SERA'S POV
I'm alive.
That's the first shock. The second is that I'm not in pain.
I should be dead. I drove a silver dagger into my own chest—felt the blade pierce skin, felt my blood spill hot over my fingers. But now I'm lying in the softest bed I've ever touched, breathing easily, and the only proof of what happened is the dried blood on my shirt.
My shirt. Not a wound. The blood is there, but my skin is smooth and unmarked.
"What—" My voice cracks. I sit up too fast, and the room spins.
"Easy." Kael's voice cuts through the fog in my brain. He's sitting in a chair beside the bed, and he looks like he's been through a war. Blood stains his clothes—my blood, I realize with a jolt. His hair is disheveled, his jaw tight with tension.
But his eyes are focused entirely on me.
"What did you do to me?" I demand, my hand flying to my chest. No wound. No scar. Nothing.
"I didn't do anything," Kael says, his voice carefully controlled. "You healed yourself."
"That's impossible. I don't have—"
"You have Moon Blessed healing magic." He leans forward, elbows on his knees. "The moment you stabbed yourself, your power activated to save your life. Silver should have killed you instantly, but your magic burned it out of your system before it could stop your heart."
I stare at him. "I don't understand. How did—"
"The blood oath Morgana placed on you." Kael's expression darkens. "It forced you to attack me. But it couldn't force you to succeed. So you found the loophole—you hurt yourself instead. The shock of near-death broke Morgana's control long enough for your power to surface."
My mind races back to those final seconds in the library. The dagger in my hand. Kael's steady gaze. The whisper of magic from my crescent mark.
Trust me.
"Morgana," I gasp, terror flooding through me. "The assassins—did they—"
"Gone." Kael's jaw tightens. "The moment you collapsed, your power exploded outward. It didn't hurt my pack, but every assassin in that room was thrown back through the windows they came through. Morgana retreated, but not before she made it very clear she'll be back."
Relief and dread war in my chest. "Lyra—"
"Is still alive," Kael says, and something in his tone makes me look at him sharply. "Morgana sent another message through the blood-scrying connection while you were unconscious. She's giving you one more chance to complete the mission. Seven days."
Seven days. The number sits in my stomach like a stone.
"She knows I tried to warn you," I whisper. "She knows I chose—"
"She knows you failed to kill me," Kael interrupts. "But she doesn't know why. She thinks the bond is too new, that you're still fighting it. She's counting on you getting desperate enough to finish the job before time runs out."
I look down at my hands. They're shaking. "How long was I out?"
"Twelve hours."
Twelve hours. Half a day lost while Lyra sits in that cell, while Morgana plans her next move, while the Blood Moon creeps closer.
"I need to see the proof," I say, forcing steel into my voice. "Everything you said about Morgana killing my family—I need to see it. All of it."
Kael studies me for a long moment. Then he stands and walks to a desk in the corner. When he returns, he's carrying a thick folder.
"Witness testimonies," he says, handing it to me. "From wolves who escaped the Silvermoon massacre. I've been collecting them for two decades."
My hands tremble as I open the folder. The first page is a sketch—a woman with my eyes, my nose, my face. Underneath, a name: Elara Moonshadow. Age 34. High Priestess of Silvermoon. Deceased.
My mother.
"She was the most powerful Moon Blessed of her generation," Kael says quietly. "The Crimson Order tried to recruit her for years. She refused. Said her gift was for healing, not killing."
I turn the page. More faces. More names. A entire village of people I'll never meet, all marked Deceased.
And then I find the report from the survivor. An old wolf named Garrett who saw everything.
"High Assassin Morgana Vale led the attack personally. She used blood magic to trap the Moon Blessed in their temple, then set fire to the building. They were singing when they died—some kind of prayer or ritual. Only one child survived. An infant with the crescent mark. Morgana took her."
The words blur. I can't breathe. Can't think.
"She murdered them while they were praying," I whisper.
"Yes."
"And then she raised me. Fed me. Trained me. Told me she loved me."
"Yes."
The folder slips from my hands. Twenty-three years of my life built on a lie so massive I can't even begin to process it.
"Why?" The word tears out of me. "Why keep me alive? Why not just kill me with the others?"
"Because you were born under a Blood Moon," Kael says. "According to the prophecy, a Moon Blessed born under a Blood Moon and sacrificed under the next one can permanently seal your bloodline's power. Morgana needed you to reach your twenty-third year—the age of full magical maturity—before the sacrifice would work."
