Seraphina
The moon didn't rise for me.
It should have. Last night was my eighteenth birthday, the sacred age when every wolf hears the first whisper of their beast. The pull. The shift. The awakening. For most, it's a roar wild, aching, undeniable.
For me, there was only silence.
Now I sit cross-legged in the middle of a frost-bitten field behind our stronghold, the wind clawing at my skin, waiting for something anything to break inside me. I try again. I breathe in the night air, close my eyes, and reach for the thing that should be there. The wild part of me. The wolf.
Nothing answers.
"You're wasting time," Kael mutters behind me. My brother's voice is low, clipped. Frustrated. "This is pointless."
"Then leave," I snap.
He doesn't. Of course not. Kael was born with Alpha blood boiling in his veins and the arrogance to match. He shifted at sixteen, a flawless midnight-black wolf that had our entire pack kneeling within seconds. He never lets me forget it.
"You know they're talking," he says after a pause. "The pack. The elders. Even Ezren."
That stings. Ezren's my younger brother. The one who still makes dumb jokes at the worst times and sneaks me honeybread when Mother bans sweets before rituals. If he's worried… gods.
"What are they saying?" I ask quietly.
Kael shifts behind me. "That the Moonbound bloodline skips generations. That you're not what they hoped. That maybe…" He doesn't finish.
That maybe I'm broken.
I dig my fingers into the frozen grass. "They don't know anything."
"They know enough to be scared."
Good. Let them be scared. Let them choke on their expectations. I won't give them tears or apologies.
But still, I sit there long after Kael walks away, alone with the emptiness in my chest where a wolf should be. The wind howls through the pines like it's mourning me. The sky above is black and starless. Even the moon is hidden tonight.
Something is wrong. Deeply, unnaturally wrong.
I know it. I feel it.
Later, I return to the keep. Our stronghold is carved from silverstone and rune-etched bone, built into the side of the northern cliffs. Magic pulses through the walls, ancient and cold, like the house itself is watching.
Inside, everything is hushed. Even the fires burn quieter than they should.
Mother waits for me in the high chamber, seated in her throne of icewood. She is beauty carved into steel white hair braided with silver, eyes the color of winter skies. Father stands beside her, arms crossed, silent. Always silent.
"You will attend the Blood Moon Summit," she says without preamble.
My stomach turns. "I haven't shifted. They'll know."
"They already know."
"She's not ready," Kael says from the shadows.
"She must be," Father replies, his voice rough as gravel. "The King has called all bloodlines. We can't refuse."
The King.
Even saying the word feels like swallowing glass.
Everyone speaks of him in hushed tones "Lucien Thorne, the Shadowfang King. A wolf born from darkness itself. Ruthless. Blood-soaked. A killer crowned. They say he took his throne with fangs and fire and hasn't stopped hunting since.
Mother's eyes lock with mine. "You are the last daughter of the Moonbound line. Whether your wolf sleeps or not, your blood sings. And the court will hear it."
A chill dances down my spine. I want to ask why now? Why does he care?
But I know better. You don't question the Alphas. You obey. Or you break.
That night, I dream.
No I burn.
I stand on a battlefield of bone and ash. The sky is red. The air stinks of blood and smoke. I'm barefoot, wearing a gown soaked to the knees in something thick and black. Around me, wolves scream and die.
And in the center, on a throne of antlers and flame, sits a man made of shadows.
His eyes glow silver, burning into mine.
"You're late," he says. His voice curls around my spine like smoke, soft and cruel.
I try to speak but my throat is full of sand.
He rises. Step by step, barefoot like me. His crown is jagged, grown from bone. His hands drip crimson. And when he reaches me, he doesn't touch.
He just looks down and says:
"Wake up, Seraphina. Before I burn your world to ash."
---
I wake choking on my scream.
The sheets are damp. My skin burns. My chest aches like claws are digging beneath my ribs, trying to get out. The scent of ash lingers in the air, impossible and real.
And in the distance, echoing through the trees like a death knell, a lone wolf howls.
But it isn't mine.
Not yet.
Dawn arrives like a blade across the sky cold, sharp, unforgiving. My nightmare's ash still clings to my lungs as I dress in ceremonial black and silver. The gown is heavy with rune-etched threads, each stitch meant to bind my power or summon it. I'm not sure which. Mother said I'll need it to stand before the king.
