Chapter Fourteen: Reckoning in the Ashes
Cain stood over the shattered remains of his greatest enemy. Dante's blood steamed on the cold stone, the scent thick in the underground air. Around him, the bodies of the dead—friend and foe alike—lay in mangled silence. Rowan leaned against a wall, pressing a hand to his side where blood oozed from beneath torn leather. The surviving wolves gathered in uneasy silence, eyeing the obsidian gate, which now pulsed with a dim, ominous glow.
The silence was broken only by the rhythmic thrum of something ancient behind the gate. It beat like a slow, monstrous heart. Each pulse vibrated through the stone floor, whispering promises in a forgotten tongue.
"You feel that?" Rowan muttered. "It's not done."
"No," Cain said. His voice was a low rasp, thick with blood and grief. "It's just waking up."
They had slain Dante. Graves was dead. The betrayal of the sanctuary had been avenged. But something far worse had been left behind—something Dante had spent his life trying to control and ultimately failed to awaken.
And now Cain had killed the only thing standing between that power and the world above.
The obsidian gate cracked.
A single line, hair-thin, split down the center. Red mist hissed from it like breath from a dying god. The surviving wolves tensed.
"Back up," Cain ordered. "Now."
They retreated from the pedestal. Rowan stayed close to Cain, eyes narrowed.
"What is it?" he asked.
Cain stared at the gate, his body still aching from the battle, the blood of his enemies drying on his fur. "Not a what," he said. "A who."
Rowan blinked. "You mean—"
"The First Wolf."
The crack widened with a sound like splintering bone. The chamber shook. Stones fell from the ceiling in dusty plumes.
Cain's memory burned. He remembered the old stories—the ones whispered by the elders of the sanctuary when the blood moon rose. They spoke of a time before packs, before alphas, when only one creature ruled the night. A beast so powerful that even silver couldn't wound it. Its howl shattered minds. Its bite cursed bloodlines.
The original Alpha.
The Bloodfather.
A roar echoed from within the gate, so deep it silenced thought. Cain's wolves dropped to their knees, howling in terror. Even Rowan stumbled back, his wolf form flickering with uncertainty.
Cain stayed standing.
He had no fear left. No hesitation. His soul was already a graveyard.
The gate exploded inward.
Stone and magic burst in all directions, throwing wolves back like rag dolls. Cain braced himself as the force struck him like a tidal wave. He was flung across the chamber, crashing into a pillar. Pain split through his spine, but he rose, coughing blood, vision swimming.
The dust settled.
And from the shattered gate stepped something not entirely physical, not entirely real.
A towering creature, twelve feet tall, draped in shadows that writhed like living smoke. Its fur was blacker than void, its eyes two pits of crimson flame. Where it walked, the stone sizzled and cracked. Its claws were too long, its limbs too thin, as though it had been forged in a nightmare.
It did not breathe. It radiated hunger.
And it looked straight at Cain.
You summoned me.
The voice wasn't spoken. It was projected into Cain's skull like a drill made of fire and whispers. It carried centuries of rage and starvation.
Cain staggered forward, every nerve screaming. "I didn't summon you," he spat. "I killed the one who tried."
The First Wolf tilted its head, like a predator studying a wounded animal. And yet here you are. With my blood. My mark.
The truth hit Cain like a hammer.
The curse. The rage. The connection he'd felt since the day of his turning. It hadn't been Dante's doing. It hadn't been an accident.
It had always been this thing.
The First Wolf had chosen him.
"No," Cain growled. "You don't control me."
The creature stepped forward. The air chilled to freezing, frost crackling across the stone floor. Control? No. I gave you power. And you used it well. You killed your enemies. Took your revenge. All that blood, spilled for me.
Cain's hands curled into fists. "I did it for them. For the ones you never knew."
The First Wolf laughed. It was not a sound meant for mortal ears.
They are dust. But you—you are mine, Cain of the blood moon. My vessel. My voice. My heir.
Cain bared his teeth. The beast inside him surged, but he didn't shift. Not yet.
"I'm not your heir."
You already are.
Cain lunged.
He struck with every ounce of strength he had left, claws out, teeth bared. The First Wolf caught him mid-leap, slamming him into the stone floor so hard it cracked. Cain roared, slashing across its face. Shadows peeled back, revealing bone. The beast staggered.
But not far.
It retaliated with a swipe that sent Cain flying again. Blood flew from his mouth as he hit the ground, ribs shattered. Still, he rose.
"I've beaten worse than you," he spat.
Lies. The First Wolf stepped closer. You were made for this. The world above has forgotten what it means to fear the dark. But you... you will remind them.
Cain's eyes burned. His body trembled. He didn't have the strength to fight this thing head-on.
But he didn't need to win.
He just needed to stop it.
He looked at the pedestal. The obsidian was still glowing faintly. The runes had cracked but not died. Maybe... just maybe...
"Rowan!" he shouted, voice ragged. "Seal it again!"
Rowan, bloodied and limping, looked up from where he lay. "How?"
"The runes! Re-bind them with blood!"
Cain turned back to the First Wolf. "Come on then," he growled. "Let's finish this."