Blood and Promises

Lyra stared at the white rose like it might bite her.

It was delicate, perfect—each petal unmarred, impossibly pure. And yet it was more chilling than any blood-soaked weapon. She’d been trained to track monsters, to fight with blade and claw, but no one had ever prepared her for this.

A Thornwyn rose.

A symbol of possession. A claim.

Her fingers trembled as she snatched the folded parchment tucked behind the stem. The seal broke with a soft crack—the Thornwyn crest etched in crimson wax, pressed like a threat into the aged paper.

Four words. That was all it said.

We always take back what’s ours.

The ink was dark, almost wet. As if it had just been written. As if Kael himself had stood here only moments ago.

Her stomach twisted violently.

Her father. Her pack. The guards—

Lyra turned and sprinted toward the estate doors. Her dagger was already in hand, heart pounding like war drums in her ears. The massive oak creaked open slowly beneath her push, revealing the vast stone hall within. Shadows clawed the edges of the walls. The sconces were still burning, but dimly, like the flame feared something.

“Father?” she called, her voice echoing through the hollow silence. “Elias!”

No answer.

The scent of her pack still lingered—embers and earth—but something else bled through it now. Smoke. Not fire, but something burned. She stepped inside, boots clicking softly on the marble, her wolf prowling just beneath her skin.

Every instinct screamed that something was wrong.

She found the first guard slumped near the stairwell, his temple bruised, not bleeding. Alive—but unconscious. The other lay by the window, his pulse fluttering beneath her fingers.

They’d been taken out silently. No struggle. No blood.

Whoever did this didn’t come to kill.

They came to take.

A new chill swept over her spine as she raced up the stairs, past portraits of ancestors glaring down at her from the walls. Her bedroom door was untouched, the study locked. But her father’s chamber—

The door was wide open.

And the room… was empty.

No signs of a fight. No blood. No broken furniture. Just the cold breath of air from the open balcony, and a single strand of silver fur on the edge of the bed.

Lyra’s jaw clenched. She stepped into the moonlight flooding the balcony, scanning the woods. Nothing moved. Not even a breeze disturbed the leaves. But deep down, she knew—

He was gone.

She gripped the balcony rail, her breath unsteady. She could still hear Kael’s voice, low and velvet, echoing in her head.

“When the time comes, you’ll understand why.”

Was this what he meant?

Did he take her father?

Or worse—did he save him from something else?

The memory of the howl from earlier—long and mournful—sent fresh unease slithering through her veins.

She needed answers. And there was only one place she could get them.

By morning, the Blackthorn estate was in chaos.

Lyra said nothing of the rose. Not yet. She let the warriors search the borders, let the scouts follow false trails. She watched the Council gather in secret chambers, whispering theories like frightened children.

“Elias was growing reckless,” murmured one. “He crossed the Thornwyn line last week.”

“He must’ve gone willingly,” said another. “No signs of a struggle.”

“But why?” growled a third. “Unless he was trying to protect someone…”

Lyra’s name hung in the air like poison.

She left before they could say it out loud.

There was only one person who knew what had really happened. Only one who had been waiting for her in the woods the night her father vanished. And as much as she hated the thought—

She had to find Kael Thornwyn.

By dusk, she crossed the river into enemy territory.

The border between Blackthorn and Thornwyn lands was unmarked but palpable—an invisible line humming with old magic. Her wolf bristled the moment she stepped across it. The scent changed. The air grew thicker, heavier.

She walked deeper into the forest, instincts on high alert.

It didn’t take long before she sensed him.

The trees went still. The world seemed to hush itself. Then—

“Little wolf,” came that familiar voice behind her, low and amused. “Back so soon?”

She spun around, dagger raised.

Kael leaned casually against a tree trunk, arms folded, golden eyes gleaming in the dark like a predator who’d already won. He wore no armor, no weapon. Just a black tunic, the collar loose, revealing a scar that cut across his collarbone.

He looked like danger wrapped in silk.

“I should kill you where you stand,” she snarled.

He lifted a brow. “But you won’t.”

“You took my father.”

“No,” he said simply. “But I know who did.”

The truth in his voice hit her harder than a blow.

He stepped forward, slow and calm, and this time she didn’t retreat. Her fingers tightened on the hilt of her blade, but she let him speak.

“I warned you last night,” he said. “Something worse than me is coming. Your father knew it too. He crossed into my lands seeking a name we haven’t spoken in generations.”

Lyra frowned. “What name?”

Kael’s jaw tensed. “The Hollowed One.”

Silence fell. Even the wind seemed to pause.

“I thought it was a myth,” she said quietly.

“Most myths are born from truth,” Kael replied. “Your father believed he could stop it—end whatever curse was buried beneath both our bloodlines. But he was wrong.”

She stared at him. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because you’re not just a Blackthorn, Lyra.”

His voice deepened. “You carry the mark. The crescent scar. You’ve felt the pull, haven’t you? The forest whispering your name, the blood waking beneath the moon?”

Her hand instinctively covered the scar just below her collarbone.

No one had ever known. Not even her father.

 Karl's gaze softened, just slightly. “You were born from both bloodlines. Blackthorn and Thornwyn. You’re the key.”

She shook her head. “That’s impossible.”

He stepped closer. “Is it?”

The space between them was too small now. His presence overwhelmed everything—his scent, his warmth, the sheer gravity of him. She should’ve backed away. Should’ve struck.

But something in her held still.

“Help me,” he said, voice low. “Let me show you what your father was trying to protect you from.”

“Why should I trust you?” she whispered.

“Because,” he said, voice nearly a growl now, “if we don’t stop what’s coming, every pack in these lands will burn. Including yours.”

She searched his face, but the hatred that once clouded her heart began to tremble.

Still, she didn’t lower her blade.

Before Kael could speak again, a distant howl shattered the quiet. This one was different. Deeper. Hungrier.

And it was close.

Kael’s expression darkened. “We’re out of time.”

Branches cracked in the woods behind her.

Something was coming—fast, heavy, wrong.

Kael grabbed her wrist. “Run.”

But before she could move, a shadow erupted from the treeline.

It wasn’t a wolf.

It wasn’t even a creature.

It was a man—but not a man.

Tall. Pale. His eyes black as the void. His face scarred in a perfect crescent shape, echoing her own mark. And behind him—figures cloaked in bone-white robes, stepping silently into the clearing, one by one.

Kael shoved Lyra behind him, his own hands sparking with raw energy, his wolf snarling just beneath the surface.

The Hollowed Ones had found them.

And this time—they weren’t here for roses.

They were here for blood.