Kael watches me fasten the laces, arms crossed. His wolf-sense tingles around me like static. I want to ask what he sees, but there's no mercy in his gaze this morning.
Ezren bursts in, cheeks pink with cold, cradling two steaming mugs of spiced cider. He offers one to me. "For the girl who can't shift," he says with a wink that doesn't reach his eyes.
I force a smile. "Thanks." The warmth seeps into my fingers, and for a moment, I pretend it's enough.
Mother stands behind us, regal as a glacier. "You will keep your face still," she reminds me, voice a whisper that echoes in the chamber. "The king watches for weakness."
Father remains in shadow, silent. I've never known him to speak more than ten words a day, but his presence is a rock we cling to.
We mount our horses at the edge of the wood. The forest is quiet, too quiet. No songbirds greet the morning. No rustle of deer. Even the trees seem to lean away, as if they fear what we carry with us.
Our caravan snakes through the valley, six riders strong. Kael and Ezren flank me; Mother and Father bring up the rear. We pass abandoned villages, half-swallowed by thorn and bramble. Every ruin is a reminder that power unchecked can destroy its own.
After an hour, we crest a ridge. Below lies the Blood Moon Summit: a circle of standing stones taller than our keep, carved with ancient runes that glow faintly in the dawn light. Packs from every corner of the realm have gathered wolves in human form and wolf form both, eyes flicking to the sky, muzzles raised.
I feel a ripple through the air. A pulse that isn't mine. My heart hammers. Kael's hand tightens on my saddle horn. Ezren's eyes widen. Mother's lips press into a thin line.
"It begins," she says.
We enter the circle. The ground trembles underhoof. Each pack steps forward in turn—Alpha to Alpha, wolf to wolf, a silent acknowledgement of blood and territory. I recognize the Silvermane Pack, pale as moonlight. The Emberclaw Pack, furred in fiery red. And countless others whose names I don't know.
Then they part, making way for the Shadow Court. A hush falls so deep it's like the world is holding its breath. I look up and see him.
Lucien Thorne stands on a raised dais, draped in a cloak darker than midnight. His crown is a ring of black iron, shaped like fang and thorn. He's taller than the tallest man I've ever seen. His eyes, when they flick to me, are silver lamps in a cave cold, intense, hungry.
I can't look away.
He inclines his head slightly, a gesture of both invitation and threat. My wolf stirs an itch I can't scratch, a hunger I can't name. But I don't feel the mate pull. Nothing but confusion and something that feels dangerously like longing.
Mother nudges my horse forward. "Step into the center," she orders.
I obey, every muscle trembling. The runes in the stones flare brighter, bathing me in pale light. I can feel power thrumming beneath my skin, responding to the ancient magic.
Lucien's voice rings out, smooth and laced with steel. "Welcome, daughter of the Moonbound line. You stand here unawakened, yet your blood speaks louder than any howl." He pauses, letting his words sink in. "We are all curious to see what sleeps inside you."
My cheeks burn. I force my chin up. "I stand ready, Your Majesty."
He lets a faint smile curve his lips no warmth, just promise of danger. "We shall see."
Behind me, Kael grits his teeth. Ezren's fingers dig into his horse's reins. Mother's hand tightens on my shoulder.
The summit's rituals begin: oaths sworn on blood, offerings to the moon goddess, silent bows. My name is called. I step forward, heart thundering, and slice my palm with a ceremonial blade. The blood drips onto a rune-carved altar, hissing where it lands.
A shockwave ripples through me. My vision blurs. For a heartbeat, I see through Lucien's eyes: a throne room drenched in moonlight, my blood staining the marble, my body half-wolf, half-queen. His face hovers above me angry, desperate, reverent.
I blink. The vision vanishes. The summit crowd stares.
Lucien's gaze is unreadable. "Interesting," he says softly. "Your blood carries the old magic." He steps down, approaching me with slow, deliberate steps. "But magic sleeps for a reason. Too much power, too soon… it destroys."
I taste copper in my mouth. "I will control it."
He stops an arm's length away. I can see every detail of his face high cheekbones, a scar that traces from temple to jaw, eyes that seem to pierce through flesh and bone. He extends his hand, palm up.
"Give me your blood," he says.
My pulse hammers. I know he could take it without asking snap my wrist, drink the blood from my veins like water. But he doesn't. The offer is a test. Trust or defiance.
