Chapter 3 Blood at the Gates

The warning horn shattered the silence of dawn.

Elara jerked awake, heart pounding. She'd barely slept in the cold stone chamber the Council had given her. Dreams-or perhaps memories-had stalked her in the dark. Visions of her mother's face, cloaked in silver light, whispering words she couldn't remember.

Now, that fragile quiet was broken.

A second horn echoed through Duskvale.

This one wasn't a drill.

She threw on the dark cloak draped across the edge of the bed, grabbed the dagger Fenric had left for her, and bolted out the door.

Outside, the city was alive with movement. Wolves in both forms raced through the streets. Sentinels barked orders. Archers climbed towers. Children were being ushered into underground tunnels. The air was thick with urgency and scent-sweat, fear, steel, magic.

Fenric found her on the stairs of the central keep. He wore black leather armor etched with glowing runes. His expression was grim, jaw clenched, silver hair tied back.

"They're here," he said.

"Who?"

"The Circle's Hunters. And not just scouts. A full war pack."

Elara swallowed. "How did they find us so fast?"

Fenric's eyes darkened. "They've been watching longer than we thought. We were just waiting for you to awaken. Now they move to finish what they started."

She looked past him. The eastern gate was barely visible through the fog, but the rumble beneath her feet grew louder. Not thunder. Marching.

"Then we fight," she said.

"You're not ready." His voice was hard, but not unkind. "Your wolf is still unstable. If they turn your mind-if they use blood magic-you could lose control."

She stared up at him. "If I don't fight, what do I become? A symbol? Or a prisoner again?"

He hesitated-then tossed her a thin chain strung with a moonstone charm.

"It's a stabilizer. Keeps the blood magic from seeping in. It won't protect you forever, but it might give you a chance to hold your form."

She slipped it over her head. The stone pulsed warmly against her chest.

Then the gates of Duskvale exploded.

A thunderclap of magic and steel shook the valley. Stone splintered. Flames surged. Dozens of armored warriors poured in through the breach, snarling and shifting mid-charge. Some were in full wolf form, black and gold-furred, marked with glowing brands.

The Circle's elite.

Fenric didn't wait.

With a howl, he leapt from the stairway, shifting mid-air. His form stretched, fur erupting as his bones cracked. The silver alpha slammed into the first wave of invaders, sending bodies flying like leaves.

Elara stood frozen for only a breath.

Then she moved.

She sprinted toward the eastern ridge, where the high ground overlooked the battlefield. Her instincts screamed directions-where to run, when to duck, what scent meant friend or foe.

She passed robed mystics casting protective wards, bladesmen clashing with teeth-bared hunters, and archers loosing silver-tipped arrows that sang through the mist.

Elara spotted a group of Circle mages forming a binding circle at the edge of a tower. They were muttering in an ancient tongue, drawing blood runes into the air. A silver wolf from the Forsaken charged them-but collapsed mid-lunge, his form twisting, magic seizing his limbs.

"Blood curse!" someone shouted. "They're using dominion spells!"

Elara didn't think. She sprinted straight for the mages, heart hammering.

A wall of heat slammed into her-then rebounded.

The moonstone at her neck flashed, absorbing the spell.

The mages faltered, surprised.

Elara threw her dagger-not aiming to kill, but to disrupt. It pierced the spell matrix. The blood runes shimmered, then cracked.

She reached the wolf and yanked him free just as the spell collapsed. His eyes cleared, wild and grateful.

"Elara?" he gasped.

She nodded. "Fall back. Protect the young."

Then her vision blurred.

The air shimmered behind her.

Too late.

A cloaked figure grabbed her from the shadows, dragging her back against the stone wall. Cold metal pressed to her throat.

"You're the Moonblood," the woman hissed. Her voice was sharp and cold as ice. "The Council wants you alive. I'd rather not."

Elara elbowed back, but the woman was fast-too fast.

Then a blur of silver and red streaked past.

The woman screamed as Fenric tackled her, fangs sinking into her shoulder. The two tumbled across the stones in a savage blur of fur, blood, and fury. Elara backed away, chest heaving, until the ground stopped shaking.

And then the horn sounded again.

This time it was different. A long, low moan.

Retreat.

Fenric stood, panting and bleeding, over the unconscious body of the hunter.

"They're pulling back," he growled.

"Why?" Elara asked. "We were holding the gate."

Fenric's gaze turned west.

"That's why."

Elara followed his stare.

Across the battlefield, through the burning trees, marched a new figure.

Clad in white robes etched in crimson. Masked in silver. Not wolf. Not man. Something older.

"The Circle's Seer," Fenric whispered. "They sent him."

The air thickened. Even the birds stopped singing.

The Seer raised one pale hand. The flames on the battlefield dimmed. The wind died.

And then he spoke-his voice layered, unnatural, echoing like a choir of shadows.

"Elara of the Moonblood," he said. "Daughter of the forbidden line. The time of hiding is over."

Elara stepped forward.

"What do you want?" she shouted.

The Seer tilted his head. "To complete the cycle. To silence the old blood. Your death will cleanse the breach."

Fenric stepped in front of her, still in wolf form.

"No," Elara said. "Not this time."

She stepped around him. The moonstone burned against her chest. Her heartbeat slowed. Her body shook.

But she reached.

Inside.

Into the part of her that had only just begun to stir.

The wolf.

And she let it rise.

Her bones bent. Her muscles twisted. Her spine stretched. Pain flashed across her skin like fire-but she welcomed it.

And then she stood, four-legged, silver and glowing, eyes locked on the Seer.

The Seer raised his hand.

A spear of blood-red light formed.

He threw it-

And she moved.

Faster than she'd ever moved.

The blast scorched the stone behind her, but Elara was already in the air, jaws open, fangs bared.

She struck the Seer mid-chest.

He stumbled. Not dead. But stunned.

The circle faltered.

And the army behind him-confused, leaderless-began to retreat.

Fenric leapt to her side. The two wolves stood over the battlefield, howls rising into the mist.

It wasn't victory. Not yet.

But it was a message.

The Moonblood Heir had awakened.

And she would not go quietly.