Chapter 5 The Wraith’s Hunger

The Vane family’s ancestral estate felt like a mausoleum for a history that refused to stay buried. It was a sprawling Gothic fortress on the outskirts of the city, surrounded by iron gates that looked more like spears pointed at the heavens. As the iron gates groaned open, Scarlett felt a heavy, stagnant energy washing over her. This wasn't just old money; this was old blood.

"The atmosphere here... it is suffocating," Caleb murmured, his hand resting instinctively on the small of Scarlett’s back. It was a protective gesture that had become a habit over the last few days, one that Scarlett found herself leaning into more than she cared to admit.

"It’s the Blood-Wraith," Scarlett replied, her fingers tightening around the cold jade handle of her cinnabar brush. "A creature born of centuries of greed and violent ends. It doesn't just kill; it feeds on the memories of the soul."

They were met at the door by a stone-faced butler who led them deep into the bowels of the mansion. The elevator descended far below the basement level, eventually opening into a damp, stone corridor lit only by flickering gas lamps. At the end of the hall stood a massive bronze vault door, etched with ancient runes that pulsed with a faint, sickening red light.

"Wait here," the butler whispered, his eyes wide with a terror he couldn't hide. "The Vanes will send the payment once the vault is cleared."

As the heavy footsteps of the butler faded, the silence in the corridor became absolute. Then, a low, rasping hiss echoed from behind the bronze door. The red runes flared, and the temperature dropped so sharply that Scarlett’s breath turned into a crystalline mist.

"Stay behind the line of my wards," Scarlett commanded, her voice turning sharp as she began to move. She didn't use paper this time; the Wraith was too powerful for common talismans. Instead, she bit her finger and began to paint directly onto the stone floor with her own blood, the crimson liquid glowing with a fierce, golden light.

Caleb watched her with a dark, unreadable intensity. His golden eyes were wide, tracking the fluid grace of her movements. He could feel the power radiating from her—a clean, sharp energy that seemed to slice through the oppressive gloom of the cellar.

Suddenly, the bronze door didn't open; it shrieked. A mass of shadow and solidified blood began to seep through the seams of the vault, coalescing into a towering, hooded figure with hollow pits where its eyes should have been. The Blood-Wraith lunged, its scream a sonic vibration that felt like glass shattering inside Scarlett’s head.

"Scarlett!" Caleb roared.

The curse on his soul reacted to the Wraith’s malevolence. As he stepped forward to intercept the entity, the shadow of the silver Lycan King manifested behind him, its ghostly jaws snapping at the air. But the Wraith wasn't a physical creature; it passed through Caleb’s chest like a frigid wind, sending him to his knees as it clawed at his fading memories.

"No!" Scarlett cried out. She slammed her palm onto the center of the blood-ward she’d drawn. “By the thunder of the heavens and the marrow of the earth, I command the restless to sleep!”

She didn't just use her magic; she funneled a portion of her own life-force into the ward. A pillar of white, crackling lightning erupted from the stone floor, slamming into the Wraith. The creature howled, a sound of agonizing despair, before it was vaporized into a cloud of harmless ash.

The silence returned, but the air was now warm, the red glow of the vault door replaced by a steady, neutral bronze. Scarlett slumped forward, her energy drained, but a pair of strong arms caught her before she hit the ground.

Caleb pulled her against his chest, his heart thudding like a war drum against her ear. He was trembling, but his grip was possessive, almost desperate. "You nearly destroyed yourself for a pile of paper," he growled, his voice a raw, primal rasp.

"I did it for the fund," Scarlett whispered, her head lolling against his shoulder. "We need... we need to get out of here."

Caleb pulled her closer, his nose buried in her hair, inhaling the scent of ink and lightning. "The fund doesn't matter if you aren't there to spend it. The wraith tried to take my memories, Scarlett. But it couldn't find anything except you."

Scarlett’s heart skipped a beat. She looked up at him, her vision blurry, and saw the molten gold of his eyes burning with something far more dangerous than the curse—it was a total, soul-bound obsession.

"I won't let you run," he whispered, his forehead pressing against hers. "Even if the Blood Moon comes, I will find you in every life. You are the only thing my wolf recognizes as home."