Kael's hand hovered over the vial, his fingers barely touching Lyra's. Even that light brush sent a jolt through her, an arc of heat and something deeper, more dangerous. She pulled her hand back instinctively, and the vial clinked softly against the glass bottle on her hip. Kael said nothing, but his crimson eyes didn't leave hers.
Lyra stepped back, needing space to breathe, to think. The energy around him was suffocating,too raw, too wild. She had spent years building walls to contain her power, to protect herself from the very thing that Kael seemed to wear like armor: untamed magic.
"You've felt it too," she said. "The pull."
He turned from her then, his gaze sweeping across the trees like he was watching for something, or someone.
"I feel many things," Kael replied, his voice rough. "Pain. Rage. The beast claws to get out every time the moon turns red. That pull you speak of? It's not fate. It's the curse."
Lyra frowned. "It's more than that. The prophecy says—"
"I know what it says," he snapped, turning sharply. "That I'm to die before the last Crimson Moon rises unless the curse is broken. That a witch-born wolf will be the one to either save me… or end me."
The words struck her like a slap, and for a moment, she couldn't breathe. She had known, of course. She'd read the same prophecy scrawled in her mother's grimoire, hidden among spells and blood-sealed secrets. But hearing it from his mouth, spoken like a sentence, like her sentence, made it real.
"And you think I'm that wolf," she said, voice barely above a whisper.
Kael looked at her for a long, heavy moment. "Aren't you?"
Lyra didn't answer. Instead, she turned away from him and stepped further into the clearing. Her boots crushed dried leaves, but she barely heard them. The magic in the air was growing, rising like a tide. Her instincts screamed at her, run, hide, fight. But something deeper held her still.
Behind her, Kael spoke again, quieter this time. "You have your own reasons for being here. So do I. But know this, Lyra Vale… the curse doesn't just bind me. It changes me. And the longer you stay, the more danger you're in."
She turned to face him, her voice steady. "Good. I'm tired of running."
Kael blinked. Something flickered behind his eyes,respect, maybe. Or wariness. She couldn't tell which.
The wind shifted suddenly, carrying with it the scent of ash.
Kael stiffened.
Lyra noticed it a beat later: the acrid tang of something burning. A plume of smoke curled into the sky beyond the treetops. Kael's nostrils flared, and in a flash, the calm in him was gone, replaced by cold fury.
"They found us," he growled.
"Who?" Lyra asked, already moving to his side.
Kael's jaw tightened. "Hunters."
A chill raced down her spine. "But they're not supposed to enter this territory. The pact—"
"Was broken weeks ago," Kael said darkly. "They want the blood of cursed wolves. Mine. And if they find you…" He didn't finish the sentence.
Lyra didn't need him to.
The crack of branches echoed through the woods, closer now. Figures emerged from the shadows, cloaked in dark armor, their eyes gleaming with cold resolve. They carried blades laced with wolfsbane, and their boots moved with practiced silence.
Kael shifted in front of her, his form tensing.
"Stay behind me," he ordered.
Lyra narrowed her eyes and stepped to his side. "I don't take orders well."
He glanced at her, something like reluctant amusement tugging at his mouth. "Of course you don't."
Then the first hunter lunged.
Kael met him mid-stride, moving like a shadow, his claws slicing through the night. Another came from the left, but Lyra was already chanting, her fingers glowing with moonlight. The magic surged from her, a silver shockwave that knocked the assailant into a tree with a sickening crack.
Kael paused for half a second, eyes flicking toward her.
"That… was unexpected."
Lyra raised a brow. "You're welcome."
But more were coming.
Too many.
Kael's breath came fast now, his voice deeper, rougher. "If I shift, I might not come back."
She turned to him, heart thundering. "I'll bring you back."
He stared at her, the trust hanging in the air like a live wire. Then he nodded once and let go.
His body twisted, bones cracking, fur erupting from skin. The Crimson Alpha was unleashed.
And beside him, Lyra called upon the blood magic hidden in her veins.
The forest would remember this night.
The night fate claimed them both.
The ground was soaked with moonlight and blood.
Kael stood in the center of the clearing, massive in his wolf form, fur the color of dried blood, eyes glowing like embers. The bodies of hunters lay scattered around him, and the metallic scent of wolfsbane lingered in the air like a curse. But he wasn't moving. Not anymore.
He trembled.
Not from exhaustion, but from the battle between man and beast raging beneath his skin.
Lyra stepped carefully over a broken sword, her boots crunching the scorched grass. Her body ached from magic overuse, her fingertips still tingling from the spell she had cast, but her focus never left Kael.
He was losing control.
"Kael," she called softly.
A low growl answered her. His massive head turned in her direction, but the eyes staring back weren't his. Not fully. The red glow pulsed with rage and confusion. His claws scraped against the stone beneath him, and his breath came in sharp, guttural pants.
He was fighting it, but not winning.
"You know me," she said, voice low, steady. "I'm not the enemy."
He lunged.
Not at her, but past her. A final hunter, hiding in the shadows, had drawn a dagger, silver-tipped, aimed for her heart. Kael tore him down with savage force, teeth ripping through armor and bone in a blur of crimson.
Silence followed. Thick. Drenched in the scent of death and magic.
And then Kael collapsed.
His form shifted violently, fur receding, bones cracking, reshaping. Within seconds, the massive beast was gone, and in its place lay a man, bare, bloodstained, and breathing hard.
Lyra rushed to him, slipping her cloak from her shoulders to drape it over his body. His skin was ice-cold, slick with sweat. His eyes, now their normal deep crimson, flickered open.
"You stayed," he rasped.
"You came back," she whispered.
He gave a weak smile. "Barely."
She helped him sit up, her hand brushing against his bare shoulder. The bond between them throbbed beneath her skin, an invisible tether that pulsed with strange warmth. Magic. Prophecy. Something more.
Kael flinched. "You shouldn't have seen that."
"I've seen worse," she lied.
"No," he said, voice hoarse. "You haven't."
Lyra didn't argue. Instead, she opened the pouch at her hip and drew a small crystal vial, the same one that had led her to him. The liquid inside shimmered, humming softly.
"The prophecy said this would help," she murmured. "But I don't know how yet."
Kael stared at it, then at her. "What are you?"
She hesitated. "Witch-born. Wolf by blood. My mother hid me from both worlds."
His expression darkened. "You're not just witch-born, Lyra. You carry moonfire. It's rare. Dangerous."
She nodded. "I know."
"That's why they want you too," he muttered. "The hunters. The council. Everyone."
She nodded again, slower this time. "And that's why I need your help."
Kael blinked. "You came to save me."
"I did," she admitted. "But I also came because I'm cursed too. I hear the Moon's voice. I see pieces of what's coming. I'm being pulled into something bigger than myself, and I can't outrun it alone."
A heavy silence fell between them.
Then Kael reached up, touching the edge of her jaw. "Then we don't run."
Their eyes locked, two souls shaped by pain, bound by prophecy, and standing on the edge of something neither fully understood.
The wind stirred again.
The Moon whispered.
And the blood they had spilled sealed a bond that would change the fate of their world.