Chapter four

“I choose fight.”

The words left Lyra’s lips with a clarity that settled into the ground like a spell.

Kaelen’s eyes didn’t flicker. They locked on hers, the fire between them crackling with shared purpose. For the first time since the blood moon, Lyra didn’t feel like she was surviving — she felt like she was choosing.

The corner of Kaelen’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile, but close. “Then let’s make you unstoppable.”

He turned toward the body of the rogue whose neck she’d broken only moments earlier. Blood pooled in the snow beneath its broken spine. Without hesitation, Kaelen knelt, pulled a pouch from his belt, and scattered a dark, metallic powder over the corpse.

Lyra watched with unease as smoke curled up from the powder, hissing like it was alive.

“What is that?” she asked, her breath ghosting in the air.

“Ritual ash,” Kaelen replied, voice low. “It masks scent, corrupts memory. When they find this body, they’ll smell your blood, your wolf, even your shift signature. It’ll lead them to believe I lost control — that I killed you after the wolf rose.”

Her stomach turned. “You’re framing yourself for my death.”

His hands didn’t slow as he drew a rune in blood on the body’s chest — not his, not hers, but that of the rogue. “If it keeps them off your scent long enough, I’ll wear the blame with pride.”

“Dren will believe you’d kill me?” she asked softly.

Kaelen’s voice darkened. “He already believes I’m a monster. Might as well let him choke on the fantasy.”

A gust of wind swept through the forest, tugging at Lyra’s cloak. Her wolf stirred again, restless beneath her skin.

The bond between her and Kaelen crackled — not yet complete, not fully mated, but undeniably there.

“Come,” Kaelen said, standing. “We have to reach the Hollow before moonrise.”

“The Hollow?” she asked, following his long strides.

“A sanctuary hidden deep within the Whispering Woods,” he replied. “Protected by wild magic — old magic. No one from Shadow Ridge will follow us there. Not even Dren.”

Lyra frowned. “Why not?”

Kaelen cast her a sharp glance over his shoulder. “Because the Hollow doesn’t obey bloodlines. It obeys truth.”

They moved quickly through the underbrush, Kaelen breaking trail with careful precision. The forest around them grew darker the deeper they traveled — not because night was falling, but because something ancient slumbered here.

And it was watching.

---

They ran until Lyra’s legs burned. Until even her wolf whimpered from the effort. But she didn’t stop. Not once.

She didn’t need Kaelen to slow down for her — not anymore.

She had something to prove.

To him.

To herself.

To the curse that had tried to bury her.

The forest changed as the hours passed. The trees grew taller, thicker, their bark gnarled with age. Moss climbed their trunks like living vines. And the air — it shimmered. Tasted different.

Lyra felt it first.

The whispers.

At first, they were faint — no louder than a breeze brushing her ear. Then they multiplied, overlapping in a chorus of half-sentences and haunted words.

“—she carries the blood—”

“—the moon remembers—”

“—not wolf, not witch—”

Lyra flinched. “Kaelen…”

He slowed beside her, scanning the forest. “You hear them?”

She nodded, heart pounding.

“It’s the trees,” he said grimly. “The Hollow is near.”

They crested a ridge, and beyond it, nestled in a glade shrouded in mist and snow, lay ancient ruins. Black stone pillars jutted from the earth like broken teeth. Vines coiled around archways inscribed with runes Lyra couldn’t read, but somehow felt.

This was it.

The Hollow.

A place older than blood, older than Alpha lines, older even than the curse.

Kaelen motioned her forward, but paused before crossing the threshold.

“Once we enter,” he warned, “the forest will know you. It will test you.”

Lyra straightened her spine. “Good. Let it.”

She stepped forward—and the air shifted.

The temperature dropped. The trees leaned inward. And for one suspended moment, the earth itself seemed to listen.

Lyra felt something pull inside her chest — like a thread unraveling.

And then the whispers changed.

They no longer spoke around her.

They spoke to her.

“Lyra…”

She froze.

Kaelen turned. “What is it?”

“They… know my name.”

He studied her face carefully, then reached for her hand. “Then don’t be afraid. The Hollow doesn’t kill. It reveals.”

They crossed into the ruins together.

The moment her foot touched the stone path, Lyra felt the pull of magic — not malicious, but probing. Like invisible hands peeling back layers of her spirit.

Her knees buckled.

Kaelen caught her before she fell. “Stay with me.”

“I— I feel… something’s wrong.”

“No,” he whispered. “Something is awakening. Don’t fight it.”

Visions tore through her.

Flashes of fire.

A woman with silver eyes chanting beneath a blood moon.

A baby swaddled in a wolf pelt, placed on a stone altar. Marked. Bound.

A voice — hers, but not — saying: The last of the line must carry the curse to break it.

Lyra gasped as the vision vanished, and the forest returned.

Kaelen was still holding her. But his face had changed.

Pale.

Shocked.

“You… saw it?” she whispered.

He nodded once. “So did the forest.”

“What was that?”

“The curse,” he said grimly. “Your birthright.”

---

They settled into a long-abandoned den built beneath the roots of a massive tree. Kaelen lit a fire while Lyra sat wrapped in a thick fur, her heart still galloping from what she’d seen.

“I always thought the curse was just… bad luck,” she said finally. “That my wolf didn’t come because I was broken.”

“You weren’t broken,” Kaelen said. “You were sealed.”

“By who?”

He looked at her, eyes haunted. “By your mother, I think. To protect you.”

Lyra’s throat tightened. “I don’t remember her.”

“I do.”

Her breath caught.

Kaelen stared into the fire. “She came to Riftwood once, long ago. Pregnant. Powerful. She asked my father for sanctuary.”

“Did he give it?”

Kaelen’s mouth curled in disgust. “No. He turned her away. Said she reeked of corruption. I was barely a pup, but I remembered her eyes. Silver, like yours.”

Lyra whispered, “She knew Dren would come for me.”

“Which means whatever you carry — your bloodline, your wolf — is something he fears.”

She met his gaze, her voice trembling. “Then I need to stop running. I need to train.”

A long pause.

Then Kaelen said, “Tomorrow, we start.”

---

That night, Lyra didn’t dream of pain.

She dreamed of moonlight.

Of running.

Of freedom.

And somewhere in the woods, a voice whispered again:

The blood will break the curse. Or become its final vessel.