Night of Teeth

Serafine woke to someone kicking her cot.

“Up. Kitchens. Now,” a sour-faced woman snapped.

She rolled off the thin mattress, back aching from the hard wood, and pulled on the gray servant dress. No time to wash. No breakfast. She followed the line of sleepy workers down a narrow hall lit by weak torches. Her feet already hurt inside the stiff shoes.

The kitchen was chaos. Fires roared. Pots banged. Servants shouted orders over the noise. A big man with burn scars on his arms shoved a heavy bucket of potatoes into her hands.

“Peel. Don’t stop until they’re gone.”

Serafine sat on a low stool and got to work. Her small knife flashed as she sliced skin off each potato. While her hands moved, her eyes moved faster. She counted the knives on the table. Noted which doors led outside. Watched how the guards changed shifts every twenty minutes at the back entrance.

Hours passed. Her fingers turned raw and red. The dress stuck to her back with sweat. Still she kept peeling, listening.

A group of soldiers stomped through for food. One of them laughed loudly. “Heard the king’s new wife is actually some cellar rat. Bet she won’t last a week.”

Another guard snorted. “Lord Vincent already has bets going. Says she’ll break by full moon.”

Serafine kept her head down, but she memorized their faces. Especially the tall one with the scar across his neck. He looked mean.

By midday they sent her to the armory yard with a tray of water skins. Snow fell lightly as she crossed the open ground. Guards trained with swords and axes, their steel ringing loud. She moved between them, offering drinks, eyes scanning everything.

That was when she saw him.

Lucian stood at the far end, shirtless despite the cold, swinging a heavy practice blade. Sweat glistened on his muscles. His movements were fast and brutal, but every few swings his left arm twitched hard. Like it wasn’t listening to him. His jaw clenched in pain.

He looked up and caught her staring.

Serafine quickly looked away and kept walking. Her heart beat faster.

As the sun dropped behind the mountains, the bell she had heard last night rang again—this time louder and longer. Shouts exploded from the outer walls.

“Attack! Blood Moon scouts!”

Chaos ripped through the yard. Guards grabbed weapons. Lucian roared orders, his voice cutting through the noise like a whip. Serafine ducked low and ran toward the kitchen building, tray still in her hands.

She never made it.

A side gate burst open. Dark shapes poured in—wolves half-shifted, eyes glowing yellow. One of them slammed straight into a guard near her, teeth tearing into flesh. Blood sprayed across the snow.

Serafine dropped the tray and ran.

A rough hand grabbed her braid from behind and yanked her backward. She hit the ground hard. A huge man with Blood Moon markings on his armor stood over her, grinning.

“Well, well. Smells like the new queen,” he growled. “Alpha Cassian will pay good gold for you.”

He reached down.

Serafine didn’t think. She snatched a fallen dagger from the snow and stabbed upward as hard as she could. The blade sank into his thigh. The man howled and staggered back.

She scrambled to her feet and ran again.

All around her, fighting exploded. Steel clashed. Wolves snarled. A guard went down screaming right beside her. Serafine dodged a swinging axe, slipped on bloody snow, and crashed into a weapons rack.

Her hand closed around a short sword. It felt heavy and strange in her grip. She had never fought before. Never even held a real blade. But the fear in her chest turned sharp and hot.

Another attacker lunged at her. She swung wildly. The sword hit his arm with a meaty thunk. He cursed and backhanded her across the face. Pain burst behind her eyes. She tasted blood.

“Serafine!”

Lucian’s voice roared across the yard. He was cutting through the enemy like a storm, blade flashing. But more attackers kept coming. One of them threw a net over him from behind. He roared in rage as silver threads burned his skin.

Serafine’s vision blurred. The binding spell on her wolf felt like it was cracking, burning inside her ribs. Something old and powerful pushed hard against her skin, begging to be let out.

The big man she had stabbed earlier limped toward her again, eyes full of murder. “You little bitch—”

Power exploded out of her.

A bright silver light burst from her hands. The short sword glowed white-hot. The man flew backward like something invisible had punched him. He slammed into the stone wall and didn’t get up.

Every wolf in the yard froze for half a second.

Lucian stared at her, eyes wide with shock. The silver light touched him too—soft, warm, soothing. For a moment the pain lines on his face smoothed out. The twitch in his arm stopped.

Then the light faded.

Serafine dropped to her knees in the bloody snow, gasping. Her whole body shook. The sword clattered beside her. She felt empty. Raw. Terrified.

Lucian threw off the net with a snarl and stormed toward her. Blood streaked his chest. His eyes burned with something wild.

Before he reached her, a new voice cut through the noise.

“Retreat!” one of the Blood Moon attackers shouted. “The silver witch is real!”

The surviving attackers melted back into the darkness. Lucian’s guards chased them, howling.

Lucian stopped right in front of Serafine. He was breathing hard. His hand reached down, grabbed the front of her gray dress, and hauled her up like she weighed nothing.

“What are you?” he demanded, voice rough. His face was inches from hers.

Serafine could barely speak. Her lip was split. Her hands glowed faintly silver for another second before going dark.

“I… I don’t know,” she whispered.

Lucian’s grip tightened. For a moment she thought he might kiss her or kill her—she couldn’t tell which. His eyes dropped to her bleeding mouth.

Then alarms rang again. Louder this time.

More attackers.

Lucian cursed and shoved her behind him, shielding her with his body as fresh waves of enemy wolves poured over the broken gate.

“Stay close,” he growled without looking back. “If you die tonight, I’ll bring you back just to punish you.”

Serafine grabbed the short sword again, fingers slippery with blood. Her body felt strange—stronger, buzzing. The silver magic inside her stirred again, hungry.

The night was far from over.

And something ancient had just woken up inside her.