"You think you can just touch my daughter?!"
Lysander's voice split the morning like thunder cracking the sky. The sun had just risen above the horizon, its light gently sweeping across the surface of the dueling arena located in the eastern courtyard of the pack's palace. The arena was surrounded by a circular wooden fence, with neatly raked, compacted soil. Stone and wooden spectator seats were arranged around it, enough to accommodate the wizards and warriors who wished to watch the duel in person.I sat in one of the highest seats, under the shade of a velvet canopy. My head rested comfortably on Alpha King's shoulder, while the morning breeze carrying the scent of dew and wet leaves brushed against my face. The servants were busy setting up the breakfast table beside us—hot tea, whole-grain bread with butter, and fresh fruits picked straight from the palace garden. One servant served steaming hot root soup, and another prepared my favorite sweet pastSeraphyne Duskfang's POVThe first chill that embraced me was not the air, but stone. The walls of this cell held a motionless night; it clung to my skin, seeped into my bones, sucking away the last remnants of heat that dared to linger beneath my skin. Magic-dampening chains encircled my wrists, the knuckles of my fingers turning white every time I tried to pull them. I looked up. Rune symbols were carved into the stone, glowing faintly like embers running out of breath. They covered this space like a net, weighing every tremor born in my mind—the moment a thought threatened to become a spell, it was severed at its root. “Do you think you can keep me here?!”My voice echoes through the bars, shattering on the stone steps, falling back to my feet. I laugh, quickly and without humor. A laugh born from the remnants of courage that refuses to die.“The Master won’t let his student be discarded so easily!” I add, se
That grip should have triggered my fighting instinct. But as his breath hit my eyelids, as the familiar scent of cold pine and iron pierced through the smell of torches—my caution crumbled like sand washed away by waves.“Aric?”I was about to gather my words when he pulled me close, bringing our faces together, and his lips covered mine—quickly, deeply, fiercely, with long-suppressed longing. A kiss that taught my body the words I couldn’t speak: I’m here, don’t disappear again. His fingers framed my jaw, his thumb gently traced the curve of my cheek, and the entire night—with all its chaos—narrowed down to the whisper of his breath and the racing beat in my chest. “—hm…” I held my breath for a moment, tensed for an instant, then surrendered to the wave he sent. When his lips trailed down my jawline and stopped at the curve of my neck, the world seemed to shift its axis. The lingering pain in my head melted away.Just as tha
The stone wall behind me was cold, like reason extinguishing emotion—but the night gave no respite to my racing heart. I clung to the protruding rock, holding my breath until my chest ached, stifling any sound that might betray my presence. He was… the elder of Draenor. His jawline is sharply defined in the firelight, his gaze hard—not the friendly gaze that usually accompanies him when he asks about my wounds, or when he offers me the bitter potion that always makes me frown. Before him stands a tall man in a black hooded cloak, his movements like smoke: slippery, hard to fully capture with the eye.“What were you thinking, coming straight to the pack’s palace?” The elder Draenor’s voice was low, but the embers of anger flickered between the words. “We were supposed to meet in the middle of the forest. Not here.”The hooded figure lifted his chin briefly, just enough to let his sneer be heard. “This is urgent. I can’t wait. Our time is run
Lyara Wolfborne's POVMorning crept slowly across the sky, not with the noisy chirping of birds, but with the soft hiss of the remaining night breeze carrying the scent of medicine and laundry soap evaporating from the palace corridors. This room—my room—still bore the traces of last week’s battle: a flower pot moved to the windowsill because the moonlight was said to soothe wounds, a blanket neatly folded on a rattan chair because I had insisted on sitting rather than sleeping the night before, and report documents placed askew on a small table, sandwiched between a pen and silver thread left over from a protection ritual.I stand before the tall mirror, gazing at the figure greeting me from behind the glass surface. The dark circles under my eyes haven’t fully faded, but their color isn’t as sharp as it was a few days ago. My skin is still pale, but a healthy glow is slowly returning. A dark blue formal gown hangs on my shoulders, the fabric falling gra
Author POVTwo days after the uncompromising interrogation, the isolation building in the Gravepine pack palace became the heart of everything fragile and dangerous at the same time. The once-sturdy stone walls were now shrouded in the pale glow of white magic lamps. The scent of neutralizing herbs—dried sage, moon salt, and root decoction—mingled with the bitter smell of dried blood. On the floor, the protective rune lines etched by Lysander still reflected light, forming a security circle that made the air tremble softly.Alpha Kaelen sat in an iron chair, his hands and feet bound by magic-dampening chains. His once-clear eyes were now clouded, staring blankly as if a mist lay behind his eyelids. His lips moved softly, pumping out words that were neither prayer nor oath; more like the mutterings of a shattered dream. Names occasionally slipped out—Lyara… Seraphyne… Alpha Aric—each like a stone thrown into calm water, creating small ripples of disturbanc
Aric Thane Wolfborne's POVThe convoy of armored vehicles moved slowly along the rocky road toward the Gravepine pack's territory. The large tires ground through the thick layer of ash covering the ground, producing a long, piercing screech in the silence. The vibrations from the engines and wheels traveled up my legs, while my eyes darted around, taking in every corner of our surroundings.The forest along the road was no longer a forest—it was a living graveyard. The leaves were withered and black, the tree trunks like brittle, dry skeletons, and the cold wind crept through the gaps, carrying a piercing scent that made my chest feel tight: a mix of dried blood, charred flesh, and the remnants of black magic so thick it felt like it was sticking to my skin.My fingers tapped the hilt of the Silver Veil resting on my lap, not out of nervousness, but because an instinct kept whispering: something was wrong.As the vehicle came to a stop at the main