Chapter 4

The attic was dark, except for the weak moonlight filtering through the small window. Seraphina didn’t move. She didn’t breathe. The creak of the floorboard behind her rang louder than a gunshot in the silence.

She gripped the silver dagger in her hand, heart pounding so hard it drowned out every other sound.

Another creak. Closer.

She spun, slashing blindly.

The blade met nothing but air.

A low growl echoed near the stairs.

Seraphina backed into the farthest corner of the attic, the dagger raised in front of her. “I don’t know who you are,” she said, voice trembling. “But I swear I will fight you.”

The creature stepped into view.

It wasn’t fully wolf. It wasn’t fully human, either. Its face was sharp and angular, with matted dark fur clinging to its arms and neck. Its claws dragged against the attic floor, leaving shallow grooves in the wood.

But it was the eyes—those glowing red eyes—that locked her in place.

“Little moonborn,” the creature rasped. Its voice was layered—like more than one thing was speaking at once.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“Blood,” it whispered. “Your blood wakes the others.”

And then it lunged.

Seraphina threw herself to the side, the dagger catching its shoulder. The creature shrieked, black ichor hissing where silver met flesh. It slammed into a shelf, knocking over boxes and sending dust into the air.

She scrambled down the stairs, nearly falling as she hit the hallway.

The creature was already recovering.

She sprinted for the front door—but it burst inward before she reached it.

Lucien stood in the doorway, eyes blazing gold, body halfway shifted.

“Move!” he shouted.

The sound of breaking glass jolted Seraphina into motion. She spun around, nearly dropping the journal.

“They’re in the house!” she shouted.

Lucien was already charging through the hallway, his massive wolf form crashing into the intruder with a force that shook the walls. The two tumbled across the living room in a mess of claws and snarls. Seraphina barely had time to see what it was—another Marked, leaner and faster than the first, with a twisted grin frozen on its semi-human face.

She bolted for the stairs.

Something grabbed her ankle.

She screamed and kicked wildly. Another creature—this one crawling from beneath the porch, dragging itself through the broken floorboards like a spider. It bared its jagged teeth, its eyes a soulless black.

She drove the silver dagger into its wrist.

It shrieked, smoke rising from its skin, and let go. Seraphina didn’t hesitate—she ran, half-limping, half-flying up the stairs.

Behind her, the growling intensified. Wood cracked. Furniture smashed.

A body thudded against the wall.

She dove into the attic and slammed the door shut, jamming a chair under the handle. Her hands shook as she turned to the chest, yanking out every item her grandmother had left. She didn’t know what most of them did—but one of them had to help.

There was a bundle of sage. A tiny, dried serpent skull. A vial of silver powder.

And then—a page she hadn’t seen before. Tucked inside the back cover of the journal.

It was written in her grandmother’s handwriting, but messier—frantic. The ink smudged, almost like it had been written in a rush.

“If the Hollowborn breach the veil, only blood and name can seal the path again. She must speak the words. She must know who she is.”

Seraphina whispered the line again: “Only blood and name…”

Who she was?

She wasn’t just a girl in a haunted house anymore. She wasn’t just Elira Blake’s granddaughter.

She was something else.

A bang shook the attic door. Then another. Something—or someone—was trying to get in.

“Seraphina!” Lucien’s voice, breathless, strained.

She moved the chair and yanked open the door.

Lucien staggered in, clutching his side, blood trailing down his bare chest. “We have to go. Now.”

“There are more?” she asked.

“No. Not more.” His eyes met hers. “Him.”

The air went still.

Lucien’s voice was barely a whisper. “The Hollow King. He’s here.”

They didn’t speak as they ran through the forest.

Branches whipped at Seraphina’s face. Her lungs burned. The moon, high above, cast silver bars of light across the path. Behind them, the trees groaned.

Like the earth itself was afraid.

They reached the edge of the warded circle near the well. Lucien collapsed to one knee, panting. His side was still bleeding.

“I can’t… shift again. Not yet,” he muttered. “Too much silver.”

“You’ll be okay,” she said, kneeling beside him. “You have to be.”

But then she felt it.

A presence. Cold. Heavy. Like fingers closing around her throat.

And then she saw him.

He stepped from between two trees, tall and skeletal, with eyes like polished obsidian. His skin was pale, almost translucent, and the robe he wore shimmered like smoke. No sound followed him. No crunch of leaves. No wind.

The Hollow King.

He smiled—an expression that made Seraphina’s stomach twist.

“I’ve waited a long time for you,” he said, voice smooth and inhuman. “The last of the moonblood. The key to the gate.”

“I’m not a key,” she spat. “I’m not yours.”

His head tilted slightly. “But you are, child. You carry the blood of the first oath. Your grandmother was strong—but even she could not hold the veil alone. Now it tears. And you… will help me finish what I began.”

Seraphina’s fingers tightened around the pendant.

The Hollow King raised a hand. “Come to me willingly, and I will spare your wolf.”

Lucien growled, staggering to his feet.

“No,” she said. “You want a key? Go pick another lock.”

She raised the dagger—and drove it into her own palm.

Blood splattered across the stones at her feet.

The Hollow King snarled.

Light burst from the pendant.

The ground trembled.

The air split open.

And from the heart of the well, something ancient began to stir.

A voice echoed—not hers. Not Lucien’s.

It was her grandmother’s.

“Seraphina. Speak your name.”

“I am Seraphina Blake!” she cried. “Daughter of the moonblood! Keeper of the last gate!”

The Hollow King screamed.

But it wasn’t over.

The veil cracked wide—and a figure stepped out from the light behind Seraphina.

Another wolf.

Taller than Lucien.

Golden-eyed.

And wearing a silver ring identical to the one in her grandmother’s chest.

Lucien stared.

Seraphina turned.

And the stranger said one word:

“Sister.”