I press my palm to his. His skin is cool as marble. When our blood mingles on the altar between us, the runes flare white hot. I gasp. My vision swims with silver fire.
He withdraws his hand. "You are mate to the king," he declares, voice low but carrying. "Whether you know it or not."
A hush crashes over the circle. I stagger back, heart pounding so loud I'm certain everyone can hear it. Mate. The word tastes like ash.
I stare at him, wide-eyed. He watches me, that silver flame in his eyes flickering. No one else moves. No one else breathes.
Mother's face is pale. Kael's jaw clenches. Ezren's mouth hangs open.
Lucien inclines his head once, just enough to acknowledge the bond no one else can see. Then he turns and strides away, cloak swirling like spilled ink.
The summit ends in stunned silence. Packs disperse. My family gathers around me, but I barely feel them. My blood sings with a new note something ancient and terrifying.
I touch my palm. The cut is gone, but the sting remains. I look up at the sky. The moon is just a sliver, hidden behind clouds.
And somewhere, deep in the dark, a wolf howls again.
This time….I swear I hear two voices answering.
Silence follows us back to the stronghold, heavy as a funeral shroud. The path home winds through the same ruined villages, but now every splintered door and cracked stone feels like an accusation. You failed. You belong with the ghosts.
Kael rides beside me, jaw clenched, eyes dark. Ezren brings up the rear, head bowed, muttering prayers to the moon goddess. Mother and Father fall in step behind them, their armor clinking in the quiet. No one speaks words would shatter what fragile peace remains.
By the time we reach our gates, dusk has bled into night. Torches flare along the battlements, painting the walls gold. The guards salute Mother and Father, but their eyes flick to me. Whispers trail in my wake: Mate of the Shadowfang King… The Moonbound Queen, awakened.
Inside the high chamber, the air is thick with tension. Father breaks the silence first, voice low and stern. "You've brought the Shadow Court's mark upon us. Explain yourself."
I swallow the lump in my throat. "He King Lucien declared us mates." I hate how small I sound. "He did it in front of everyone."
Kael's laugh is hollow. "He did nothing of the sort. He claimed you to humiliate us."
Mother's eyes flash. "He claimed you because the bond exists, Seraphina. You felt nothing because your wolf sleeps. But it's there." Her hand brushes mine gentle, urgent. "You cannot deny it."
"Deny what?" I demand. "That I'm bound to a king who would see me caged or killed if I refuse him?"
Ezren steps forward, voice trembling. "He didn't sound like he'd kill you. He sounded protective."
I look at him, startled. Ezren, who can't bear to see me hurt. "Protective? He hunts Alphas. He hunts Bloodbound."
Mother's jaw tightens. "He hunts those who defy him. But mates are sacred even to him." She pulls a small silver vial from her cloak. "Drink this. It will calm the wolf-sense and keep you from shifting until we find a way to break the bond or control it."
I take the vial, weighing it in my palm. The liquid inside glows faintly moonlight captured in glass. I uncork it, nose wrinkling at the bitter scent of nightshade and starwort. With a steady breath, I drink. The warmth spreads through me, dulling the itch beneath my skin.
Kael watches, arms folded. "Do you feel it" he asks.
"Nothing," I whisper. And that's the worst truth the wolf still slumbers, even with magic in my veins.
Mother exchanges a look with Father. "You will rest," she orders. "Tomorrow, we gather the Council of Elders. We will decide our next move."
I'm too numb to protest. They dismiss me, and I leave the chamber alone, the vial's warmth ebbing fast. In the corridor, torchlight dances on rune-carved walls, each symbol a reminder of the power I barely understand.
My chamber is at the end of a silent wing. I push open the door and slip inside, closing it softly behind me. The room is sparse a bed draped in grey linens, a writing desk, and a small altar with a silver mirror etched with the phases of the moon. I cross to it and peer into the glass, half-expecting to see Lucien's face instead of my own.
My reflection is pale, wide-eyed. The wound on my palm is gone, but my skin still tingles where his fingers touched me. I place both hands on the mirror's surface. The runes glow faintly reacting to the blood bond, or to my fear.
I close my eyes, willing sleep to come. But exhaustion brings only another vision.
I'm running through a forest of white-barked trees. Snow falls like ash. My breath puffs in clouds, ragged and loud. Ahead, a wolf howls two wolves. Their voices overlap, one deep and angry, the other soft and mournful. I chase them, following the sound until I burst into a clearing.
