Silver and Blood

The second wave crashed into the yard like a storm.

Serafine gripped the short sword tighter, her knuckles white. Her arms shook. Blood from her split lip dripped onto the snow. All around her, wolves snarled and steel clanged. Lucian stood in front of her like a wall, his bare back streaked with red.

“Push them back to the gate!” he roared.

He charged forward, swinging his heavy blade in wide, deadly arcs. Two attackers went down screaming. But more kept coming. A half-shifted wolf with massive claws leaped at him from the side. Lucian twisted, but the twitch in his left arm slowed him. The claws raked across his ribs.

Serafine didn’t think. She ran straight at the beast.

Her sword slashed across its hind leg. The creature howled and spun on her. Its hot breath hit her face. She dodged the first snap of its jaws, but the second caught her shoulder. Pain exploded down her arm. She screamed and drove the blade into its side.

Silver light flared from her hands again.

The wolf flew off her like it had been kicked by a giant. It slammed into two more enemies, knocking them flat. The magic felt like fire in her veins—wild and hungry.

Lucian glanced back at her. His eyes widened. For a second the hard lines on his face softened. The bleeding cuts on his ribs stopped dripping so fast. He looked… stronger.

“Don’t stop!” he shouted at her.

Serafine nodded, breathing hard. She stayed close behind him, moving when he moved. Every time an attacker got too near, she slashed or stabbed. Each time she touched the blade, silver sparks jumped along the steel. Enemies screamed when the light hit them. Some clutched their heads like her magic burned their minds.

The yard turned into a slaughter.

A tall man with Blood Moon markings—clearly their leader—pointed straight at her. “Take the silver bitch alive! Cassian wants her!”

Three wolves rushed her at once.

Serafine backed up fast. Her foot slipped on bloody snow. She fell hard on her back. The first wolf jumped. She raised her sword, but it was too heavy now.

Lucian was suddenly there.

He crashed into the wolf mid-air, tackling it to the ground. Bones snapped. He tore its throat out with his bare hands, then turned and drove his fist into the second attacker’s face. The third one hesitated. Lucian didn’t. He grabbed its head and twisted. A sick crack filled the air.

He reached down and pulled Serafine to her feet. His hand was slick with blood. His chest heaved. Up close she saw how bad his wounds really were—deep cuts, bruises already turning dark. But the silver light that still glowed faintly on her skin seemed to calm the worst of it.

“You’re not dying tonight,” he growled near her ear. His voice sounded rough, almost desperate. “Not until I say so.”

They fought back to back.

Serafine’s shoulder burned. Her legs felt like water. But something inside her kept pushing. Every time Lucian took a hit, she felt it—like her magic wanted to protect him. She slashed wildly, screaming when an enemy blade cut her thigh. Silver exploded outward in a burst. Three wolves flew back, twitching on the ground.

The enemy leader cursed loudly. “Fall back! Fall back!”

The attackers broke and ran for the broken gate. Lucian’s guards chased them into the night, howling victory. The yard went quiet except for the crackling fires and the moans of the wounded.

Lucian turned to her.

He looked wild. Blood covered his chest and arms. His eyes locked on her like nothing else existed. Before she could step back, he grabbed her waist and pulled her hard against him. His hand cupped the back of her neck.

“What the hell are you?” he demanded again. His thumb brushed the blood on her lip. “That light… it stops the rot in my head. I can think clearly for the first time in months.”

Serafine tried to push away, but he was too strong. Her body trembled from exhaustion and pain. “I don’t know. It just… happened.”

Lucian stared at her for a long moment. Then he did something that shocked her.

He kissed her.

It wasn’t soft. It was rough and angry, like he was claiming her right there in the bloody snow. His mouth tasted like salt and metal. For two heartbeats Serafine froze. Then she bit his bottom lip hard.

He pulled back with a dark laugh. Blood trickled down his chin—hers or his, she couldn’t tell.

“You’re mine now, Serafine Vale,” he said quietly. “Not as a prisoner. Not as a mistake. As something I need. And I don’t lose what I need.”

He scooped her up like she weighed nothing, ignoring her protests. Her injured shoulder screamed as he carried her through the chaos toward the main doors. Servants and guards stared as they passed. Lucian barked orders left and right.

“Get the healer. Seal the gates. Double the watch. If Lord Vincent isn’t here in ten minutes, drag him.”

Inside, he took her not to the servant quarters but up a wide staircase to a large room with a heavy wooden bed. He set her down on it, then ripped a clean strip from a blanket and pressed it against her bleeding thigh.

The healer rushed in—a nervous older man with shaking hands. He cleaned her wounds while Lucian watched like a hawk, arms crossed, jaw tight every time she winced.

When the healer left, Lucian sat on the edge of the bed. He looked tired but wired. The silver glow on her skin had faded, but he still seemed steadier than before.

“You’re staying in this room from now on,” he said. “With me.”

Serafine pushed herself up on her good arm. Pain flared everywhere. “I’m not your cure.”

Lucian leaned in close. His hand rested on her uninjured thigh, heavy and warm. “You are now. And if you try to run again…” He smiled that dark smile. “I’ll hunt you down and drag you back. Every single time.”

A loud knock sounded on the door.

Lord Vincent stepped in without waiting. The tall, sharp-faced man from the court gave a small bow, but his eyes flicked to Serafine with clear interest.

“My king, the outer scouts report the Blood Moon pack is regrouping. They want the girl badly.”

Lucian stood up. “They won’t get her.”

As Vincent started giving battle reports, Serafine watched the advisor’s hands. He kept flexing them at his sides. His smile never reached his eyes.

Something was wrong.

She tried to speak, but exhaustion crashed over her. The room started spinning. Her last clear thought was the feeling of Lucian’s hand brushing her hair back from her face.

Then darkness took her.

When she woke hours later, the room was dim. Lucian slept in a chair beside the bed, sword across his lap. His breathing was steady, but even in sleep his hand reached toward her.

Serafine slowly sat up. Her wounds throbbed. She looked at the window. It was high, but maybe…

She froze.

A small piece of parchment had been slipped under the door. She crept over and picked it up with shaking fingers.

Written in hurried script were four words:

He will kill you soon.

Her stomach dropped.

Outside, in the distance, wolves howled again.