The Blood He Didn’t Choose

The Alpha's chamber's stone walls were dimly shadowed by the low crackling fire in the hearth. With her arms loosely bound behind her, Elaria faced the three individuals who had just made her feel cold.

Weyric.

Athissa.

And the silver-eyed Elder who had said nothing—but stared at her like a puzzle he already knew how to solve.

“You say nothing?” Weyric asked, pacing in front of her. “Even now?”

Elaria stayed silent. Her instincts screamed that this was not the moment to speak.

Not yet.

“I told you,” she said finally, “I was caught outside the Veyne border. The rogues attacked. He killed them. That’s it.”

Athissa’s heels clicked against the stone as she stepped forward, circling like a predator.

“You’re lying.”

“No,” Elaria said.

“I see it all over you,” Athissa whispered, stopping just inches away. “The scent. The look in your eyes when you said his name.”

Elaria didn’t flinch. “I owe you no explanation.”

Athissa’s smile turned cruel. “Then allow me to give you one. Draven Kaelith is mine. Chosen for me by the Elders. Promised by pact, bound by bloodline. He may play his games with you, little Veyne girl, but don’t mistake that for anything real.”

"I don't require your consent to be in this room," Elaria yelled.

"So you're more stupid than I initially believed.”

The Elder finally spoke. His voice sounded thin and dry, like the whisper of wind through parched leaves.

“Enough posturing, ladies. The truth lies not in words... but in blood.”

As he moved forward, a little ceremonial blade that was hardly bigger than a letter opener was exposed.

Elaria stiffened. “What are you doing?”

“A simple test,” the Elder said. “One cut. One drop. That’s all it takes.”

Weyric took the blade, stepping closer.

Elaria jerked back instinctively, her chain clanking.

“You touch me with that and Draven will—”

“Draven will do nothing,” Weyric said softly, “if we have reason to question your loyalty.”

He made a shallow cut along the side of her hand. Elaria winced but bit back a reaction.

The Elder caught the blood in a small, silver dish etched with runes.

They all waited.

Watched.

The dish began to glow faintly.

The Elder leaned in. Then frowned.

“Strange…” he whispered.

“What is it?” Weyric asked.

“There’s something buried. Something masked. But not hers.” His eyes sharpened as he looked up. “The Alpha has touched her. Marked her.”

Athissa’s face went rigid.

Elaria’s heart dropped into her stomach.

“He did no such thing—”

“Oh, but he did,” the Elder murmured. “His scent is deep in her blood. Fused. Not just from proximity. This is no mere prisoner, Weyric.”

Athissa’s lip curled. “He chose her.”

And for once, Weyric looked shaken.

“Leave us,” he said finally.

Athissa blinked. “What—”

“Now.”

She stormed out with a hiss, robes trailing behind her like smoke.

The Elder followed in silence.

Now it was just Weyric and Elaria.

The air shifted.

He stepped close, too close. Studied her like a riddle he couldn’t quite solve.

“Tell me something,” he said quietly. “Do you know who Draven’s father was?”

Elaria narrowed her eyes. “What kind of question is that?”

“One only an outsider can answer honestly.” He circled her again, slower this time. “They say he was born during a blood moon. That his mother died screaming. That when the Alpha touched the child for the first time... his hands burned.”

Elaria swallowed.

“He doesn’t speak of his father. He says he doesn’t know.”

“He doesn’t,” Weyric said. “But I do.”

He leaned in closer, voice barely above a breath. “The man who sired Draven... wasn’t Kaelith.”

Elaria’s stomach turned.

Weyric straightened. “You don’t belong here. But I think... maybe neither does he.”

And then, without another word, he left.

Leaving Elaria shaken. Bleeding. Alone.

Later That Night – The Alpha Returns

The door creaked open.

Elaria sat curled on the floor, hand wrapped in cloth, eyes dull with exhaustion. She didn’t look up.

Draven crossed the room in two strides.

“What happened?”

She didn’t answer.

“Elaria.”

“They bled me,” she said hollowly. “Ran my blood through some magic bowl. Said you’d marked me.”

Draven froze.

Then slowly knelt beside her. “I didn’t mean for it to be permanent.”

“You did it anyway.”

He touched her wrapped hand gently. “They hurt you.”

“They’re going to keep trying. Because they think I know more than I do.”

“I won’t let them near you again.”

“Can you promise that?” she whispered. “Because I think they’re playing you like a pawn.”

Draven’s face hardened. “Weyric’s dangerous. The Elders even more so.”

“And that woman—Athissa?”

His jaw ticked.

“She said she’s your betrothed.”

“I didn’t choose her.”

“But she was chosen for you,” Elaria said bitterly. “Isn’t that what this place does? Breed alliances. Use people. You included.”

Draven looked away.

“I never wanted any of this,” he said. “And I sure as hell didn’t want you caught in it.”

“Then why did you take me?”

He turned back to her, eyes raw. “Because when I looked at you, something in me cracked open. And I’ve spent every moment since trying not to fall into it.”

She stared at him. Breathing shallow. Something inside her unraveling by the second.

Draven cupped her face, voice low. “I don’t care what they say. What they plan. What blood runs in my veins. I only care about you.”

She didn’t speak.

Didn’t move.

However, she kissed him back as his lips touched hers once again, slowly and confidently this time.

And the stronghold vanished for a time.

Elsewhere – Beneath the Fortress

Torches flickered deep below Kaelith stronghold, lighting narrow, spiraling stone tunnels that twisted under the mountain.

Weyric descended them alone.

Until he reached a door made of black steel and bone.

He knocked once.

It creaked open from the inside.

And there—standing in the dark, cloaked in robes of night—was a shadowed figure. Older. Hunched. Eyes glowing faintly red.

“The girl has arrived,” Weyric said.

“She carries more than he knows.”

“The Alpha is beginning to remember.”

The figure smiled. A slow, decayed thing.

“Then it’s time we finish what we started.”