MasukThe rogues had been housed in the old barracks for three days when the trouble started.It was not the rogues themselves. They were quiet, subdued, grateful for food and warmth. Soren had taken to training them in the mornings, teaching them to fight for Blackwood instead of against it. Even the young one—Roric, the boy who had dropped his weapon first—had begun to smile. He had also begun to look at me with something that made Theron's wolf growl.I noticed it first in the training yard. Roric was sparring with Soren, his movements clumsy but eager. When he landed a blow—his first—he turned to me, seeking approval. His eyes were bright, his smile wide. I nodded, offering a small smile in return. It was nothing. Encouragement, nothing more.Theron's hand tightened on the railing beside me. His knuckles went white.He is just a boy, I said quietly.Theron did not answer. His jaw was tight, his eyes fixed on Roric.The second time was in the library. I was reviewing the old pack laws wi
The council gave us seven days to prove ourselves. Seven days to hunt down the remaining rogues, to secure the borders, to show the northern packs that Blackwood was not weak. Seven days before they returned with their judgments and their challenges and their cold, measuring eyes.Cassian stood at the map table in the great hall, his finger tracing the eastern forest where the rogues had been spotted. Theron leaned against the wall, sharpening his claws with a blade. Lysander sat in the window seat, the Kingslayer across his lap, his honey eyes distant.Soren stood at Cassian's right hand. The beta had not slept since the cave. His amber eyes were shadowed, but his posture was steady. He had chosen his side, and he would not waver.The scouts report a pack of at least twenty, Soren said. They are moving north, toward Silver Creek Academy.My blood went cold. Silver Creek. The academy was full of young wolves—students who had never faced a rogue, who had never seen blood spilled. If th
The eastern forest fell behind us, but the weight of what I had done lingered in my chest like a stone. Mercy, not vengeance. I had let the rogues live. Some wolves would call it weakness. I called it the only way to break a cycle that had been spinning for centuries.Cassian rode beside me in silence, his grey eyes fixed on the road ahead. His hand rested on his sword hilt, not from fear but from habit. Theron had shifted back to human form and was sprawled across his horse, his dark hair falling across his face, his breathing slow and even. Lysander brought up the rear, the Kingslayer strapped to his back, his honey eyes scanning the shadows.The bond hummed, content for the first time in days. Then a figure emerged from the trees.Cassian’s hand tightened on his sword. Theron sat up, his eyes snapping open. Lysander drew the Kingslayer in a single, fluid motion.But the figure was alone. He was tall, lean, with sharp cheekbones and amber eyes that caught the fading light. He wore t
The morning after the celebration, I woke to warmth.Not the cold of the mountain. Not the chill of the manor's stone walls. The warmth of three bodies pressed against mine, three heartbeats woven into the bond, three pairs of eyes watching me even in sleep.Cassian had his arm draped over my waist, his face buried in my hair. Theron was curled against my back, his breath slow and even. Lysander lay at my feet, his hand resting on my ankle, his honey eyes already open.You are staring again, I whispered.Lysander's lips curved. Always.I smiled and closed my eyes, letting the bond carry me back toward sleep. But the world had other plans.A knock came at the door. Sharp. Insistent.Cassian was awake instantly, his body tensing, his hand reaching for the blade on the nightstand. Theron groaned, pulling the pillow over his head. Lysander rose smoothly, crossing to the door.Sera stood in the hallway, her face grim.There is a problem, she said. The northern packs. They have heard about
The light from the Kingslayer did not fade.It spread through the chamber like water finding its level, washing over the bones, the stone, the shadows that had clung to every corner for centuries. The Luna's form dissolved not into darkness but into something softer—golden light that swirled upward, toward the ceiling lost in shadow, toward the sky beyond the mountain. Her final sigh echoed through the chamber, not a scream of rage but a breath of relief.Cassian's arms were still around me. His heart pounded against my back, and I felt his tears on my neck. Theron pressed against my side, his breath ragged, his hand gripping my hip like he was afraid I would disappear. Lysander stood before me, his honey eyes fixed on my face, the Kingslayer's light reflecting in his irises.The last of the Luna's shadow faded. The cold was gone. The pressure on the bond lifted. The mountain exhaled.And then there was silence.I turned in Cassian's arms. His face was wet, his eyes red, but the crack
The mountain grew closer with every step, its shadow swallowing the grey sky.The horses had refused to go nearer. They stopped at the edge of the barren rock, nostrils flaring, eyes rolling, their bodies trembling. Sera said they could smell the Luna's shadow—old death and older grief, seeping from the mountain like blood from a wound. We left them with my mother and Sera. The four of us would go the rest of the way alone. The bond would protect us. The Kingslayer would light the way. The ring would shield me from the worst of her power.Or so we hoped.Cassian walked at the front, his blade drawn, his shoulders straight. But I could feel him in the bond—the tension coiling tighter with every step, the guilt still gnawing at the edges of his thoughts. He had not slept. He had barely eaten. And now he was leading us into the heart of darkness.The fissure appeared ahead, the same wound in the mountain's side where we had entered before. But the cold was worse now. The shadows were thi







