
Her nails raked his back, her body arching beneath him as their cries blended.
His wolf howled inside him, demanding he mark her, claim her completely.
And when she came again, clenching around him, dragging him over the edge, he roared her name, spilling into her as his soul felt whole for the first time in centuries.
Collapsing against her, he pressed kisses to her temple, her cheeks, her mouth, whispering, “Mine, always mine.”
Willow’s smile was dazed and radiant. “Yours.”
Liam eased back, but his eyes burned with possessive pride as he glanced at Jacob. His brother waited, chest heaving, his own arousal evident, his eyes dark with both desire and love.
Jacob’s hands trembled slightly as he cupped her face. “And mine,” he murmured, his voice ragged with need and devotion.
Willow’s laugh was shaky, beautiful, as she pulled him down to her. Their lips met and Liam leaned back, satisfaction humming in his bones as he watched them together. Pride and awe filled him, because their mate had just rocked his world utterly—and now she was about to rock Jacob’s too.
He sprawled back against the cushions, cock still hard, his chest still thundering as he drank in the sight of their mate surrendering to Jacob’s kiss. His wolf purred contentedly. For the first time in two hundred years, Liam felt whole—and this was only the beginning.