Chapter Seven: The Ceremony of Blood
The fire in the Great Hall flickered blue, but not because of any magic.
It was part of an ancient rite.
Blue flames signified only one thing: a blood pact was about to be sealed.
Luna sat at the head of a stone table, clad in a black velvet gown with silver trim. Around her neck hung a crescent moon pendant from her mother, heavy with untold stories. Her fingers shook around a goblet of wine that she hadn't dared to sip.
Tonight was all a performance.
And Luna had learned long ago that queens don't show fear. Not even when the wolves are circling.
Lorenzo stood beside her, as if he'd always been meant to be there. Calm, polished, and exuding a dangerous charm.
Every part of him screamed 'prince of power,' and Luna knew that's exactly the image he wanted to project.
He didn't touch her yet.
But his presence felt possessive.
He'd made it clear hours earlier: she had to publicly accept his alliance, or the High Pack would send a new Alpha to "take her place."
And with Dominic still missing?
She was a queen without a throne.
So she stood, raised the goblet, and declared:
"Let the Pact be witnessed."
A sharp dagger was handed around.
One by one, they cut their palms, letting their blood drip into the flames.
Blue changed to violet.
The old wolves bowed their heads.
The pact was formed.
But Luna found it hard to breathe.
She felt present in the room, yet her soul felt distant. Wild. Hungry. Restless.
It wasn't her wolf causing the unease.
It was the bond.
Dominic.
He hadn't been seen for two weeks—no letters, no signs, just a persistent tug in her chest, like a heartbeat in reverse.
She tried to shove it down, to focus on where she was.
But pretending that Lorenzo's presence filled the void only amplified the ache.
Later, that night, she stood in front of her mother's mirror, peeling off her dress layer by layer.
Moonlight caressed her bare skin. Her scars. Her past.
Then she heard it.
A growl.
Low. Animalistic. Familiar.
She whirled around, her eyes wide, and there he was.
Dominic.
Bleeding. Bruised. His eyes a gold that glinted with rage.
"You made a pact with him?"
Luna's breath caught in her throat. Her knees almost gave way.
"You disappear," she snapped, "and you come back with opinions?"
"I was trying to protect you."
"By vanishing?"
He moved closer, not bothering to mask the tremors in his body.
"Every second I stayed away, I wanted to claim you. Mark you. Tie you to me so fiercely you'd forget your own name."
Her voice was unwavering. "And that's a problem because?"
"Because they'll kill you for loving me!"
"Then let them."
Now she was inches from him, barely dressed but entirely unafraid.
"I'd rather burn for you than live without you."
He seized her arms, jaw clenched to the point of trembling.
"Say that again."
She didn't flinch.
"I. Would. Burn."
And in that instant, their bond didn't just ignite—it roared to life.
Their lips met in a crash.
Not gentle. Not slow. It was raw, like hunger. Like pain.
He lifted her and pushed her against the wall, kissing her like she was everything he thought he had lost.
"You smell like him," he growled against her neck.
"Then make me smell like you."
Without hesitation, he claimed her.
Teeth. Tongue. Skin.
She arched into him, as if she'd been waiting for this moment for centuries.
Every kiss was a promise, every bite a threat.
When he finally entered her, it wasn't just about desire; it felt like coming home.
She gasped, clinging to him as if he were the last solid thing in a crumbling world.
"You're mine," he breathed, voice rough.
"Always."
Their bond was sealed—not through words, but with blood, breath, and sweat.
And for one perfect moment, everything else faded away.
Until a scream shattered the silence.
Luna bolted upright, her heart still racing from the shock.
It was Elena.
They found her near the altar, her face locked in terror, lips stitched closed.
Alive. Just barely.
Carved into her chest were the words:
"UNA REGINA NON PUÒ ESSERE SPORCA."
A queen cannot be impure.
Dominic stood behind Luna as medics carried Elena away.
He didn't say a word.
But he was ice.
He understood this symbol. This act. This cruelty.
It wasn't the High Pack's doing.
It ran deeper.
Older.
Mafia.
Specifically… his family.
Lorenzo arrived moments later, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, brows raised in confusion.
"What happened?"
Luna lashed out at him. "Where were you?"
"Sleeping. Why?"
"Someone attacked my aunt."
He stiffened.
Dominic's growl cut through the tension.
"Tell me this isn't on you."
Lorenzo's eyes darkened.
"You think I'd do something that pathetic?"
"Not you," Dominic clarified. "Your father."
Luna stepped in between them. "Enough."
"We need answers," Dominic pressed, his voice tight.
"And revenge," Lorenzo added.
Their eyes locked, electricity sparking between them.
Not affection.
War.
That night, Luna stood over Elena's unconscious form.
Her chest rose and fell slowly, blood still crusted around the letters on her skin.
Luna touched her hand lightly.
"Tell me what they want," she whispered.
"I'll give it to them."
But deep down, she knew it wasn't just about pacts, mates, or power.
It was about her bloodline.
The one topic no one dared to discuss.
The curse. The prophecy.
Her mother's death.
Her own birth.
And the secret that Dominic had been hiding all along.
Because once, long ago…
A wolf queen was betrayed.
And her child was taken.
That child?
Was never meant to survive.