Filed to story: Mated and Hated by My Brother’s Best Friend Book PDF Free by Anna Campbell
My hands lifted instinctively, and the sparks erupted into flame-not red, not gold, but silver-white, searing and wild. The flames caught the broken girl’s chains and shattered them. They reached for the blood-covered one and turned her hands clean. They climbed the crowned one’s robes and melted the crown to ash.
And then I stood alone.
Not empty.
Whole.
But something remained in the air-an echo. The figures may have burned away, but their essence lingered at the edges of my mind. The scars they carried, the truths they represented, weren’t figments. They were parts of me. And in refusing to choose, I had claimed all of them. Not their paths, but their lessons.
I heard the white wolf again. Not in voice. In flame. In breath.
She didn’t speak. She simply watched. Her eyes-piercing and ancient-held something I couldn’t define. Not approval. Not judgment. But a waiting stillness, like a verdict that had not yet been rendered. I felt her gaze pass through every layer of me, reading the decisions I had made, the fragments I had chosen to embrace.
She stood at the edge of the world, cloaked in fire and moonlight, silent as stone yet vibrating with some primal wisdom that vibrated in my bones. And though she did not move, I felt the unspoken question echo between us: *Now that you’ve chosen your path, will you walk it?*
As if waiting for something.
As if deciding.
A breeze stirred the ash at my feet, and the sky cracked open above me, fire cascading down like rain. The heat didn’t burn. It cleansed. Stripped away every last remnant of who I had been before the trial.
And then came the pain.
Not agony. Not fire. But a searing, cracking pressure around my wrists. The cuffs. They pulsed once-hard enough to make me cry out-then split down the center like bark cracking under heat. The runes dimmed. My magic surged.
I gasped.
The ground spun beneath me, and I was falling, pulled back toward the chamber, toward the waking world.
I opened my eyes in the cavern.
Kael was crouched beside me, his face pale, his eyes wide.
The cuffs on my wrists were cracked, the runes dimming.
“You survived,” he whispered.
I sat up, my muscles trembling.
“More than survived,” he said. “You bent the fire.”
I looked at him, and for the first time, he didn’t look like a leader.
He looked like a man staring at prophecy.
But I wasn’t his prophecy.
I was mine.
Maximus
The rain came sideways, slashing through the narrow pass like the mountain itself had grown teeth. Each drop cut like ice, slicing across my arms as I dragged my hood lower and pressed deeper into the cliffside. The terrain here was ancient- jagged rock walls carved by forgotten gods, thick with moss and rune-scars older than any living wolf. It was the kind of place people avoided without knowing why.
It was also the kind of place where ghosts still whispered.
My boots sank into the mud as I reached the marker-three stones stacked atop one another, the top one carved with the blade-and-rune sigil I hadn’t seen in years. A sign. A warning. A memory.
I’d seen that mark last during a mission for the Council, buried in the dirt outside a burned-out village. I’d stood there, younger, cockier, with blood on my knuckles and orders on my tongue, and I hadn’t known what it meant.
I knew now.
I pushed through the narrow gap in the rock, shoulders brushing the slick stone as the pass gave way to a hollowed-out cove. The cave beyond was warm-unnaturally so-and lit with the faint green glow of moss-fed rune light. The air hummed like a blade being sharpened.
And he was waiting.
“Maximus Laker,” the man said without turning. “Didn’t think you had the balls to come alone.”
“Didn’t think you still had a face,” I replied, voice flat.
He chuckled-low and sharp like a whetstone kiss-and turned.
Time had not been kind to him.
Half of his face was scored with scars, deep and brutal, the kind that came from magical backlash or betrayal. His left eye was clouded white. His hands-once so steady they could etch runes into bone-now trembled slightly as he reached for the flask at his belt.
But the blade-runner was still very much alive.
“I assume you’re not here for pleasantries,” he said, sipping.
I shook my head. “I’m here for the truth.”
“Expensive commodity these days.”
“I have coin.”
“And guilt,” he added, eye narrowing. “It leaks off you like a bad wound.”
I didn’t answer.
He gestured to the stone slab beside him. I sat, dripping, soaked through, heart beating like war drums in my chest.
“I need to know about the rune-bonding system,” I said. “The one the Council used on gifted wolves. On the rogues. On her.”
