Chapter 5 - Witch-Blood

Day 2, Dawn

Silas doesn’t wait for dawn. He kicks my door in at first light.

No knock. No offer. No knife held out hilt-first like Rook. He throws his at my feet. It sticks in the stone, point down. Silver blade. Bone hilt. Carved with things that look like screaming faces.

“Pick it up,” Silas says.

He’s not wearing a shirt. Scars cover his chest. Not battle scars. Sigils. Burned in. Witch marks. One for every spell his mother made him cast. One for every person she made him kill.

The mother’s voice isn’t in the room yet. But I feel her. Cold draft across my neck. Like a hand.

“Estate rules say Luna chooses,” I say. I don’t touch the knife. “You don’t get to demand.”

Silas steps over the blade. Grabs my wrist. His fingers are colder than Rook’s blood. “Rook got to choose how he bled. I don’t. Mother picks for me. Always.” His thumb presses my pulse. “So I’m picking you first. Before she does.”

The door behind him creaks. Rook. Leaning in the frame, arms crossed. Cut from yesterday wrapped in white. Still bleeding black. He doesn’t stop Silas. He watches. Testing me.

“Day Seven, no blood is lethal,” Kain says from the hall. He’s not even looking up from his tablet. “But trauma is cumulative. Her neural feedback spiked 40% yesterday. Two bonds in twenty-four hours risks seizure.”

“Then she better be strong,” Silas says. He drags me to my feet. “You wanted a Luna who fights. Fight me.”

Training. Right. That’s what they call it.

We’re in the east yard before the sun’s fully up. Stone circle. No guards. No audience. Just four Kings and me. Theo sits on the edge, head tilted, listening. Kain records. Rook watches.

Silas strips his weapons. Drops them in a pile. Knife. Two daggers. Silver chain. He rolls his shoulders. The sigils on his skin glow faint red.

“Witch-wolf,” he says. “Mother’s breed. We bleed different.”

He holds his hand out. No knife. “You don’t cut me, Luna. I cut you.”

Rook moves. One step. “No.”

“Estate rules don’t say who holds the blade,” Silas says. “Only that the Luna bleeds. Law doesn’t care who does the cutting.”

He’s right. I heard it yesterday. The Luna bleeds. Not The Luna cuts.

“Fine,” I say. “But you do it, I get to see. Same as Rook. I want your death-memory.”

Silas flinches. Just for a second. Then he smiles. It’s not his smile. Too wide. Too many teeth.

“Careful what you ask for,” he says. But the voice doubles. His, and hers.

Mother.

She’s here.

Silas moves faster than Rook. Faster than anything alive should move. His hand clamps on my throat. Not choking. Holding. Claiming. His other hand — nails shift. Lengthen. Claws. Witch claws, black as ink.

He slashes my arm. Deep. Not a paper cut like Rook. This is meant to hurt.

Blood runs. Red. Mine. Hot, not cold.

The bond ignites.

Not ice like Rook. Fire. I’m burning. I’m ten years old, locked in a cell. Mother’s voice in my head: “Kill him, Silas. Kill your father. Prove you’re mine.” I see him — small, crying, claws out. I see his father on the ground, throat open. I see Silas scream as the first sigil burns into his chest. Property of Mother.

Then I see him die. Not Blood Rot. Not battle. Mother’s magic eats him from inside when he was sixteen. Heart stops. Wolf goes dark. She brings him back. Again. And again. Every time he disobeys. Die, then live, then die again until you obey.

He’s died seven times. Rook died once. Silas dies every time she’s angry.

I rip out of the memory screaming.

Silas is on the ground. Clawing at his own throat. Mother’s voice pouring from his mouth: “Mine! She’s mine! You don’t get to bond her, you weak little dog!”

His claws swing at me. Not Silas. Her.

Theo moves. Blind, but he’s faster than sight. He steps between us. Takes the claws meant for my face. They rip through his chest. Right over his heart.

Theo doesn’t make a sound. He just drops.

Blood. Red. So much red.

“THEO!” Kain’s tablet hits stone. Rook’s already moving.

Silas blinks. The glow leaves his eyes. He sees Theo on the ground. Sees his own claws wet. “No. No, Mother, no —”

Theo coughs. Blood on his lips. He finds my hand. Holds it. Weak.

“Saw it,” he whispers. “Day 3. Knew it was coming. Still hurts.” He tries to smile. “Told you. You’ll see mine next.”

His sewn eyes weep blood. Not tears. Blood.

Then his heart stops.

For three seconds, the yard is silent.

Then his heart starts again.

Non-lethal. Day 2. Law’s still asleep. But he felt it. We all did.

Rook hauls Silas up by the throat. Slams him into stone. “You touch her again before Day 7, I flatline you myself.”

“It wasn’t me,” Silas chokes out. “It was her. She’s in my head. She wants Nyx. She wants the Moonbane.”

Kain’s at Theo’s side. Injecting something. “Cardiac restart. He’ll live. But the Law felt that. It’s waking up early.” He looks at me. “We don’t have seven days. We have five. Maybe four.”

Four days until blood kills.

Four days until I have to choose who dies first for real.

I press my bleeding arm to Theo’s chest. His blood mixes with mine. The bond sparks. I don’t get a death-memory. I get a future. Theo, dead in my arms. Day 16. Real this time. No reboot. Arrow through his heart. Draevor’s crest on the shaft.

I jerk back.

Theo’s hand finds mine again. “Saw that, didn’t you?” he murmurs. “Now you know. First real death is mine.”

“No,” I say. “No, we change it.”

“You can’t,” Theo says. “But you can choose who dies second.”

Rook drops Silas. He walks to me. Picks up Silas’s knife from the stone. Wipes my blood off it with his thumb. Then cuts his own palm again. Black blood wells.

“Balance,” Rook says. “He took from you. I give to you.” He presses his bleeding palm to my cut arm. His blood sinks into my wound. Cold fights the fire. The bond doubles. Rook’s death, Silas’s death, both in my head at once. I sway.

“Enough,” Kain snaps. “She’s going into shock.”

Rook catches me before I fall. “Day 2,” he says against my hair. “You bled for Silas. You bled for Theo. You took from me. That’s three bonds, Luna. One more tomorrow.”

Kain’s eyes meet mine over Theo’s body. “Kain. Day 4. Lab. You’ll want to see what I really made you for.”

The guard opens the gate. New tray. No knives this time. Just a note.

Alpha Draevor: Impressive. She bleeds pretty. Your sister will bleed prettier. Choose faster.

Silas vomits on the stone. Mother’s voice is gone. For now.

Theo sits up. Breathing. Alive. But he looks at me with those sewn eyes, and I know.

He’s already mourning himself.