Chapter 33

The Price of Power

The courtyard of Darkfang Keep was a battlefield, the air thick with the scent of blood and the clash of steel. Aria stood at the heart of it, her dagger slick with crimson, her breath coming in sharp gasps. Rollan was cradled in her left arm, his tiny body pressed close, his mark glowing faintly against her skin. Caden fought beside her, his wolf form a blur of black fur and lethal grace, his jaws snapping as he tore through loyalists with brutal efficiency. Elara’s magic crackled in the air, her hands weaving shields of light to protect their small group from the relentless onslaught.

But the loyalists were many, and Darius’s forces pressed in from all sides, their eyes alight with fanatical zeal. Lena stood among them, her once-familiar face twisted with betrayal, a cruel smile curling her lips as she raised her sword. “You should have stayed hidden, Aria,” she taunted, her voice carrying over the din. “Now you’ll watch your family die.”

Aria’s blood boiled, her grip tightening on her dagger. “You’re the one who’ll regret this,” she spat, lunging forward. Their blades met with a sharp clang, the impact reverberating up her arm. Lena was skilled, but Aria’s fury gave her strength, each strike fueled by the need to protect her son.

Caden’s growl echoed across the courtyard as he dispatched another loyalist, his amber eyes locking onto Darius. The enemy leader stood at the far end, his steel gaze unwavering, his sword dripping with the blood of fallen warriors. “You can’t win, wolfless alpha,” Darius sneered, his voice a blade of ice. “The prophecy bends to me now.”

Caden shifted back to human form, his chest heaving, his own wounds seeping. “You don’t understand the prophecy,” he said, his voice steady despite the pain. “It was never about power—it was about unity.”

Darius laughed, cold and hollow. “Unity? Your pack is fractured, your wolf was lost, and your mate is cursed. What unity do you speak of?”

Aria stepped forward, Rollan clutched close. “Ours,” she said, her voice ringing with conviction. “Our bond—our family. That’s the true power of the prophecy.”

As if in response, the fang of the first alpha—still gripped in her free hand—flared with golden light, its energy pulsing in time with Rollan’s mark. The air hummed with power, and the loyalists faltered, their movements slowing as if caught in a web of unseen force.

Elara’s eyes widened. “The relic—it’s reacting to your bond. Use it, Aria. Channel its power through Rollan’s mark.”

Aria’s pulse raced. She didn’t fully understand, but she trusted the instinct surging within her. She raised the fang, its light intensifying, and pressed it gently against Rollan’s mark. The golden glow enveloped them, spreading outward in a radiant wave. The loyalists staggered, their weapons clattering to the ground as the light seared through them, burning away their resolve.

Darius’s face twisted with rage. “No! This isn’t possible!” He lunged toward Aria, his sword aimed at her heart, but Caden intercepted him, their blades locking with a shower of sparks.

“You’re done, Darius,” Caden growled, his strength renewed by the relic’s power. With a swift twist, he disarmed the loyalist leader, sending his sword skittering across the stones.

Darius fell to his knees, his eyes wide with disbelief. “The prophecy was mine to command…”

Aria stepped forward, the fang still glowing in her hand. “The prophecy was never yours. It belongs to those who choose love over hate.”

With a final surge of light, the relic’s power washed over the courtyard, and the remaining loyalists collapsed, their bodies limp and unconscious. Silence fell, broken only by the ragged breaths of the survivors.

Caden sheathed his sword, his gaze softening as he turned to Aria and Rollan. “It’s over,” he said, his voice thick with relief.

But Elara’s face was grim as she approached, her hands trembling. “Not yet,” she said quietly. “Look.”

She pointed to the sky, where the blood moon hung low, its crimson hue deepening. Aria’s heart sank. The ritual. They had stopped Darius, but the prophecy’s crux was still tied to the blood moon—and to Rollan.

Elara’s voice was urgent. “The relic’s power is fading. We need to complete the counter-ritual before the moon reaches its peak.”

Aria’s mind raced. “What do we need?”

Elara glanced at the fang, then at Rollan. “A binding of blood—yours, Caden’s, and Rollan’s. It will seal the prophecy and break the curse for good.”

Caden’s jaw tightened. “Then let’s do it.”

They gathered in the center of the courtyard, the air thrumming with anticipation. Aria pricked her finger, then Caden’s, their blood mingling on the fang’s surface. Finally, she gently pricked Rollan’s tiny finger, his soft cry piercing her heart. Their blood merged, and the relic blazed with golden light, its power surging through them.

But as the light reached its zenith, a chilling laugh echoed from the shadows. Lena—forgotten in the chaos, stepped forward, her eyes gleaming with malice. “You think you’ve won?” she hissed. “Darius was a fool, but I serve a greater power.”

Before they could react, she lunged, her dagger aimed at Rollan. Aria twisted, shielding her son, but the blade sliced across her arm, drawing blood. Lena seized the moment, snatching the fang from Aria’s grasp.

“No!” Caden roared, but Lena was already backing away, the relic clutched in her hand.

She raised it high, her voice triumphant. “The prophecy will be mine to command!”

But as she spoke, the fang’s light flickered, then turned a sickly green. Lena’s eyes widened in confusion, then horror, as the relic’s power twisted, lashing out at her. She screamed, her body convulsing as the green light consumed her, leaving only ash in its wake.

The fang clattered to the ground, its glow dimming to a soft, steady gold. Aria scooped it up, her heart pounding. “What just happened?”

Elara’s face was pale. “The relic rejected her. It’s bound to your bloodline—only you can wield it.”

Caden’s gaze was grim. “But she said she served a greater power. What did she mean?”

Before Elara could respond, a distant howl split the night—a sound that was neither wolf nor human, but something ancient and malevolent. The ground trembled, and the blood moon seemed to pulse in response.

Elara’s voice was a whisper. “The prophecy’s guardian. It’s awakening.”

Aria’s blood ran cold. There’s more.