35. Ashes And Blood.

LUCY’S POV

The room felt smaller than before.

Maybe it was the air....heavy, thick, pressing against my skin as if it wanted to push me out. Or maybe it was the sudden quiet. The witch hadn’t moved since my father lashed out earlier. She simply stood there, her long gray hair falling in loose ropes over her cloak, watching us like she was watching flames dance in a hearth.

I swallowed. My throat stung.

My father, Rowan, was still on the floor where the witch’s spell had forced him. His hands braced against the wooden planks, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. I had never seen him like that. Never. This was the man who commanded warriors. The man no council member dared raise their voice at. The man who taught me that to bow was weakness.

But now…

He was bowed.

And the witch watched him with no softness. No pity.

“Let him go,” I whispered.

The witch did not respond.

I stepped forward, palms trembling, though I tried to hide it.

“Please.” The word felt sour on my tongue, but it came out anyway. “Release him.”

Her eyes finally shifted to me.

They were pale...too pale...as if color had abandoned them ages ago. She lifted one finger. Just one. And as though gravity remembered him again, my father gasped and sat upright.

He was free.

He touched his chest as if ensuring his heart was still beating.

I expected him to stand. To gather his dignity and bark orders at me and the world again.

But instead…

He knelt.

Right there on the floor.

My father, Rowan, pride of his lineage, the man who raised me to never kneel to anyone....leaned forward and bowed his head to a witch.

“Please,” he said quietly.

“Help my daughter.”

I felt something crack inside my chest...not pain, not relief. Something stranger. Something raw.

I didn’t know if I wanted to cry or scream.

The witch didn’t speak immediately. She walked around us slowly, as though circling prey. Her steps were light, almost soundless, but each one felt loud in my head.

When she finally spoke, her voice was calm.

“It can be done.”

My breath caught.

My father lifted his head.

Hope rushed into me....hot, fierce, almost painful. It can be done.

That meant there was still a chance.

A chance that Adrian could look at me and feel something other than patience. Other than distance. Other than that empty ache of obligation.

My voice shook. “Tell me.”

The witch stopped in front of me. Close enough that I could see faint markings across her skin....symbols burned into her flesh, as ancient and unreadable as everything about her.

“The bond between Alpha and Luna is not something easily forced,” she said. “It is woven by spirit, by destiny, by the moon’s choice.”

My jaw clenched. I knew all this already. Everyone did. And yet… I still wanted to hear the solution.

“But,” the witch continued, “there are older ways. Darker ways. Ways that do not ask permission.”

My father nodded quickly. “We understand. Name it. We will do it.”

Her eyes flicked to him....just briefly....and then back to me.

“The Luna Mark,” she said slowly.

“The symbol that appears naturally when the Moon approves a mate… we will place it on you artificially.”

A fake Luna mark?

No.

Not fake.

Forced.

Made.

Taken.

My pulse hammered.

“Tattooed,” she clarified. “Carved into your skin and bound to your spirit. But not with ordinary ink.”

My father swallowed. “What is required?”

Her voice dropped.

“The ashes of a vampire general.”

The room suddenly felt colder.

I stared at her.

A vampire general. Not just any vampire. A commander. The strongest of their kind. The ones who led war bands in the old centuries. The ones even wolves feared.

They were rumored to be nearly extinct.

“And,” she added, “the blood of any werewolf. Strong or weak, it does not matter.”

My father stilled.

I stilled.

The witches’ expression did not change....not even slightly....as if she were telling us the cost of herbs, not a ritual that could start a war.

I exhaled a slow, shaky breath.

The ashes of a vampire general.

The blood of a werewolf.

Carving a mark into my skin without the moon’s blessing.

The weight of it hit me like something heavy dropped into my chest.

This wasn’t just dangerous.

This was forbidden.

This was war-level magic.

I felt my father’s gaze turn to me.

He didn’t say anything.

He didn’t have to.

The question was there.

Are you willing?

I thought of Adrian.

Of the way he refuses to look at me sometimes....as if my presence brings him pain instead of connection. Of the way his voice tightens when my name is spoken.

I thought of how he stood, resisting me like I was the enemy.

Of how his eyes softened once....only once....long ago.

Before everything got complicated.

I wanted that softness back.

No—I deserved it.

But beneath that… deeper…

There was something else.

Something quieter.

Something like a whisper I didn’t want to recognize:

What if he truly does not want you?

My throat tightened.

But I shoved the thought away.

I could be his Luna.

I had trained for it, lived for it, bled for it.

No one else had.

No other girl knew his world the way I did.

No one else had stood at his side through council meetings, diplomacy, corrections, expectations.

I earned the right to stand next to him.

So if destiny would not give it to me…

I would take it.

I lifted my chin.

“What must I do?” I asked, voice steady.

The witch smiled.

It wasn’t kind.

It wasn’t cruel.

It was simply knowing.

“We will speak of preparations tomorrow,” she said. “Tonight, go home. Rest. You will need strength for the days ahead.”

I nodded.

My father exhaled as if he had been holding his breath the whole time.

We stood. The witch didn’t follow us or dismiss us. She simply turned away, moving back into the deeper shadows of her dwelling, as though she dissolved into them.

We walked out in silence.

The wind hit my face first....cool, sharp, real.

The moon hung high, pale and bright.

My father did not speak.

Neither did I.

Not yet.

But inside my chest, my resolve had already hardened.

If destiny refused me…

Then destiny would learn to bow.