The forest did not rest.
Everywhere Aria turned, the mist breathed against her skin, curling in and out of the trees as if alive. It whispered, low and insidious, carrying fragments of voices she knew: the cruel laughter of orphans who had mocked her in childhood, Rowan's sharp rebukes from training, Damian's voice, cold and distant— You are nothing but a burden.
She clutched the dagger until her knuckles whitened. Her body was bruised, blood seeping through her sleeve where the beast's claw had torn her flesh. Her legs burned from endless running, but she could not stop. To stop was to let the voices close in.
The moon above pulsed brighter, as though keeping count of her breaths, waiting for her to falter.
Her chest ached. Every part of her wanted to collapse. Yet she forced herself onward, deeper into the trees.
The howls began again. This time, not one or two, but a chorus.
Shapes lunged from the darkness—five, no, six twisted wolves, larger than the one before. Their eyes glowed with hunger, their bodies wrong, stretched by shadows. They surrounded her, circling, teeth bared.
Aria's pulse hammered in her ears. She couldn't fight all of them. Even Rowan would have struggled against so many.
Her breath came in sharp gasps. Think. Don't panic. Survive.
When the first wolf lunged, she ducked beneath its snapping jaws, driving her dagger up into its belly. It dissolved into ash, but another leapt from behind, knocking her to the ground. Her back slammed against the earth, the breath punched from her lungs. Jaws gnashed for her throat—
Aria shoved the blade into its mouth. The wolf convulsed, shrieking, dissolving as the others closed in.
Too many.
She scrambled to her feet, running, branches tearing at her arms. Her lungs burned, every step heavier than the last. The wolves chased, relentless, their howls rattling the trees.
Then—she stumbled into another clearing.
And froze.
At its center stood a stone altar, slick with dried blood. Symbols carved into its surface glowed faintly, alive with pale silver fire. The air around it pulsed with energy, old and hungry.
The wolves halted at the edge of the clearing, whining, ears flat. They did not cross the invisible boundary.
Aria's chest heaved as she backed toward the altar. Her dagger trembled in her hand. The wolves prowled just beyond the trees, but they would not enter. It was as if the altar itself repelled them.
"Why have you come here, child of blood?"
The voice was not spoken aloud. It filled her skull, deep and resonant, echoing from the stone. Aria staggered, clutching her head.
"I—I didn't," she gasped.
The altar pulsed brighter. "Lies will not serve you. You carry the blood. The blood that was stolen, hidden, broken. Do you know whose child you are?"
Aria's mouth went dry. "No," she whispered.
"Then look."
The silver fire erupted, blinding. Images seared across her vision: a woman with hair like flame, eyes bright as the moon, standing against a horde of shadowed wolves. Blood pouring from her chest as she fell, whispering words Aria could not hear. A man—his face obscured—lifting a newborn from her arms and vanishing into darkness.
The visions shattered. Aria fell to her knees, gasping, her body trembling with cold.
"My mother," she whispered. "She—she was one of you."
The voice thundered: "She was Moon-Blessed. As are you."
The word cracked through her like lightning. Moon-Blessed.
She had heard it only in fragments, stories half-whispered. Warriors chosen by the moon, bound with power beyond wolves and humans alike. But they were myths. Legends meant to frighten pups.
"No," she rasped. "That can't be me. I'm—"
"Human?" the voice mocked. "You are neither. You are the bridge. Flesh of the cursed, blood of the divine. You are the answer to a prophecy written before your breath was drawn. And for that, you will be hunted."
The altar flared, the silver light stabbing into her wound. Aria screamed, collapsing as heat roared through her veins. Her blood boiled, every nerve alight, her body convulsing as though her skin could no longer contain what lived inside.
"Endure," the voice commanded.
She writhed, clawing at the dirt. Her vision blurred, colors bleeding into one another. Her heart thundered, then skipped, then thundered again. Her bones ached, her muscles seized.
And then—she heard it.
The wolf.
Not the twisted ones lurking in the shadows. Not Damian's wolf, restless and fierce. This voice was deeper, older, coiled inside her own chest.
Finally, it whispered. You hear me.
Her breath hitched. "What—what are you?"
You. The half you buried. The half they denied. I am your wolf, Aria.
Her body froze. She had never shifted. Never felt the pull. She had always been told she couldn't—because she was human. Because she was less.
But the wolf laughed, low and wild. Human? No. You are more. We are Moon-Blessed. And we will not die tonight.
The altar's light seared brighter. Aria screamed again, but this time she did not collapse. She rose.
Silver fire coursed through her veins, spilling across her skin. Her wounds sealed. Her lungs filled with strength not her own. The wolves at the edge of the clearing whined, backing away.
Aria opened her eyes.
They glowed, molten silver.
Her wolf's voice growled in her chest, urging her forward. She bent, picked up the dagger, and felt it hum in her grip like a living thing.
The twisted beasts did not wait. Sensing her power, they lunged as one, six bodies crashing through the trees.
Aria did not retreat.
She met them head-on, faster than she thought possible. The dagger cut arcs of silver light as she moved. She dodged claws, split throats, tore through shadows that shrieked and dissolved into ash. Her body felt both hers and not hers—guided, sharpened, transformed.
When the last wolf fell, the clearing was silent again. Her chest heaved, her body slick with sweat, but she stood. Alive.
The altar dimmed, its light fading, satisfied.
Aria staggered forward, pressing a hand to her chest. The wolf inside her purred low, steady. Not gone. Not a dream.
We are one now, it murmured. And this is only the beginning.
---
Outside the trial ground, Damian's eyes snapped open. He had felt it—a surge of power like fire and moonlight crashing into his soul. His wolf roared inside him, recognizing her. Not weak. Not prey. But something dangerous, something divine.
For the first time in his life, Alpha Damian Blackthorn felt fear.
Not for her.
Of her.
---