Nymera's POV
Astra's voice sliced through the mist like a whip.
"Going somewhere?" she repeated, smiling wide enough to show her sharp canines.
Kaelith stepped in front of me, body tense, blood dripping from his wounded arm. His wolf still rippled under his skin, barely held back.
We were surrounded.
The Elders' warriors fanned out in a tight ring, blocking every exit. There was no fighting our way out. Not tonight.
"You have no authority!" Kaelith barked, his voice rough with fury. "This is treason against the royal bloodline!"
The nearest Elder—a gaunt man with eyes like cold iron—stepped forward.
"The Council has spoken," he said. "Nymera Benardine is to be taken into custody for crimes against the Crescent Moon Pack."
"Crimes?" I rasped, stunned. "I didn't—"
"Silence!" the Elder snapped. "You bring death. You bring division. You are a curse upon us all."
Astra's eyes gleamed with satisfaction.
"Take her," the Elder commanded.
Kaelith lunged—but six warriors tackled him at once, forcing him to the ground. He roared, fighting like a wild thing, but they outnumbered him.
Two warriors grabbed me roughly by the arms.
"No!" Kaelith shouted, struggling against the weight of them. "Don't touch her!"
I was yanked away, dragged toward the waiting Elders as Kaelith's roars echoed behind me.
I fought, kicking and twisting, but it was no use.
"You'll regret this," Kaelith spat, blood running down his face. "The Goddess herself will punish you!"
But the Elders didn't flinch.
Their verdict had already been written.
The Council chamber reeked of cold stone and old blood.
They shoved me to my knees in the center of the circular room, bound my hands behind my back. Kaelith was nowhere in sight. I didn't know if he was dead or still fighting.
The Elders sat in their high chairs, faces hidden behind silver masks. Watching. Judging.
The High Priestess, cloaked in midnight blue, rose from her throne.
"Nymera Benardine," she intoned, "you stand accused of treason against your pack. Of consorting with enemies. Of sowing death among our ranks."
"I didn't!" My voice cracked. "I swear it!"
Murmurs rippled through the chamber—disgust, disbelief. No one believed me. Not anymore.
"Enough," the High Priestess said coldly. "Your fate shall be decided by the sacred rite."
The floor beneath me rumbled.
A circle of glowing runes burst to life around me, pulsing with cruel light.
"The Moonfire Trial," the High Priestess declared. "If you are innocent, the fire shall pass over you harmlessly. If guilty—"
She didn't need to finish.
The punishment was death.
My heart thundered against my ribs. There was no time to beg. No one to save me.
The runes flared brighter. I felt the heat rising.
Across the chamber, Astra leaned casually against a pillar, arms folded, watching with a satisfied smirk.
This was it.
I was going to die.
Unless—
I bit my tongue until I tasted blood, forcing my mind to clear. My father had once whispered something, long ago: Power lives where fear dies.
I sucked in a breath and forced myself to stand.
If I was going to die, it wouldn't be on my knees.
The High Priestess raised her arms.
"Let the trial begin," she said.
The fire surged toward me, a wall of white-hot heat.
I closed my eyes.
Then—
A roar shook the chamber.
The massive oak doors exploded inward.
Standing there, framed by the smoke and chaos, was Dain Marcus.
Alive. Bloody. Furious.
And not alone.
Behind him, dozens of MoonBlood warriors poured into the chamber, weapons drawn, eyes blazing.
Panic erupted. Warriors screamed. Elders shouted. The fire wavered, the runes sputtering as the ancient magic cracked under the intrusion.
Dain stalked forward like death itself.
"No one touches her," he growled, voice low and deadly. "Not while I breathe."
The High Priestess paled beneath her hood.
"This is an act of war!" she cried.
"So be it," Dain said—and in a flash, he shifted.
A giant black wolf, eyes burning silver.
The MoonBlood pack attacked.
Chaos swallowed the Council chamber.
Screams. Metal against metal. Blood splattering the stone.
Someone cut my bindings. I stumbled to my feet, spinning to find Kaelith beside me, bloodied but alive.
"Come on!" he shouted.
He grabbed my hand and pulled me through the chaos.
We raced across the broken floor, dodging spells and flying weapons, slipping through the gaps as the warriors clashed around us.
Almost there—almost—
A scream tore through the air.
Astra.
I looked back—and froze.
She had Kaelith's dagger pressed against the throat of a small boy—one of the MoonBlood pups who had followed Dain inside.
"Stop!" Astra shrieked, dragging the boy closer. His tiny fists pounded against her, but she held fast. "Or he dies!"
The battle slowed, the warriors hesitating.
Dain shifted back into human form, blood running down his chest. His face was stone.
"Let him go," Dain said, voice like a winter storm.
Astra laughed—shrill, desperate. "I'll trade. The brat for Nymera."
I stared at her, heart splitting in two.
If I surrendered, maybe the boy would live. Maybe.
But Astra would kill me.
If I didn't—
She pressed the blade tighter against the child's throat.
"Choose, Nymera!" she screamed. "Now!"
Everyone stared at me.
Waiting.
Expecting.
And for the first time, I realized—
This was never just about survival.
This was about who I was going to be.
Broken. Or something more.
I stepped forward, ignoring the hands that tried to hold me back.
"I'll do it," I said, voice steady.
Dain's eyes widened. "Nymera, no—"
But I was already moving.
Toward Astra. Toward the blade. Toward whatever death waited for me.
Because if I didn't fight for them—if I didn't fight for myself—then Astra had already won.
One step. Two.
I could see the madness in Astra's eyes now. The cracks. She wasn't stable. She wasn't in control.
Three steps.
The boy whimpered.
Four steps.
Close enough.
I locked eyes with the boy—and mouthed a single word.
Run.
The boy understood.
At the exact moment I lunged forward, driving my shoulder into Astra's chest.
The dagger slashed across my arm—but the boy slipped free, bolting toward Dain.
I crashed to the ground with Astra, grappling for the blade.
She shrieked, twisting like a snake, but rage gave me strength.
I pinned her wrist down, forcing the knife out of her hand.
Astra hissed at me, her face twisted in hatred.
"You should have stayed nothing," she spat.
"I'm not nothing," I whispered back.
And then—behind her—Dain moved.
Quick as a shadow.
Before Astra could react, he pressed his blade to her throat.
"Enough," he said coldly.
And this time, Astra didn't fight.
She just laughed.
Low. Broken. Terrifying.
"You think it's over?" she whispered.
Her eyes flicked toward the Elders—toward a hooded figure I hadn't noticed before.
"You have no idea what's coming."
The hooded figure raised a crossbow—
—and fired straight at Dain.