In the center stands Lucien. His cloak is gone, and his wolf stands beside him a massive black beast with silver eyes. They mirror each other perfectly, man and wolf. Lucien's hand rests on the wolf's muzzle, and the beast snarls, baring fangs.
He looks at me, expression torn. "You should have known," he says, voice echoing like a storm. "The bond will find you."
I step forward. "I know nothing."
He kneels and lifts my hand. Moonlight pours from his eyes, flooding my palm. "It will hurt," he warns. "You must awaken. Or the curse will devour you."
The wolf growls and lunges but Lucien places himself between us. The beast's fangs sink into his arm. He doesn't flinch. Blood blooms on his sleeve. He looks at me, pain and something fierce in his eyes. "Come," he says. "Before it's too late."
I reach for him, but the vision shatters.
I bolt upright in my bed, sheets tangled around my legs. My heart slams against my ribs, and I taste copper on my tongue. My fingers are curled as if gripping his cloak. The moonlight slants through the window, cold and indifferent.
I slide from the bed and stumble to the mirror. My reflection blinks back, eyes dark rings of fear. On my palm, three thin scars cross where his blood touched mine at the summit. They burn.
A soft knock at the door jolts me. I swallow hard, steeling myself.
"Seraphina?" Ezren's voice, gentle. "Are you all right?"
I take a deep breath, smooth my gown. "Yes." My voice sounds foreign in the hush. "Just… nightmares."
He steps inside, concern etched on his face. "You're shaking."
I place a hand on his arm. "I'm fine. Tomorrow, we face the council."
Ezren nods, but his eyes linger on my scars. He touches them lightly. "I'll be by your side."
I manage a small, grateful smile. "Thank you."
He hesitates, then turns to leave. "Get some rest."
As the door clicks shut, I press my palm to the mirror again. The runes flare, then settle into a steady glow.
Tomorrow, I think. We decide my fate.
But deep inside, I know the bond has already decided for me. And once the wolf wakes, nothing will ever be the same.
Morning light filters through arrow‑slit windows, painting the high chamber in slanted gold. The air is thick with incense and unease. Today, the Council of Elders convenes to decide my fate whether to honor the bond declared by the Shadowfang King, or to break it by any means necessary.
I stand before the circular table of carved ebony, each seat occupied by an elder draped in wolf‑skin furs and moon‑silver jewelry. Their faces are lined with age and power, their eyes sharp as obsidian. At the head sits Grandmother Ilyra, the eldest of the pack and keeper of ancient law. She regards me with an expression I can't read.
Father and Mother flank me silent pillars of strength while Kael leans against the wall, arms crossed, wolf‑sense coiled like a spring. Ezren stands at my side, hand barely brushing mine for reassurance.
Grandmother's voice rings out: "Daughter of Duskbane, you stand accused of carrying a foreign bond one proclaimed by the Shadowfang King himself. Do you accept this bond, or do you renounce it?"
My throat tightens. The word "renounce" tastes bitter. To renounce would be to sever the bond before my wolf ever knows it an act of violence against my own blood.
I lift my chin. "I do not renounce what I do not yet understand." My voice echoes in the hush.
A murmur ripples around the chamber. Kael's jaw twitches, but he stays silent. Mother's lips press together. Father's hand rests on my shoulder, steady.
Elder Harvan leans forward, hooked cane tapping the floor. "Your Majesty," he addresses me formally, "the king's claim is not to be taken lightly. Yet you have shown no sign of the mate bond. Your wolf sleeps. Why should we honor a bond you cannot feel?"
I draw a breath, summoning the courage I didn't know I had. "Because the bond exists beyond feeling. It is woven in blood and fate. I have felt its weight. an ache in my bones, dreams that are not mine, and the taste of ash on my tongue."
Grandmother's gaze sharpens. "You speak of dreams and visions. Do you claim to have seen the king?"
I nod. "In my sleep. He spoke my name. He warned me of fire and ash. I cannot ignore it."
Elder Myra, her silver hair braided with wolf claws, frowns. "Visions are fickle. They may be tricks of fear or magic."
"Or they may be warnings," Ezren interjects, voice steady. "I heard her scream at dawn. She awoke in terror, clutching the air. Something is stirring in her."
