The scent of blood hung thick in the air, metallic and suffocating. Selene's body lay limp in Lycan's arms, her skin ashen and slick with cold sweat. The blue-green flames that had once danced at her fingertips now flickered weakly, sputtering like a dying star. Blood trickled from her nose, her lips parted in shallow, uneven breaths. Every exhale sounded like a death rattle.
Lycan's claws dug into the moss-covered ground beneath them, his golden eyes blazing with a feral mix of rage and desperation. The bond between them—a searing thread of shared agony—pulsed erratically, mirroring the faltering rhythm of her heart. He could feel her slipping away, the warmth of her essence leaching into the frigid night air.
"Dammit, Selene—!" His growl tore through the silence of the forest, raw and guttural. He cradled her closer, his other hand frantically pressing against the gaping wound on her side. The attack had been merciless: Lunaris cultists, cloaked in shadows, had ambushed them at dawn. Silver blades. Always silver. The one weakness even an Alpha King couldn't outrun.
She'd taken the hit meant for him.
Idiot. The word burned in his throat. Self-sacrificing, stubborn—
Her eyelids fluttered, silver irises glazing over as she struggled to focus on his face. "L…Lycan…" Her voice was a threadbare whisper, her trembling fingers grazing his wrist. The contact sent a jolt through the bond—a surge of fading warmth, a flicker of regret.
No. He refused to let it end like this. Not after surviving silver poisoning, not after the blood oath, not after clawing their way through hell only to—
A twig snapped.
Lycan's head whipped toward the sound, his snarl ripping through the trees. "Show yourself!"
Shadows pooled and shifted at the edge of the clearing. A figure emerged, draped in a hooded cloak so black it seemed to swallow the moonlight. The fabric rustled faintly, though there was no wind. No scent, either—no musk of wolf, no tang of human sweat. Just…nothing. As if the stranger were a void.
Lycan's muscles coiled, ready to strike, but the figure raised a gloved hand—not in threat, but offering. Clutched in their grip was a vial of luminescent liquid, its contents glowing like captured starlight.
"You'll want this," the stranger said, their voice androgynous and hollow, echoing as though spoken from the bottom of a well.
Lycan didn't move. His instincts screamed trap, but Selene's labored breath hitched, her body convulsing weakly. Blood bubbled at her lips.
The stranger tilted their head, the hood obscuring any trace of features. "Her heart stops in three minutes. Your choice, Alpha."
A beat. Two.
With a curse, Lycan lunged, snatching the vial. The liquid inside hummed against his palm, warm and alive. He wrenched the cork free with his teeth, the scent hitting him first—moonflower and iron, bitter and ancient. A healing draught, but unlike any he'd encountered.
"What is this?" he demanded, golden eyes narrowing.
The stranger said nothing.
Gritting his teeth, Lycan tipped the vial against Selene's lips. "Drink."
She choked, the liquid spilling down her chin. He gripped her jaw, forcing her throat to work. "Swallow it, d*mn you!"
For a heartbeat, nothing. Then—
A gasp. Selene's back arched violently, her hands scrabbling at his arms. The bond ignited, a supernova of heat and light. Lycan recoiled, nearly dropping her as the glow from the liquid spread beneath her skin, knitting flesh and bone with unnatural speed. Her wounds closed, the pallor of death replaced by a flush of vitality. Even the embers at her fingertips steadied, burning brighter.
When her eyes flew open, they weren't just silver—they were alight, swirling with constellations.
"W…What…?" She stared at her hands, then at Lycan, disoriented.
He didn't answer. His attention snapped back to the stranger, now retreating into the shadows. "Wait! Who sent you? What do you want?"
The figure paused, head tilting. "The High Priestess plans to bleed the moon dry at the next convergence. You have nine days." A beat. "And, Selene?"
She stiffened at the sound of her name.
"Your blood isn't the key. It's the lock."
Before either could react, the stranger dissolved into smoke, leaving behind only the faintest imprint of a crescent moon etched into the air.
The fire crackled, its orange glow painting Lycan's scarred face in harsh relief. Selene sat across from him, her knees drawn to her chest. The draught's magic still thrummed beneath her skin, a foreign warmth that made her teeth ache.
She watched him sharpen his claws against a stone—methodical, vicious strokes. His silence was a living thing, thick enough to choke on.
"You should've let me die."
The stone stilled. Lycan's gaze lifted, molten gold meeting hers. "Don't."
"Why?" She hugged herself tighter, the memory of silver blades and cultist chants clawing at her mind. "You got what you wanted. The bond's intact. My blood's still useful."
A low growl rumbled in his chest. "You think that's why I—"
"Why else?" The words tore free, sharp as broken glass. "You slaughtered my family. Hunted me. Now you play protector? Don't insult me with lies, Alpha."
The stone shattered in his grip.
In a blur, he was on her, pinning her wrists to the ground. His breath fanned hot against her face, fangs bared. "You think I wanted this? This…bond? This weakness?" The bond itself writhed between them, echoing his fury—and beneath it, the jagged edge of something raw. Something like fear.
Selene froze. Not from his proximity, but from the tremor in his hands. The crack in his armor.
"You're a liability," he hissed, though the words lacked venom. "A walking target. And yet—" His claws retracted abruptly, as if burned. He shoved away from her, pacing like a caged beast.
Selene sat up slowly, her pulse roaring in her ears. The draught's aftereffects made her bold. "Yet what, Lycan? What aren't you saying?"
He stopped, his back to her. The fire cast his shadow long and twisted across the trees.
"The night I attacked your village…" His voice dropped, barely audible. "They showed me your face. The Priestess. Said you were a threat to every pack." A bitter laugh. "I was…proud to take the mission. To prove my loyalty."
Selene's breath caught.
"But when I saw you—" He turned, his eyes haunted. "—you were just a girl. Kneeling in the dirt, clutching a damned herb basket. Not a weapon. Not a threat. Just…you."
The confession hung between them, fragile and dangerous.
Selene stood, her fists trembling. "And you killed them anyway."
"Yes." No hesitation. No excuses.
She wanted to hate him. To scream. To let the fire consume them both. But the bond betrayed her—flooding her with the acrid taste of his remorse, the weight of centuries of violence etched into his soul.
"Why tell me this?" she whispered.
He stepped closer, until the heat of him seeped into her space. "Because that stranger wasn't wrong. The Priestess doesn't just want your blood. She wants you broken. And the only way out…" His hand lifted, hovering near her cheek. A near-caress. "…is through me."
Selene didn't pull away. "That's not an answer."
"No." His lips quirked, a dark humor in his gaze. "It's a warning."
Before she could respond, a howl pierced the night—long, mournful, and chillingly close. Lycan's head snapped toward the sound, his demeanor shifting instantly.
"Cultists," he muttered. "They're tracking the draught's scent."
Selene swallowed. "What now?"
He grabbed her arm, yanking her toward the tree line. "Now," he growled, "we run."
The forest blurred around them, branches whipping at their faces. But as they fled, Selene's mind raced. Your blood isn't the key. It's the lock.
What had the stranger meant? And why did Lycan's confession carve a hollow ache in her chest—one that had nothing to do with the bond?
She glanced at his profile, set in grim determination. The Alpha who'd destroyed her world…and the man who'd just bared his throat to her.
Nine days.
Whatever game the High Priestess was playing, the rules had just changed.
And Selene intended to rewrite them.