THE UNBROKEN

The grand foyer swallowed them whole.

It rose three stories high, with vaulted ceilings painted like the heavens and marble floors cold as judgment. Gold-lined columns flanked a sweeping staircase, and on every wall, oil portraits of forgotten nobles sneered down at the newcomers. Matteo ancestors who had long since abandoned the blood that now dared to return.

Elena didn't flinch. She stared back at them.

Niegal's arm brushed hers, steady and warm. His hand hovered just near the hilt of his blade.

They were surrounded by elegance, but it felt more like a mausoleum than a home.

A dozen red-masked guards lined the walls in silence. Not exactly subtle.

From the top of the stairs, Siobhan descended like a queen who had waited far too long for her crown. She didn't bow. Didn't smile. Her silk gown rustled like whispers in a desecrated church.

"I imagine the road has been… trying," she said, tone as sweet as spoiled wine.

"Come, Niegal. Tea has been prepared."

Niegal's jaw clenched.

"Not without Elena."

Siobhan's smile tightened.

"It's a private invitation, son. You and I have much to discuss."

He stepped forward. Not threatening, just unmovable.

"Where I go, she goes."

Elena said nothing, but the mana in the room prickled. Her scars glowed faintly beneath her sleeves.

Siobhan's gaze cooled. She clicked her tongue once.

And with a casual snap of her fingers, everything changed.

Mana rifles were drawn.

Two guards moved to flank them. The tension crackled like a spark looking for powder.

"You will be escorted to your suite," Siobhan said flatly.

"Your accommodations have been… generously prepared. We'll speak again when tempers have cooled."

Elena's fingers twitched. Sparks danced over her knuckles. The air around her warped as her rage swelled.

But Niegal reached out, steady and sure, and gripped her wrist.

"Not yet," he murmured, low and guttural.

"We get Esperanza first. Then we burn it all."

She blinked, eyes wild, mana pulsing around her. but she nodded.

They allowed themselves to be escorted, backs straight, never showing weakness.

The suite door slammed shut.

And with it, the illusion of civility shattered.

The room was lavish: velvet curtains, gilded furniture, crystal sconces glowing with soft mana-light. A four-poster bed large enough to drown in.

But it was still a prison.

Barred windows.

Two guards stationed outside.

A magical lock sealing the door.

A cage of silk and gold.

Elena paced like a caged hurricane.

"She's trying to isolate us. Break us down."

"I know," Niegal said, already tearing at the buttons of his coat.

"She's playing a slow game. Like her fucking ancestors."

His body contorted.

Muscle stretched.

Skin shifted.

Bone reconfigured with violent grace.

Niegal transformed.

Fur gold as the sands of Arenavida.

Eyes silver and molten.

A 10-foot lion-man, body trembling with fury. His claws shattered the vanity. His roar cracked the glass panes.

Elena froze.

Just for a breath.

The memory hit her like a crashing wave: the moonlight, the clawing, the bite.

She stepped back, more out of instinct than fear. Her garnet eyes misted.

Niegal saw her.

Saw what he had done.

He took a step back, too, still raging, still changed, but trying to center the breath of the beast.

I'm the one in control. I won't let the beast harm her again.

But then-

She stepped forward.

Slow. Intentional.

The bite mark on her shoulder glowed through her armor, throbbing in harmony with her spiral scars.

"Niegal," she whispered.

He growled low, turning away.

"No. Stay back."

His voice cracked beneath the strain of his control.

But she reached out. Touched his mane.

Stroked it with reverence.

Her fingers threaded through the wild waves.

He paused. Turned back to her.

Pain.

Rage.

Guilt.

Yearning.

All in his silver eyes.

"I don't want to hurt you, mi Doña. Not again."

"Niegal… mi Léon."

She took one of his massive clawed hands, leading him to the bed.

"Come back to me."

The sound he made was almost a sob.

They collapsed together. Fur, silk, and breathless devotion.

And Elena felt it, the ache in him.

Not lust.

Not hunger.

Aching. For her. For forgiveness. For home.

She wasn't afraid anymore.

Not of him.

Her body still ached. The scars still pulsed.

But deep in her bones… she wanted him.

Not out of forgiveness.

Out of choice.

I don't care about right or wrong. I need him. He needs me.

She placed a trembling hand on his chest. Soft fur. Steady heartbeat.

He searched her eyes.

She nodded, hand over her own heart.

"It's all right," she whispered.

His beast held still. Waiting.

"But what if-"

She crawled onto his lap, impossibly small against him. Her body fit to his, like the thunder fits the sky.

"This time," she said softly,

"it's my choice."

She blushed as she kissed his furred lips, her hands cupping his face.

"I'm not afraid anymore, Niegal.

Just… of losing you. And our family."

His clawed hands slid up her thighs, slow and careful.

She paused.

The memory flashed again; his claws, the tearing, the teeth. She shuddered.

Niegal stopped. Held his breath.

Then she smiled.

Wicked. Knowing. Willful.

She bent low to whisper in his ear:

"Nesicito mi Léon, amor."

This time, he undressed her slowly.

No rips. No growls.

Just soft fingers and reverence.

She kissed his chest, felt the heat of him. Felt the love of him.

And then-

"Mi Doña," he warned, the growl trembling in his throat.

She pressed against him.

"I need you.

You need me.

Just… be careful. Please."

He lifted her chin to kiss her, softly. Tenderly.

His whiskers tickled her cheeks.

"I won't ever hurt you again."

She prayed, just once, under her breath:

"Guabancex… if this is my storm to survive,

let me survive it in love."

And then… they loved.

Not like before.

This was primal.

Desperate.

Sacred.

Elena rode him slow. Deep.

Her body matched the rhythm of thunder.

Her nails tangled in his mane.

His claws, buried in the sheets, not her skin.

When they came together, the sky shook.

A crack of thunder split the heavens.

The chandelier trembled.

The walls shivered.

The gods heard them.

After, once he shifted back into his human form, Niegal held Elena like she was the holiest thing he would ever touch again.

Down the hall, Siobhan snarled.

She slammed her teacup into its saucer.

Crack.

"So much for breaking them apart."

She turned to her advisor.

"Increase the pressure. Keep them locked in. Let them stew."

But deep down, she felt it.

She had underestimated them.

The storm didn't shatter.

It fell in love.

And that made it unstoppable.