Chapter Three: Velvet and Vengeance
"Break the curse… or destroy the bloodline."
Luna stared at him, words failing her. The guest room felt suddenly smaller, the air heavy.
Dominic DeLuca stood there, still dressed in his black shirt and leather jacket, shadows pooling around his boots like spilled ink. He seemed composed. In control.
But Luna noticed it—just under the surface.
Panic. Regret. A flicker of something human.
"You're lying," she managed to whisper.
"I wish I were."
She backed away until her shoulders met the wall. Her blade lay on the nightstand, and her hands itched to grab it—not to harm him, but to have something solid to hold onto.
Because right now, everything was falling apart.
"Elena never told me anything about a prophecy."
"Maybe she thought she was protecting you."
"By keeping me in the dark?"
"Or maybe," Dominic said gently, "she was scared of what you'd do if you knew."
Luna swallowed hard. "You knew this whole time?"
"No. I just found out recently." He paused. "My father told me before he died. Right after the last blood moon."
"What else did he say?"
Dominic's eyes locked onto hers.
"That if I ever met you… I would have a choice. Either kill you… or love you."
Her breath caught in her throat.
"What did you choose?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I don't know yet."
She stared at him, too shocked and exhausted to reply or challenge him.
Everything felt raw.
The next morning, the DeLuca estate woke up to an atmosphere thick with tension. Guards moved in tighter formations, and voices dropped to hushed tones. Something was brewing, and Luna could tell it wasn't good.
She stood by the window, wearing a robe that felt too soft for her taste, sipping coffee laced with bitter herbs that Elena had taught her to use for clarity. The city remained shrouded in mist, but inside her, a storm was brewing.
Dominic hadn't slept a wink. She heard him pacing the hall long after their conversation. Wolves aren't known for their easy sleep. Neither are girls burdened with dead families and cursed bloodlines.
Turning from the window, she let the robe slip slightly off her shoulder. She wasn't dressing up for him, but she wasn't about to hide either. If she was caught up in some ancient prophecy, she'd face it head-on, with sharp eyeliner and bared teeth.
She stepped into the hall, making her way toward the east wing where, according to the guard she'd bribed with a whisper and a curse, the DeLuca family kept their archives.
She wanted the truth. All of it.
The archive was colder than the rest of the house.
Stone floors. Dusty shelves. Books that predated cities. The air smelled of leather and power.
Luna let her fingers dance over the spines of grimoires, family journals, and werewolf treatises penned in Latin. And then—there it was.
La Profezia della Luna Spezzata.
The Prophecy of the Broken Moon.
She pulled it from the shelf and opened the brittle pages.
"Quando il sangue della lupa e del cacciatore si fonderanno, nascerà una scelta: spezzare il giuramento della luna… o infrangere ogni lignaggio antico."
When the blood of the she-wolf and the hunter merge, a choice is born: break the moon's curse… or shatter every ancient lineage."
Luna's hands trembled.
Hunter.
Her mother used to call her piccola cacciatrice. Little hunter.
And Dominic, he was of the cursed lupani.
The prophecy wasn't some metaphor.
It was real.
"You shouldn't be down here," a voice cut through her thoughts.
She turned around.
A woman stood in the doorway, tall and elegant, with silver streaks in her dark hair and eyes that resembled old bruises. She wore a black suit and carried herself like a queen in exile.
"Let me guess," Luna said. "You're Dominic's evil stepmother?"
The woman didn't smile. "Zia. Aunt. Vittoria DeLuca. And yes, I guess I've earned that title."
Luna didn't lower the book. "Are you here to stop me?"
"No. I'm here to warn you."
"Is that what everyone does in this house? Warn me, threaten me, seduce me?"
Vittoria raised an eyebrow. "Has he seduced you yet?"
Luna blinked.
"Careful," Vittoria said, stepping forward. "The curse doesn't care about timing. Only blood. Only fate. And desire has a way of making fools out of all of us."
Luna closed the book. "I'm not afraid of fate."
"Then you're not paying attention."
She found Dominic on the rooftop just before sunset.
He was shirtless, scars cutting across his back like a language she hadn't learned yet.
The skyline of Verona loomed behind him—beautiful, broken, glowing with the last light of day.
"You didn't tell me it would kill us," she said.
He didn't turn around. "I didn't think you'd stick around."
"Why would our blood destroy the bloodlines?"
"It's more than just blood. It's the bond."
Now he faced her.
His eyes—stormy and shadowed.
"Wolves don't mate halfway. Once we mark, we're bound together. Magic doesn't like what it can't control. It burns everything down."
Luna stepped closer.
"You think we're fated?"
"I think we're dangerous."
Her voice lowered. "So mark me."
Dominic's eyes flashed gold.
"Don't joke about that," he growled.
"Who's joking?"
"Luna."
She was just inches away from him now.
"I've seen how you handle those who threaten you. What about those who tempt you?"
"You think you tempt me?" he asked, his voice rough.
"I know I do."
She leaned in slowly, like a knife slipping into flesh, brushing her lips across his jaw.
His breath hitched.
And then—he was gone.
Fast as a ghost, backing away like she'd struck him.
"I won't," he said. "I can't. Because if I start…"
His chest rose and fell, the wolf lurking just beneath the surface.
"…I won't stop."
She held his gaze. "Good."
And then—
He was in front of her again, one hand gripping her waist, the other tangled in her hair. His breath was warm against her neck, his lips teasing her pulse.
"Tell me to stop," he whispered.
She didn't.
His mouth pressed lower, then back up, skimming her jaw, her cheekbone, her lips.
Her knees nearly buckled.
And then—
He pulled back.
Too quick. Too cruel.
Her lips were parted, her heart racing.
Dominic's voice was rough, broken.
"You make me weak."
And then he walked away.