I'm going to be sick.
"So she's been raising me like livestock," I say, and my voice sounds dead even to my own ears. "Twenty-three years of training, of missions, of pretending to care—all so she could slaughter me at the right moment."
"Yes."
That one word breaks something inside me. A sound escapes my throat—half laugh, half sob. "And Lyra?"
Kael's expression goes carefully blank. "What about her?"
"Is she even my sister? Or is that another lie?"
"I don't know," Kael admits. "But Morgana is holding her for a reason. She's your pressure point. The one thing that will make you obey."
The cruelty of it is breathtaking. Even Lyra—the one person I thought I could trust—might be nothing more than a tool to control me.
"I'm going to kill her," I say, and I mean it with every fiber of my being. "I'm going to make Morgana pay for every lie, every death, every—"
"Not alone, you're not." Kael's hand covers mine, warm and solid. "We do this together, or not at all."
I look up at him—really look at him. This male who's supposedly my fated mate, who I was sent to murder, who just spent twelve hours keeping me alive after I stabbed myself.
"Why?" I ask. "Why help me? The bond isn't even complete. You could reject it, throw me out, let me deal with Morgana on my own."
"I could," Kael agrees. His golden eyes hold mine. "But I've spent three hundred years watching prophecies destroy lives. I'm not letting this one take you too."
Something warm and terrifying unfurls in my chest. The bond hums between us, and for the first time, I don't fight it.
"I don't know how to trust you," I admit.
"Then don't trust me. Trust the evidence. Trust your own power." His thumb traces circles on the back of my hand. "But Sera? I've known you were my mate from the moment you crossed into my territory. I felt the bond stirring three days before you arrived."
My breath catches. "That's impossible."
"Fated mates can sense each other when they're close. I knew you were coming. Knew what you were here to do." His smile is sharp and sad. "I could have had you killed at the border. Instead, I waited."
"Why?"
"Because I wanted to give you a choice." He stands, pulling me to my feet. "The prophecy says you're meant to die. Morgana says you're meant to kill me. But I say you're meant to be free. And I'll burn down every prophecy, every order, every threat between you and that freedom."
I should pull away. Should maintain distance. Should remember that I've known this male for barely three days.
Instead, I ask the question that's been clawing at my throat since I woke up.
"What did Morgana say in her message? The one she sent while I was unconscious?"
Kael's expression shutters. "It doesn't matter."
"Tell me."
"Sera—"
"Tell me, or I walk out of here right now and finish the job myself."
He's silent for a long moment. Then: "She said if you don't kill me within seven days, she won't just kill Lyra. She'll turn her into what you were supposed to become—the next sacrifice. Your sister will die on the Blood Moon in your place."
The room tilts. "No."
"She gave you a choice. Your life for mine, or Lyra's life for yours."
Horror crashes over me in waves. "She can't—Lyra's only sixteen—"
"Morgana doesn't care." Kael's voice is gentle, but the truth in it is brutal. "She'll do whatever it takes to complete the prophecy."
My mind spins. Seven days to kill Kael, or Lyra dies. But if I kill Kael, I doom myself to the sacrifice anyway.
There's no winning. No way out. No—
A knock at the door interrupts my spiral.
"Alpha." Declan's voice is urgent. "You need to see this. Now."
Kael's entire body goes tense. "What is it?"
The door opens, and Declan steps in, holding a small crystal orb. It's glowing red, pulsing like a heartbeat.
"This just appeared in the throne room," Declan says. "It's a message crystal. From the Oracle of First Blood."
My blood turns to ice. The Oracle never contacts anyone directly. She speaks only through prophecies, through visions, through—
The crystal flares bright, and a voice fills the room. Ancient. Feminine. Wrong.
"Seven days until the Blood Moon rises, little Moon Blessed. Seven days until you kneel before me in chains. But before you die, you should know the truth about your precious sister."
No. No, please—
"Lyra Ashenblade is not your sister. She is your daughter."
The world stops.
"Sixteen years ago, Morgana took your newborn child from your arms and made you forget she ever existed. The girl you're trying to save is the child you never knew you had."
The crystal goes dark.
I can't breathe. Can't think. Can't—
"Sera." Kael's hands are on my shoulders, steadying me. "Breathe. Just breathe."
But I can't. Because if the Oracle is telling the truth, then everything—everything—is worse than I imagined.
Lyra is my daughter.
And I have seven days to figure out how to save her before Morgana sacrifices my own child in my place.