A tense silence follows. Grandmother Ilyra closes her eyes, as if listening to something only she can hear. When she speaks again, her voice is softer. "Seraphina, child, do you wish to take your place beside King Lucien Thorne? To become his mate in name and in bond?"
My heart hammers. Every instinct screams that I should refuse yet something deeper, darker, calls me to accept. I swallow. "If accepting it protects my pack, then yes. But if accepting it brings ruin, then I must find another way."
Elder Harvan's cane scrapes. "You hedge your answer."
"I will not marry a king who would see me as a trophy," I say, eyes blazing. "But I will not betray my blood or my fate."
Mother's hand closes over mine. "We asked for honesty, Sera. You have given it."
Grandmother nods slowly. "Very well. We shall put it to vote."
One by one, the elders rise and speak their verdict:
Elder Harvan "Renounce the bond or be exiled."
Elder Myra "Accept the bond, but demand compensation from the Shadow court .
Elder Corin "Break the bond with magic remove the king's claim."
Elder Ilyra (Grandmother) "Accept the bond and send our daughter to the Summit of Thorns, to be tried by the king himself."
The room erupts in heated debate. Kael slams his fist on the table. "You would hand her over like livestock?" he roars.
Mother rises, eyes blazing. "Seraphina is not cattle. But neither is she beyond the laws we swore to uphold."
I step forward, heart racing. "Enough!" My voice cracks the tension. "I will go to the Summit of Thorns. I will stand before Lucien and demand my freedom or embrace the bond. But I will not be exiled, I will not be sacrificed, and I will notbe a pawn in petty power plays."
The elders fall silent. Grandmother studies me, as though weighing my soul. Finally, she nods. "So be it. You shall ride to the Summit of Thorns in seven nights' time, accompanied by your brothers and the Blackguard escort. There, the king will decide."
A cheer rises from some, a groan from others. I exhale, relief and dread mingling in my chest. Seven nights until I stand before Lucien again alone, save for the steel of my sword and the questions burning in my mind.
---
That evening, I wander the battlements alone. The moon is a slender crescent, hanging like a sickle in the sky. Below, the pack's torches flicker. I lean on the stone parapet, wind tangling my hair, and close my eyes.
A soft breath of air no, two. I spin, expecting an attacker. But it's only Ezren, coming up the stairs with a lantern.
"You should be resting," I say.
He shakes his head. "I couldn't sleep. Not after today."
I study his face in the lantern glow youthful, earnest, terrified for me. "I'm scared too."
He steps closer, hesitates, then places a hand on my arm. "You'll be all right. You have strength. And you're not alone."
I smile wanly. "Thank you."
He nods, and for a moment, I think he might say more. But the wind whips his hair and he turns away.
Alone again, I press my palm to the cold stone. The night air whispers through the runes etched into the walls. I feel their pulse, a heartbeat in the rock. It matches mine.
A distant howl drifts across the valley a wolf's lament. Beneath it, I catch a second note: the echo of my vision, distant and haunting.
I close my eyes, letting the sound wash over me. It resonates in my bones, stirring memories I can't place.
I open my eyes and stare into the dark. The vision lingers fire and ash, a throne of antlers, Lucien's silver eyes.
But still, my wolf sleeps.
And so must I.
The air stilled around me, thick with the weight of something ancient. The crowd faded. The hall dimmed. All I could hear was the pulse in my ears and the name echoing through the blood-red mist of the vision.
Lucien Thorne.
It didn't echo like a whisper. No, it cracked like lightning—deep, resonant, final.
I jolted, the name burning through me like silver fire. My hands trembled, the goblet slipping from my grasp and shattering against the marble floor. Gasps erupted, but they sounded far away, muffled behind the storm raging in my chest.
Lucien Thorne.
The name curled in my mind like a curse I was never meant to utter. My heart thundered, an uneven beat that made my skin prickle and my knees threaten to buckle.
Why that name?
The vision had been warped, otherworldly. Red mist. Crimson light. And a throne of bones, high above a sea of blood. He stood tall and cruel atop it, wearing darkness like a crown. His eyes—those eyes—had branded me. Golden, glowing, godless.
And then his name was called.
The truth settled in my bones with a sickening certainty. The Lycan King. Lucien Thorne. The same man who ruled the northern dominions with brutality. The one who had never taken a mate, never bowed to tradition. The very embodiment of death and domination.
My mate?