The blade-runner didn’t blink. “What makes you think I know anything?”
“Because you created it.”
He sipped again, then set the flask down. “I helped build it. Didn’t design the core. That was older than all of us. Pulled from ruins. Translated from the tongues of things that no longer breathe. But I etched it into steel, into cuffs, into collars. I was the Council’s knife. And you were their hammer.”
I swallowed hard. “And Kael?”
That name made him go still.
“Kael,” he said slowly, “was one of the first.”
My throat tightened. “The first… what?”
“Ethereal-bound.”
The word landed like a crack in stone. I felt it ripple through me, deep and cold and undeniable.
“What does that mean?”
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“It means he wasn’t just a gifted wolf,” the blade-runei salu. He was por tethered to something-or someone-that amplified his magic beyond normal limits. The Council didn’t understand it at first. They thought it was a fluke. But when he began seeing visions… feeling things before they happened… they realized he wasn’t just gifted. He was chosen.”
“Chosen for what?”
“To anchor a prophecy.”
I stood. “You’re telling me Kael was part of a prophecy? That this-this whole war-isn’t just about rebellion?”
“No.” The man looked at me then, and his expression wasn’t smug or cold-it was tired. Bone-deep tired. “It’s about fate. Or what people think fate is. The Ethereal-bound are rare. One every few generations. Born when the moon aligns with the flame. They’re linked to a catalyst-another gifted wolf with power so old, it doesn’t just bend the world. It rewrites it.”
My heart slowed.
“Jiselle.”
He nodded. “If she is what they think she is, then yes. She’s the flame.”
I stepped back, the cave suddenly too small. “And Kael…”
“Is the anchor. The vessel. The balance. Call it what you will, but if the prophecy is right, the Ethereal and the Flame are two halves of the same force. Apart, they burn. Together, they either rule-or destroy.”
I felt sick.
“You’re lying.”
“I wish I was.”
I ran both hands through my wet hair. My fingers trembled. “So what-he’s not using her? He actually believes they’re fated?”
“Worse,” he said softly. “He may be right.”
The words echoed in my skull like a war drum.
He may be right.
I thought of Kael-calm, controlled, terrifying in his precision. I thought of Jiselle, burning and broken and stubbornly beautiful even when she was afraid. I thought of the way she’d looked at me the last time we spoke-not with hate, not with love-but with disappointment. Like she didn’t recognize me anymore.
“What if she starts to believe it?” I asked, voice barely above a whisper. “What if she stops fighting it? What if she lets him in?”
The blade-runner met my gaze. “Then we don’t just lose her.”
I swallowed hard “we lose the world.”
A long silence passed.
Outside, the rain softened. The mountain held its breath.
“You still love her,” the blade-runner said.
I didn’t respond.
“You think love is enough to pull her back?”
I stared at the cave wall, watched the runes shift and flicker.
“No,” I said finally. “But guilt might be.”
He smiled bitterly. “Then I hope your guilt’s stronger than prophecy.”
“You still love her,” the blade-runner said.
I didn’t respond. I didn’t need to. The truth sat between us, silent and raw.
“You think love is enough to pull her back?”
I stared at the cave wall, watched the runes shift and flicker like dying stars. There was something ancient in them- something hungry. Like the mountain had seen too many gods rise and fall and knew the cost of believing in salvation.
“No,” I said finally. “But guilt might be.”
The blade-runner huffed a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Then pray your guilt is louder than fate.”
I nodded once, jaw clenched. “I intend to make it scream.”
*Jiselle*
They watched me like I was a storm waiting to break.
Not a leader. Not a prisoner. Not even a wolf.
A question.
I felt it in every stare as I crossed the courtyard-rough-hewn stone under my boots, morning mist curling around the old sanctuary like breath. This place wasn’t carved from nature; it was claimed by it. Ivy crawled the walls, moss choked the ancient arches, and the earth itself pulsed faintly with the energy of buried runes. The rogue wolves called it Hollowfire Keep. To me, it felt like a graveyard for things not yet dead.
The sanctuary housed nearly fifty wolves-gifted, half-gifted, some broken beyond even Kael’s reach-but I hadn’t spoken to more than a handful. Not because I didn’t want to. Because they didn’t. They whispered when I passed. Flinched when ! moved too quickly. Bowed their heads… or bared their teeth.
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