The night air was cold enough to sting. Lucian pulled his cloak tighter as he moved through the forest, the scent of rain and earth heavy in his lungs. The moon hung low behind the clouds, its pale light spilling through branches like liquid silver.
He had left Hollowshade behind, yet her face refused to leave his mind.
Selene Nightshade.
He could still feel the warmth of her touch where she had pressed her hand against his wound. The pain had faded faster than it should have, even for a wolf. Something in her touch had sunk deeper than flesh. It had stirred a heat he could not name, a pulse that had nothing to do with healing.
He should hate her. Every drop of her blood was cursed to his kind. Her ancestors had destroyed everything his people once were. Because of them, the Moonfang wolves had lost half their strength, bound to the cycles of the moon like chained beasts.
And yet…
He closed his eyes, cursing softly under his breath. He could still smell her. Herbs and smoke, wild rose and rain. The sound of her voice lingered like a spell, too soft, too dangerous.
He had gone there seeking answers, perhaps even a cure. He had told himself it was only necessity. But when she touched him, when her eyes met his, it felt as if the moon itself had stopped moving.
Lucian shook his head, growling low in his throat. Foolish. She was a witch. The last of the Nightshade line. The one whose blood carried the curse that bound his pack in weakness.
He forced the thoughts away as he reached the clearing where his warriors waited. They stood in silence, dark figures beneath the trees, their eyes gleaming faintly in the gloom.
"Alpha," his beta, Darius Crowe, bowed his head. "The ridge is secured. No human patrols near the valley."
Lucian nodded. "Good. We return home."
They shifted into the shadows of the trees, moving swiftly and silently through the forest paths until the faint outline of the pack's valley came into view. Fires burned low outside the dens, the scent of pine smoke and fur hanging in the still air.
Lucian's instincts pricked.
Something felt wrong.
The wind carried a strange note sharp, metallic, laced with decay. It was faint, yet it curled around his senses like a warning. His wolves began to cough softly, noses twitching.
He turned sharply. "Hold."
But it was too late.
From the treeline behind them, a dark shape vanished into the night. Lucian caught only a flicker, the glint of metal and the flutter of a black cloak.
A spy.
He caught the scent then. Human. Male. Laced with venomous herbs and silver dust.
"After him!" Lucian snarled, shifting into his wolf form. His body erupted with silver light, bones cracking, claws ripping from his fingers. He lunged through the trees, the world blurring into speed and sound.
But the intruder was fast. The stranger darted into the ravine, scattering a vial of powder that hissed as it hit the air. Lucian skidded to a stop. His throat burned as the scent hit him, wolfsbane mixed with something fouler, something alchemical. His vision swam.
The poison.
He stumbled backward, clutching a tree for balance, and by the time he steadied himself, the man was gone.
Lucian's eyes flared with fury. His name echoed from his warriors behind "Alpha!" and he turned to see them stumbling, gasping, their eyes watering from the invisible mist.
They had been followed. The poison had spread.
By the time they reached the heart of the Moonfang territory, the damage was done. Wolves lay writhing in the dirt, some already still. The poison had slipped into the wind, carried into the dens where the youngest pups slept. Mothers wept, clutching lifeless children. The elders coughed blood that shimmered silver beneath the moonlight.
Lucian's heart clenched. He moved from one to another, lifting those still breathing, carrying them to the pack's infirmary where healers worked frantically. Some could still be saved. Others were already gone.
The poison was made for them. It attacked the essence that made them wolves. The work of the human king, without question.
King Aldred of Valehart.
Lucian's fury burned like fire through his veins. He had shown mercy once, hoping for peace. But Aldred had no interest in peace. He wanted dominion. He wanted the wolves broken, enslaved, or extinct.
When the last body had been buried beneath the sacred trees, Lucian stood at the edge of the valley, his cloak stirring in the cold wind. He stared at the graves until his vision blurred, then turned toward the great stone hall that served as the pack's council chamber.
He called for an emergency meeting.
Every elder was summoned.... fourteen of them, the oldest bloodlines of the Moonfang. His mother, Lady Amara, took her seat near the head of the circle, her silver hair shimmering in the torchlight. Beside her sat his sister, Lyra, eyes red from tears yet burning with silent fury.
His betas, gammas, and deltas stood behind him in rank. The scent of smoke and grief filled the air.
Lucian rose from his seat, voice low but steady. "King Aldred has broken the accords. He has attacked our home. He has killed our kin. I will not rest until Valehart burns."
Murmurs filled the room. Some growled in agreement. Others exchanged uneasy glances.
Then Elder Morvan rose. His voice was dry as dust, his eyes sharp as daggers. "Perhaps, Alpha, this is not the king's fault alone."
Lucian's gaze hardened. "Speak plainly, old one."
Morvan leaned on his staff, his lips curling. "The curse weakens us, Lucian. You carry the mark of the Nightshade witch. Her bloodline's curse has stripped our power, bound us to the moon's mercy. You are not strong enough to lead us. And as long as you live, we will suffer."
The words hit like a blade. Several elders nodded in grim agreement. Others protested, but their voices were drowned in argument.
Lucian's mother slammed her hand against the table. "Mind your tongue, Morvan! He is your Alpha!"
"An Alpha cursed by witch blood!" Morvan spat. "You know the prophecy. Only when he is slain by one of the witches who cursed him will the pack be free. Until then, we rot."
Lucian's jaw tightened. "And who will find this witch? The Nightshade coven is ashes."
"Perhaps not," Morvan said softly, his eyes glinting. "There are whispers. A survivor. A healer in the human lands."
The name he did not speak hung between them like thunder.
Selene.
Lucian felt something coil inside him part dread, part fury, part something he could not name. The hall filled with noise again. Some demanded he step down. Others swore loyalty until death.
He stood in silence, every muscle taut, eyes burning like molten silver.
When the room finally fell quiet, he spoke. His voice was calm, but the air trembled with it. "If any elder thinks I am unfit to lead, challenge me here and now. If you believe a witch will save you, find her. But remember this, I will not fall while a single breath remains in my body."
No one moved.
Morvan's mouth twisted, but he sat. The others followed. The meeting ended in uneasy silence.
Lucian walked out into the night alone. The moon was breaking through the clouds now, cold and distant. He looked toward it, his hands curling into fists.
The poison still lingered in the air. The cries of his people echoed in his mind. And yet, beneath the fury, beneath the grief, another thought haunted him still.
The curse!!!
And the touch of her hand. The way his wound had closed under her palm.
The witch who was meant to destroy him… had saved him.
He lifted his gaze to the stars and whispered to the night, "Selene Nightshade… what are you?"
The wind carried no answer.
Only the faint echo of her name through the dark.