Ghosts at dawn

Chapter Nine: Ghosts at Dawn

"Sister, please. Let's go home. I miss Papa, Mama, and you."

It was Caleb's voice. His words were small, breathless, and tumbling out too fast, like he was trying to outrun his own thoughts before they forced him to cry. That was exactly how he talked when he was terrified but trying his best to be brave for me.

"Let's go. Let's run away from here. These people are monsters," he pleaded, his little chest heaving up and down. His voice was thin and shaking, the exact way it always got when he tried not to show weakness in front of Papa. It had a heavy crack right down the middle.

"Yes, my daughter. Please, let's go. Blood Moon needs their Princess."

Mama. Her warm, soft hands were suddenly on my face. She smelled like crushed rosemary and fresh bread from the morning kitchen. Her thumbs gently wiped my tears away just like she used to do when I fell from the tall training posts as a child.

"My Lady, how are you? I hope you eat well. Don't worry about me. I'm fine," Eliora said. She was smiling that loyal, crooked smile of hers. But her face was red. Far too red. It looked like someone had struck her and the bruised mark was still blooming across her skin.

"Caleb, we have to go," my father announced. His voice was absolute steel. His armor was already on, made of heavy black iron with the white Blood Moon sigil stamped on his chest. The metal caught the bright light of our burning home.

"Take good care of your sister. Don't fight her, okay?" He was looking directly at Caleb, placing his big hand on Caleb's small head. It was his last order as an Alpha. His last order as a father.

"No, Papa! Stay with us!" Caleb and I shouted at the exact same time, our voices breaking into one desperate, childish scream. "Don't—"

I sat up hard in the dark, gasping for air. A choked, raw sound tore right out of my throat.

The thick white furs were tangled tightly around my legs, soaked with cold sweat and twisted so badly that I couldn't move. My heart was pounding like it wanted to break through my ribs and run straight back to my family. My chest heaved up and down. The room was dark, too quiet, and smelled heavily of cold stone and ash.

It was a dream. 

Just a cruel, beautiful dream.

I pressed my palms hard into my eyes until I saw bright stars, trying desperately to push the lingering smell of Mama's fresh bread out of my nose.

Then, someone knocked. It was soft and hesitant. Just two small taps against the heavy wood.

"Come in," my voice croaked out.

The door creaked open at dawn, and a girl stood in my doorway. She was a dark silhouette against the grey hall light, clutching a bundle of cloth to her chest like a protective shield. Her eyes were fixed firmly on the wooden floorboards.

"Alpha said I'm to be your maid," she whispered. Her voice was barely air, as if she were terrified the very walls would hear her and punish her for speaking.

I didn't even bother to get off the bed. My body felt incredibly heavy, like the nightmare was still sitting on my chest like a solid stone weight. My messy hair was stuck to my damp forehead.

"You don't have to call me your Luna."

The girl flinched as if I had physically hit her. It was a sharp, full-body jerk. "Yes, Luna."

She scurried inside and set the bundle down on the small table by the connecting door—the door that led straight to Kieran's room. She started unpacking everything with fingers that wouldn't stop shaking.

Inside the cloth was a small bar of soap that smelled like lavender and clean rain, a hairbrush with stiff bristles, three blue ribbons folded with military precision, and small jars of pale green salve. It was the exact same healing paste Rourke had brought when I was still bleeding in the storage room.

"For your wrists," she mumbled, still refusing to look up as she stared at my raw, scabbed skin where the iron had chewed through. "The healers made more. Alpha said your hands shake at night."

I glanced over at the connecting door. Kieran's room. It was completely quiet today. There was no low, angry muttering, and no sound of a silver blade being sharpened against stone. That dead quiet was honestly worse than the noise. It meant he was sitting right on the other side, listening to every single breath we took.

"What's your name?" I asked, keeping my tone much softer this time.

"Nira," she whispered to the floor.

"You can call me Lyra, okay? Just Lyra."

Her hand snapped to her chest as if I had cursed her. Her eyes officially shot up to meet mine, wide with pure terror. "Eh... I can't," she said, shaking her head frantically. "Please, don't ask me to do that. I mean—Luna, please "