Chapter 7 The Werewolf Prince's Hunt

The scent of ash reached Kaelen long before the ruins came into view.

He stood on the ridge above the ravaged village, moonlight painting silver streaks through his fur-lined cloak. Beneath him, houses smoldered. The sky bled with smoke. The soil was still damp with blood. Not vampire blood.

Humans.

Kaelen's jaw clenched as his men approached from behind, shifting restlessly in the darkness. Shadows flickered across their amber eyes.

"This wasn't a raid," one said. "This was a warning."

Kaelen didn't answer. He crouched, brushing ash from a broken stone. His fingers found a mark-a delicate carving hidden beneath the scorch: a dagger, wrapped in thorny vines.

The symbol of the Crimson Pact.

She'd passed through here.

Lyra.

And they'd nearly killed a village to find her.

He rose, every muscle in his body vibrating with restraint.

"She's running," he said, voice low. "But not from us."

"Then from who?"

Kaelen's eyes darkened.

"Everyone."

He followed the trail alone.

Through mist-drenched woods and ruined chapels. Over rivers blackened with vampiric curses. He moved with purpose, each breath tracking her scent-wild heather and lightning storms, now laced with something new.

Something ancient.

He found her three nights later.

In the ruins of the Dead Temple, beneath the shattered sky.

She stood at the edge of a stone altar, moonlight soaking her skin, hair tangled by wind, and eyes that glowed with a feverish gold-red fire.

Not a vampire.

Not a wolf.

Something else.

She turned as he stepped into the clearing, and for a heartbeat, neither of them spoke.

Then-

"You found me," Lyra said, voice like a sword sliding free of its sheath.

"You weren't hiding," Kaelen replied. "Not from me."

She didn't smile.

Didn't move.

Just watched him like a flame sizing up the wind.

"Why are you here, Kaelen?"

"You already know."

"I'm not your prisoner."

"I didn't come to take you."

She narrowed her eyes. "Then why?"

Kaelen stepped closer. "To ask you one question."

Lyra raised her chin. "Ask."

He stopped a few feet from her, the air between them humming with memory and heat.

"Are you still mine?"

The silence cracked something in her.

Lyra didn't answer right away.

She looked down at her hand-at the faint scar where the dagger had once bitten her palm-and then backed up at him.

"I was never yours," she said. "Not really."

Kaelen's expression didn't change, but something in his posture shifted. Something heavy.

"But I wanted to be," she added softly.

The wind stirred.

He stepped even closer, gaze burning. "You still can be."

"I carry the Pact now."

"I don't care."

"You should."

Kaelen growled low in his throat. "I care that you're changing. That you're walking into the hands of a vampire who sees you as a crown, not a person."

"And you?" she asked, stepping close enough to feel his heat. "What do you see?"

He met her eyes.

"You. Before the dagger. Before Veyra. Before the blood."

"You want me to go back," she said.

"I want you to remember who you are."

"I'm becoming something else."

"I know," he whispered. "And I'm afraid... I won't be enough to follow you there."

The words hung between them like frost on fire.

Then Lyra did something that surprised even herself.

She reached up and touched his cheek.

Warm. Real.

The one thing that hadn't changed.

"I don't know who I am anymore," she said. "But I don't think I can do this alone."

"You don't have to," Kaelen said. "Come with me. Back to the Ridge. We'll protect you. Hide you until you're ready to fight."

"No," she said, softly.

"Why not?"

"Because hiding didn't work for Veyra. And it won't work for me."

Kaelen looked away, jaw tightening. "Then what do you want?"

She hesitated.

Then leaned close.

And whispered:

"I want to burn the thrones down. All of them."

Before Kaelen could answer, a howl split the sky.

Not a wolf.

Vampire sentries.

Lyra's eyes went wide.

"They found me."

Kaelen cursed and drew his blade, steel ringing like thunder. "You brought them here?"

"No," she growled. "They were already coming."

From the trees, shadows surged-figures in crimson cloaks with blades like bone and magic that crackled in the air.

Kaelen pushed her behind him. "Run."

But Lyra stepped forward instead, pulling the dagger from her thigh.

It pulsed in her hand, glowing.

"Not anymore," she said.

She carved the blade across her palm, blood sizzling as it struck the earth.

The air shook.

Roots exploded from the soil, snaring the vampires' legs. The forest screamed with ancient power. And Lyra-eyes blazing-raised the dagger like a torch.

Veyra was awake.

And she was not afraid.

The fight was chaotic.

Kaelen moved like a storm-ripping through attackers with beast-like grace, protecting Lyra's flank. She danced like fire, striking faster than breath, the dagger responding to her every command.

But there were too many.

One blade sliced her shoulder. Another grazed Kaelen's thigh.

Blood soaked the dirt.

Still, they stood.

Still, they fought.

Until

A scream tore the sky open.

One of the vampires crumpled, face twisted in terror as something-someone-emerged from the trees.

Not Lyra.

Not Kaelen.

Not one of them.

It was Verenthas.

And he was smiling.