The Witch Who Remembers Blood…..
....
The night Cassandra died, the earth did not rest. Not really. Not ever.
Far beyond the pack's borders, past the charred remains of villages, where forests lay twisted and silent, a figure moved with purpose. Her hair shimmered silver-white under the moon, tangled like frost in winter winds, framing a face carved by centuries of grief, rage, and patience. Her eyes glowed faintly, blue and cold as ice, the runes etched into her skin pulsing with a life of their own.
She knelt in a circle of ash and bones, tracing sigils with precise, deliberate motions. The wind bent around her as if in fear, carrying whispers that only she could hear. The sound of Cassandra's broken mate bond had reached her like a siren's call, luring her forward, filling the night with a song of vengeance and promise.
She smiled, sharp and cruel.
"Finally," she whispered, her voice soft yet slicing through the night. "Finally, the threads of fate have unraveled enough for me to act."
The ground beneath her shuddered as she pressed her palm to the soil. Roots writhed and shivered, reaching upward like serpents called from the grave.
"I warned you, Lorenzo," she hissed, each word dripping with centuries of bitterness. "You and your precious Beta… you destroyed everything we were. Every coven, every sister, every name… gone. Burned. Erased. And now, the debt comes due."
Her eyes glowed brighter, a blinding icy blue, as the ground responded to her fury. She whispered a chant older than the mountains, syllables vibrating with power and death.
"And now," she murmured, the air around her snapping and crackling, "I will give you something you cannot kill."
The earth split. Cracks ran through the soil like black lightning, spitting stones and dust into the air. Grey, gnarled hands clawed their way out of the graves, dragging decayed limbs behind them.
From the earth emerged wolves, but they were no wolves the world had ever seen. Their flesh was partially decomposed, their bones jutting jaggedly beneath rotting skin, yet they moved with terrifying precision. Their eyes glowed an unnatural blue, unblinking, empty of life but full of purpose,death incarnate.
Undead wolves, bound by blood magic, fueled by centuries of vengeance.
Each step they took shook the ground, their growls echoing with a hunger that could not be sated. The witch rose to her full height, her presence commanding the night itself, her power crackling like frost lightning.
"Bring me the White Wolf," she commanded, voice cold as the grave. "Bring me Elena. Tear the Alpha's world apart. Destroy everything he loves. Let him kneel before me, begging for a mercy he will never earn."
Miles away, Elena stirred in her bed. Her eyes flew open, the shadows of memory and fire crashing into her consciousness. The screams of past horrors, the blood, the smoke,they all surged into her mind at once.
Her wolf screamed inside her, disoriented, panicked. The bond flared violently, tugging her toward danger, toward the witch whose power had already begun to snake across the land like black lightning. Every nerve in her body screamed at her to run, yet the pull was undeniable. Danger called, and so did the Alpha.
Somewhere deep in the forests beyond, Lorenzo's senses flared. His wolf rumbled deep in his chest, snarling, claws digging into the earth. There was a disturbance, unnatural, wrong,energy that smelled of death, of magic that twisted the natural order. His golden eyes burned with fury, instinct sharpening every thought.
The witch had begun her army. The undead wolves would not rest until they had found the White Wolf and brought the Alpha to his knees.
And the war that had been simmering, threatening the edges of their world, was about to ignite into something far larger, far darker than any pack had faced before.
This was no longer a mere fight for survival. This was a reckoning.
A storm was coming, and its eye would be Elena.