Elara pov.
The moon was a sickle of sharp silver above the Shadowlands, but Alpha Roland had spoken of a "second moon."
Elara changed into the simple, dark tunic and trousers Inez had laid out sturdy clothes meant for movement, not for display.
The golden salve had done its work, leaving her skin faintly warm and tingling, a sensation that fought against the deep, familiar fatigue of the Witch's Bane.
When she left the East Wing, two Sentinels met her.
They were immense, but unlike Richard's guards, who had conveyed threat, these wolves projected absolute, silent protection.
They didn't speak; they moved.
The journey led them deep into the mansion's sprawling grounds, away from the manicured lawns and into the wild, dense forest that gave the territory its name.
The air was colder here, rich with the scent of pine, damp earth, and a potent, ancient energy.
They stopped at a clearing carved out of a cluster of immense, blackened stones.
The space felt like a natural amphitheater, crackling with power.
And there, standing at the center, was Roland.
He had shed his suit jacket, the white button-down shirt stretched taut across the intimidating breadth of his chest and shoulders.
He wasn't just big; he was pure, hard muscle, radiating an aura so dominant it was physically suffocating. In the light of the waning moon, his presence was overwhelming.
The moment he saw her, the invisible thread that had connected them since the altar tightened with a painful, dizzying force.
That strange ease she had felt earlier returned, but it was now laced with an overwhelming, dangerous pull, the instinct to run to him, to bow, to simply be near him.
"You're late," Roland stated, his voice quiet, yet it carried the weight of a decree.
"The guards were silent," Elara murmured, keeping her eyes fixed on the ground, remembering her role.
"Look at me, Elara."
She flinched at the use of her name.
When she lifted her gaze, she saw his eyes were shifting.
They were no longer black obsidian, but liquid gold, the color of his primal wolf.
The sight stole her breath.
Then she saw it: the second moon. Low on the horizon, a sphere of vibrant, pulsing cobalt blue, shedding a strange, magical light over the clearing.
It didn't look real; it looked like power manifested.
"The Shadowlands runs on a massive ley-line," Roland explained, his voice rough.
"The energy here forces the magic to be visible.
That is the light we train under.
And this," he took a deliberate step toward her, his golden gaze locking onto hers, "is how we begin."
He didn't touch her, but his proximity was a physical force.
"Richard's torture worked because it suppressed your wolf's life force.
The only thing stronger than the Bane is the mate-bond."
Elara gasped as he closed the final distance.
He didn't embrace her or strike her; he simply placed his hands on her waist, his thumbs pressing against the thin fabric of her shirt, directly over her kidneys, the place where a wolf shift begins.
The fire of his hands scorched her skin.
"Your wolf is mine, Elara," he growled, the possessiveness primal, raw, and undeniable. "And mine is yours.
The Bane forces you to stay weak, but your mate's dominance is an Alpha order your wolf must obey.
It's the only way to break the sickness. Fight me."
"I don't know how to fight," she whispered, her body trembling, pulled simultaneously toward submission and sudden, violent resistance.
"You do," he insisted. "Feel the instinct. Focus on the core of your being, that part Richard hated. Picture the symbols from the book.
Let the Moonfall pendant be the key. And when you feel the fear of change, focus on me.
That is the anchor."
He exerted pressure, not painful, but insistent, challenging. "Wake up, Elara. Shift."
Elara screamed, not from fear, but from the agonizing internal pressure.
Her muscles clenched, her bones felt liquid, and the world spun into a dizzying rush of sound and scent. She saw the four geometric symbols flash across her mind's eye: Water, Fire, Air, Earth. She focused on Roland's eyes, the golden light of his power, and the scent of his smoke, cold stone, and fierce, protective love.
A loud, shattering crack echoed in the clearing.
It wasn't Elara's bones. It was the stone ground beneath her feet. She had blasted a fissure into the granite.
Alpha Roland pov.
Roland braced himself against the furious, chaotic blast of energy that erupted from his mate.
It was a dizzying mix of brute wolf force and raw, untamed magic the true power of the hybrid, dormant for two decades.
The force almost threw him back, but he held fast, anchoring her.
It's working.
The bond is stronger than the Bane.
He felt her fear, her pain, and the wild, exhilarating freedom of her power being unleashed, and it nearly sent his own powerful wolf over the edge.
His control was paper thin. His wolf demanded he take her now, complete the bond, and ease the pain of the transition.
"Focus, Elara! Not on the power, on the anchor!" he roared, his voice cracking with the strain of keeping his own wolf leashed.
Elara's eyes, wide with panic, locked onto his.
She seemed to see past the Alpha, past the Devil, to the mate struggling beneath. She took a ragged breath.
The chaotic energy receded slightly, stabilizing.
The fissure in the ground remained, smoking faintly in the magical blue light.
The shift had been aborted, but the breakthrough was undeniable. The Witch's Bane was broken.
She was raw, exhausted, but her true self was awake.
Roland gently released her waist, stepping back before his control shattered completely.
He was shaking, the smell of her emerging power driving him insane with need and fear.
"It's enough for tonight," he rasped, his eyes still burning gold.
"The Bane is fractured. It will take time to fully clear your system, but the suppression is over."
He turned to the darkness, his powerful senses tracking something in the distance. The scent was faint, metallic, and carried on the wind from the south.
"Alpha," Cassian's voice crackled through the comms embedded in Roland's wrist band. "Sentinel Gideon just reported in.
The Coven has been spotted crossing the borders in the south, far earlier than anticipated.
They are moving with military intent."
Roland cursed under his breath.
They were too late.
The breakthrough had drawn them in.
He looked back at Elara, whose face was pale but determined.
She was no longer a slave.
She was a hybrid weapon, unstable and desperately powerful.
"We have company, Luna," Roland said, scooping up his jacket.
"The Devil keeps his bargains.
The Sun Coven is here, and they know the Moonfall hybrid is on my land."
He threw her a look that held the entirety of his conflicted soul: a promise, a warning, and a primal devotion.
"Get back to the East Wing.
And prepare yourself.
The war starts now."
Roland's secret training has broken the magical suppression, but the sudden energy release has alerted the Sun Coven, forcing a confrontation far sooner than anticipated!