The moon had climbed high—
full, silver, pulsing like a heartbeat against the sky.
Floraison de Minuit glowed faintly under its light,
but inside, the shop felt smaller than usual.
Tighter.
Warmer.
Charged.
Lysandra sat on the wooden floor,
her knees drawn slightly inward,
her breathing calm but shallow.
Across from her,
the Shadow Heir watched her like a predator studying the moon.
Not with hunger.
Not with danger.
With certainty.
Like her power belonged here.
Like she belonged here.
She swallowed.
"Tell me the truth," she whispered, breaking the quiet.
"How often will this happen?"
He didn't blink.
"Every night."
Her breath caught.
"Every night?" she repeated, quieter.
He lowered his gaze to her trembling fingers.
"You changed the prophecy," he said softly.
"So the moon will test you until the bonds stabilize."
"How long will that take?"
"That," he murmured,
"depends on you."
Her wolf lifted its head lightly.
Depends on us.
Lysandra looked down at her hands.
"Evander… won't understand this part."
The Heir leaned forward slightly.
"No.
But he will learn."
Lysandra exhaled.
"He shouldn't have to."
The Heir's voice softened:
"You didn't choose this.
But he chose you.
There is a difference."
Her chest tightened.
She understood.
She did.
But the guilt still twisted inside her like a blade.
"So what now?" she whispered.
"What do I do until morning?"
His shadows shifted—
curling softly across the floor like dark smoke.
"You learn."
"Learn what?"
He held out his hand.
"To hold your wolf
without letting it hold you."
She hesitated.
Then placed her hand in his.
The moment their fingers touched,
a wave of cold power washed over her skin—
not freezing,
not painful,
but grounding.
Her wolf immediately lifted its head.
Alert.
Alive.
Curious.
The Heir leaned closer.
"Do you feel that?" he asked.
She nodded.
"That is the Shadow Bond," he murmured.
"It steadies your instincts."
Her breath shook.
"It makes me want to shift."
"No," he said.
"It makes your wolf want to watch me."
Her cheeks flushed.
"That sounds—"
"Honest?" he finished.
"Yes," she whispered.
He moved their joined hands slightly.
A pulse traveled between them—
silver and violet mixing in the air like two rivers colliding.
Her body shivered involuntarily.
"Shadow…" she warned, voice trembling.
But he didn't push further.
Instead, he pulled his hand back and said quietly:
"You must practice directing your wolf.
Not suppressing it."
"How do I do that?"
He gestured around the shop.
"This place listens to you.
The moon listens to you.
Your instincts listen to you.
Now…
you must listen to them."
Her heart raced.
"What does that mean?"
"Close your eyes," he commanded gently.
She obeyed.
"Now breathe."
She inhaled.
"Slower."
She exhaled.
"Again."
She repeated.
Soon the only sound in the shop was her breathing
and his voice guiding her.
The Heir's aura wrapped around her like a cool night breeze.
Her wolf responded to it—
not by rising wildly,
but by circling inside her,
curious and focused.
"Now," he murmured,
"tell me what your wolf feels."
Lysandra's brows furrowed.
"It feels…"
She hesitated.
"…pulled."
"To me?" he asked.
Her wolf answered for her.
"…yes."
"And to Evander?" he pressed.
A softer tug inside her chest.
"Yes."
He nodded.
"That is balance."
Her eyes opened.
"This doesn't feel balanced."
"Because you are fighting it," he said steadily.
"Stop fighting."
"How?"
"By accepting the truth."
"What truth?"
He leaned closer, his voice lowering:
"That your wolf belongs to the wild.
Your power belongs to the moon.
Your heart belongs to the mortal.
And your destiny belongs to me."
She froze.
That last line burned through her like living fire.
"…Shadow—"
He didn't look away.
"You don't have to choose who you want," he murmured.
"You already did that."
She swallowed hard.
"And what did I choose?"
He tapped her forehead softly.
"Your mind chose peace."
He tapped her chest.
"Your heart chose warmth."
Then he touched her wrist lightly.
"And your wolf chose strength."
Her breath trembled.
"Is that… wrong?"
"No."
He leaned back slightly.
"It's dangerous."
Her wolf growled softly—
not at him,
but at the truth.
The Heir continued:
"You are the only one in history
who carries two fated bonds
without breaking."
Lysandra looked away.
"I don't feel strong."
"You don't have to feel strong," he said.
"You just have to be."
She met his gaze again.
"And if I fail these trials?"
His eyes darkened.
"You won't."
"How do you know?"
He stepped closer.
Close enough that the air thickened.
Close enough that her wolf lifted its head again—
alert but not dangerous.
"Because I will not let you."
Silence snapped between them like a live wire.
Before she could respond—
the door clicked softly.
Evander stepped inside,
brow furrowed,
voice gentle:
"Lys…?
I know you told me to stay outside but—
your bond spiked again."
Her heart squeezed.
The Heir stood perfectly still.
Lysandra rose to her feet.
"I'm okay," she said softly.
Evander walked closer.
He brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers.
For the first time tonight—
her wolf didn't surge up.
Didn't react with panic.
Didn't flare with aggression.
Instead—
It purred.
Evander blinked.
"Your wolf… doesn't hate me right now?"
Lysandra laughed breathlessly.
"It doesn't hate you at all."
The Heir crossed his arms.
"It tolerates him."
Evander glared.
"Thanks."
Lysandra shook her head.
"Both of you…
come here."
They looked at each other—
Then at her—
Then stepped forward together.
She placed one hand on Evander's chest,
one on the Heir's.
Her wolf steadied.
Her power quieted.
Her heart aligned.
A strange
perfect
terrifying
balance.
For the first time since the prophecy shattered—
she felt whole.
Evander whispered:
"Lysandra… what's happening?"
The Heir answered:
"The first trial," he murmured,
"is ending."
A pulse of silver and black burst under her skin.
Lysandra gasped.
Evander tightened his arms around her.
The Heir steadied her shoulders.
The moon's voice echoed through the shop:
"The First Trial is complete."
Lysandra shivered.
Evander held her tighter.
The Heir lowered his head.
The moon whispered:
"Prepare for the Second Trial…
in the Shadow Realm."
Lysandra's wolf growled—
but not in fear.
In readiness.