Filed to story: Mated and Hated by My Brother’s Best Friend Book PDF Free by Anna Campbell
Mine.
His voice hit me before his mouth moved. it echoed from the walls of that memory. From the ring. From the flame.
Jiselle.
I stumbled back. The flame didn’t burn me, but it held me. Caught me in the chest like a hand made of fire and longing.
You came.
He turned his head slowly, eyes opening fully. Not white now.
Violet.
Just like mine.
“We began this together,” he said, and his voice was like silk unraveling. “End it with me.”
I couldn’t move.
I couldn’t speak.
Because part of me-some twisted, broken piece buried beneath power and prophecy and choice-remembered.
Not him.
Not truly.
But something like him.
The feeling of being tethered.
Of being watched.
Of being needed.
. I looked down.
The blood-lined flame ring still burned.
My rune at the center.
And all around me, the wind carried Kael’s voice-not spoken. Not summoned.
Invoked.
“We were never meant to survive this world, Jiselle,” he said. “We were meant to shape what came after.”
And beneath his words, the Gate pulsed.
Like it was listening.
Like it agreed.
I pressed my hands to my temples, trying to shove the vision away, to shut it out, but it wouldn’t go.
Not this time.
This was no illusion.
This was a call.
And it wasn’t over.
Not until one of us answered.
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‘Ethan’
The ruins loomed ahead, broken stone piled like bones left out to dry.
Max moved just ahead of me, silent but alert. His shoulders were taut, his fingers twitching every so often near the hilt of his blade. We didn’t speak as we passed through the remnants of the old flame ring, scorched symbols still clinging to the foundation like stubborn shadows.
The wind was sharp here-less like weather, more like breath. Something exhaled through this place. Something old.
“You’ve been quiet,” I finally said, stepping over a cracked tile etched with a faint rune. “Since we left camp.”
Max didn’t look at me. “Plenty to think about.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Like how we’re chasing a madman through cursed ruins while the only person who might be able to stop him is tethered to the same damn fire he’s trying to unleash.”-
He let out a breath that sounded more like a scoff. “You always did like painting things in worst-case colors.”
“It’s the only way I know how to stay ready.”
Still no eye contact. But he slowed slightly. Enough for me to match his pace.
I didn’t speak again for a while. Not until we crossed into the inner courtyard-what must have once been a ceremonial ground. The outer walls were half-collapsed, but enough had survived to show the structure’s original shape: a circle within a triangle, the edges lined with sigils that pulsed faintly under moonlight.
Three points.
Three places where the Gate had once been anchored.
Two were lit.
The third was empty.
“She’s the last piece,” Max said quietly.
I looked at him sharply. “You knew that?”
“I guessed,” he replied. “Same time you probably did.”
“And you didn’t say anything?”
“What would it have changed?” He finally turned, meeting my eyes. “That I feel it too? That the flame she carries isn’t just growing inside her-it’s radiating through everything? The leyline. The bond. The Gate. Us,”
His voice broke a little on the last word. He didn’t hide it.
“You still love her,” I said. It wasn’t a question.
He looked away again, jaw clenched. “Not the way you think.”
“Then say it.”
The silence stretched between us, taut and raw.
Then, finally, he spoke.
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“My life,” he said. “No hesitation. That’s what I’d give for her now.”
I didn’t breathe for a full second. Not because I was surprised-but because I believed him.
And not as some romantic gesture
As a vow.
He stepped toward the center of the courtyard, boots crunching over blackened ash, and pointed at the empty triangle carved into the floor.
“This is where he’s going to do it,” Max said. “Where the third sigil will go.”
I stared down at the space.
At the way the stone dipped slightly.
At how the air above it shimmered faintly, like it was waiting.
We circled the ruins slowly, searching for any sign that Kael had already begun. Half-burned bones lined the far edge, piled with what looked like ritual offerings. Broken masks. Small totems. Cracked vials of dried blood.
All the usual signs of someone preparing for something unnatural.
“He’s close,” I muttered.
Max nodded. “Or watching.”
My eyes narrowed. “Do you think he can feel her?”
“Ithink he always has.”
We moved toward the far archway, where remnants of stained glass still clung to rusted iron frames. One panel had survived intact-barely. It showed a figure wrapped in flame, her arms raised, her head tilted back like she was screaming or praying or both.
And beneath her feet-
Three sigils.
Two of them I recognized immediately. I’d seen them etched into scrolls, whispered by scholars, burned into memory through fire and blood. One bore the rune Kael had carved into his chest. The second was older-something Bastain had once called the “Anchor of Flame.” But the third…
The third was blank.
It was worse than seeing something dangerous. It was absence. The kind of emptiness that waits. Watches,
And even as I looked at it-
Something changed.
It started with a breath. A flicker across my vision, so brief I might’ve missed it if the air hadn’t shifted too. Cold, then hot. Still, then charged.
A pulse.
A beat that didn’t belong to me. Or Max. Or even the ruined courtyard.
It belonged to her.
I stepped forward, the air thinning around me, and felt my heart skip in my chest. Like it recognized what was coming.
Beneath my boots, the blank stone stirred.
Max stilled beside me, his hands clenched at his sides, lips parting in unspoken dread.
And then-
It began.
Lines etched themselves into the stone. Not scratched. Not carved. Drawn. As though by invisible fire trailing across the surface in deliberate, reverent motion.
One curve.
Then another.
Then the final stroke-the inward spiral I’d seen seared into my sister’s skin the night she had collapsed, screaming my name, back arched in pain beneath violet flame.
“No,” I whispered. The word left my mouth broken.
Max’s voice was tight, raw. “Ethan. It’s happening.”
I reached for the hilt of my blade, not to draw it, but to stop my hand from trembling. To anchor myself. Because what I was seeing-what we were witnessing-it wasn’t prophecy.
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