The vial pulsed in her hand like a heartbeat.
Celina sat cross-legged on the cold floor of her chamber, the vial of Witchbane cradled in her palm, glowing faintly beneath the moonlight. Elias had said it would "awaken her" but awaken what?
Her magic?
Her wolf?
Or the curse tied to her death?
The air around her thickened as the Blood Moon climbed higher into the sky, staining the clouds crimson. Her wolf scratched beneath her skin, pacing, whispering, restless.
Her memories began to unravel like threads.
She remembered the moment Darius marked her under the old moon tree. The warmth in his eyes. The vow he whispered.
"I will protect you, even from the world itself."
Lies.
She clenched the vial tighter, nearly shattering the glass.
He had looked her in the eye when the flames devoured her.
He hadn't flinched.
And now… he didn't recognize her, yet he felt her. Claimed her. Called her "mine."
The irony stung like a blade to the throat.
But the worst part?
She could still feel the mate bond raw, furious, and alive.
She needed to destroy it before it destroyed her again.
The knock at her door came just before dawn.
Celina tucked the vial away and opened it to find Beta Lennox, Darius's second-in-command, tall and grim with deep scars across his jaw.
"You're needed," he said, his tone unreadable.
"For what?" she mouthed, pretending the same mute fear Lyra always carried.
He didn't answer.
He led her toward the northern cliffs the ritual ground. The same place she'd had her first vision. The same place she had been marked.
When they arrived, the sun had not yet risen, but torches surrounded the field, casting eerie light across the clearing.
Wolves stood in a circle, their heads bowed in silence.
And in the center Darius.
Shirtless again, blood smeared across his chest in old runes, his claws out, his eyes glowing.
A test.
Of loyalty?
Of power?
Of what?
She was shoved forward.
"Step into the ring," the shaman announced. "By order of the Alpha, the accused will now face the Rite of Scent."
Celina's heart nearly stopped.
The Rite of Scent an ancient test to determine deception. The Alpha would release his wolf fully. If the subject's scent changed under the weight of it, she would be labeled a traitor.
She had lived through this once.
It had failed her before.
This time, she had to beat it.
She stepped into the circle.
Darius didn't look at her his wolf had taken over, chest rising, eyes glowing like molten gold. His voice, when it came, was not human.
"Who are you?"
The wind howled around her.
The wolves surrounding them began to growl, shifting one by one. The energy crackled.
"Who are you?" he demanded again, stepping closer.
Celina remained perfectly still. Her heart thundered, but her expression didn't change. Her scent Lyra's scent had to hold.
Darius closed the space between them in a blink, his nose brushing her neck, his breath hot against her ear.
"Why do I feel you when I touch you?" he whispered, only for her to hear.
She didn't move.
His claws grazed her wrist.
Then he froze.
A jolt passed through both of them. The bond flared just a flicker but it was enough to make his wolf shudder.
He stepped back.
Staring.
Shaken.
"…End the Rite," he growled, voice hollow.
The shaman blinked. "Alpha?"
"She's not lying."
He turned his back and left the circle, the wolves parting for him as he passed, confusion etched in their faces.
Celina stood in the center, breathless.
She had won.
For now.
But he had felt it.
The bond.
The spark.
The crack in his certainty.
Good.
Let him break.
Later that evening, Celina wandered toward the lake on the edge of Raventhorn territory. The moonlight danced on the surface as she stared at her reflection not Lyra's frail form, but the fire behind her own eyes.
She pulled the vial of Witchbane from her pocket.
Her fingers trembled.
Once she drank it, there would be no turning back.
Her magic suppressed and tangled in this fragile body would return.
But so would the memories. The pain. The curse.
She popped the lid and drank.
The effect was instant.
Agony exploded in her chest.
Her wolf howled inside her, not in pain but in recognition.
Memories surged.
The day Seraphina found the cursed relic and lied about it.
The night she overheard the prophecy "The oracle shall rise again, deathless, cursed, and crowned in flame."
The moment she realized her sister had traded her for power.
And in the center of it all Darius.
Standing beside Seraphina when the council condemned her.
Choosing the wrong side.
She screamed, but no sound came out.
Her body collapsed by the lake, magic pulsing through her veins like wildfire.
And then… silence.
She awoke in a warm room. Too warm. The scent surrounding her was all too familiar.
Darius.
He was beside her.
Asleep. Sitting against the wall. His hand loosely held hers.
She tried to move, but he stirred.
His eyes opened slowly and locked onto hers.
"…You were convulsing," he murmured. "I brought you here."
She blinked.
"I thought you were going to die."
Celina didn't speak.
He leaned closer.
"You remind me of someone I lost once," he whispered. "Someone I failed."
Her heart stopped.
He was remembering.
Not with certainty.
But his soul was pulling pieces together.
And the bond between them it was no longer asleep.
It was waking.
Just like her power.
Just like her plan.
The fire was building again.
And this time… she would not be the one to