Blood Moon Rising

The fortress appeared through the trees like something from a nightmare.

Blood Moon territory was carved into the side of a mountain, all black stone and iron gates that shone like teeth in a pre-dawn light. There were torches on every wall, casting shadows that moved like living things.

I stumbled as Draven hauled me forward, my bare feet bleeding on the rocky path.

"Move," he growled.

The collar burned hotter. I gasped, forcing my legs to cooperate.

We crossed a bridge suspended over a chasm so deep I could not see the bottom. Wind whipped through the gorge, carrying the scent of pine and something else. Something wild and ancient that made my skin crawl.

Guards flanked the gate—massive warriors who watched me with eyes that glowed amber in the darkness. Their lips curled back, revealing canines meant for tearing flesh.

"Alpha," one of them said, bowing. His gaze slid to me. "Is that—"

"The Shadowborn." Draven's grip tightened on my arm until it felt like my bones were grinding. "Spread the word. No one touches her without my permission. No one speaks to her. She is mine to deal with."

Mine.

The word sent something hot and terrible through my chest.

The gates opened with a groan of metal on stone.

Inside, the pack house sprawled across multiple levels carved directly into the mountain. Wolves moved through the corridors—some in human form, others padding on four legs. All of them stopped to stare as Draven dragged me past.

I felt their hatred like a physical weight.

"Shadowborn," someone hissed.

"Kill it," another voice said. "Kill it before it awakens."

"Too late for that," a woman laughed. "Can you not smell it? The magic is already stirring."

Draven did not slow. He pulled me along with him through a maze of corridors that climbed high into the mountain. My lungs burned. My collar pulsed with each heartbeat, constantly reminding me that I was leashed.

Owned.

We stopped in front of a heavy wooden door etched with silver runes that hurt to look at.

Draven shoved it open and threw me inside.

I hit the floor hard, crying out as pain shot through my already battered ribs. The door slammed shut. I heard locks clicking into place—one, two, three.

Trapped.

I pushed myself up slowly, taking in my new prison.

The room was larger than anything I had ever inhabited at Silver Moon. A massive bed dominated one wall, covered in dark furs that looked obscenely soft. A fireplace took up another wall, currently cold and empty. Windows on the far side revealed the forest stretching for miles below, painted silver by moonlight.

Beautiful.

And utterly inescapable.

I crawled to the nearest wall and pressed my back against it, drawing my knees to my chest. The collar's weight was constant, burning just enough to remind me what would happen if I disobeyed.

"What have I done?" I whispered to the empty room.

You survived.

The thought came unbidden, in a voice that sounded like my mother's.

I buried my face in my knees and finally let myself cry.

I woke to someone shaking my shoulder.

"Hey. Hey, wake up."

My eyes snapped open. I scrambled backward, hitting the wall. Pain exploded through my spine.

A girl crouched in front of me, hands raised in surrender.

"Easy," she said softly. "I am not going to hurt you."

I stared at her. She was younger than me—maybe nineteen—with copper-red hair pulled into a tight braid. Amber eyes studied me with an expression I could not read. She wore fighting leathers that marked her as a warrior, but her face was softer than the others I had seen.

"Who are you?" I rasped.

"Lyra. Beta of this pack." She settled back on her heels, maintaining distance. "Draven sent me to check on you. Make sure you have not done anything stupid, like trying to escape or kill yourself."

"Would he care if I did?"

Her lips twitched. Almost a smile. "Probably not. But prophecies are inconvenient when their subjects die prematurely."

Prophecy. That word again.

"I do not understand any of this," I said. The admission felt like weakness, but I was too exhausted to pretend anymore. "I do not know what Shadowborn means. I do not know why everyone wants me dead. I just—I just wanted my wolf to come."

Lyra's expression shifted. Something that might have been pity flickered across her face before she locked it down.

"You really do not know, do you?" She stood, moving to the window. "The Shadowborn were the original werewolf bloodline. Powerful beyond measure. They could do things other wolves could not—control elements, bend reality, walk between worlds."

I pushed myself to my feet, wincing. "That sounds like a gift, not a curse."

"Power is always a curse to those who do not have it." Lyra's voice was stern. "Three centuries ago, the Shadowborn line grew too strong. Other packs feared them. Feared what they could become. So they formed an alliance and hunted every last one of them down."

My stomach twisted. "They committed genocide."

"They called it survival." She turned to face me. "But they missed one. Your great-grandmother went into hiding, suppressed her abilities, and lived as a normal wolf. The bloodline continued in secret, getting weaker with each generation. Until you."

"I am not powerful," I said. "I cannot even shift."

"You do not shift because you are not a wolf." Lyra crossed her arms. "You are something older. Something that terrifies every Alpha who knows the legends."

The collar burned. I clutched at it, gasping.

"Stop fighting it," Lyra said, no sympathy in her tone. "That collar will kill you if you keep trying to access your power. Draven designed it specifically to contain Shadowborn magic."

"Then why not just kill me?" I demanded. "Why collar me? Why bring me here?"

She smiled, but there was no warmth in it.

"Because prophecy says you are the key to either our salvation or our extinction. And Draven Blackthorne never leaves variables uncontrolled."

The door opened.

Draven filled the doorway, even more imposing in the morning light. He had changed into fresh clothes—black leather and silver buckles that emphasized every hard line of muscle. His silver eyes found me immediately, pinning me in place.

"Out," he told Lyra.

She obeyed without question, slipping past him and closing the door behind her.

We were alone.

Draven stalked toward me with that predatory grace that made my heart hammer. I pressed harder against the wall, but there was nowhere to go.

He stopped inches away, looking down at me.

"Do you know what happens to wolves who break pack law?" he asked softly.

I shook my head.

"They are executed. Publicly. Their bodies were left for the crows." His hand came up, fingers trailing along the collar. "But you are not a pack. You are not even truly a wolf. So traditional laws do not apply to you."

"Then what are you going to do with me?"

His smile was wicked. Dangerous.

"Train you. Break you. Remake you into something useful." He leaned close to me, with his breath warm against my ear. "Listen, see, little Shadowborn, that power inside you? It belongs to me now. The collar makes sure of it. And I am going to teach you exactly how to use it for my purposes."

"I will never help you," I spat.

The collar flared white-hot. I screamed, collapsing. Draven caught me before I hit the ground, his arms steel bands around my waist.

"You will," he murmured, holding me as I shook. "Because every time you disobey, every time you fight me, that collar punishes you. And I can make it hurt so much worse than this."

Tears streamed down my face. "I hate you."

"Good." He released me, letting me crumple to the floor. "Hate makes you strong. And you are going to need strength for what comes next."

He moved to the door, then paused.

"Someone will bring you food and clothes. You have one hour to make yourself presentable. Then I am taking you before the pack." His eyes glinted silver. "They are going to want to see the monster their Alpha keeps on a leash."

The door closed.

Locked.

I stayed on the floor, trembling, the collar's heat fading to its constant burn.

Monster.

Maybe they were right.

Maybe that was all I would ever be.

The clothes arrived thirty minutes later, delivered by a small woman with kind eyes and graying hair.

"I am Maya," she said, setting a tray of food on the bed. "Omega of Blood Moon pack."

Omega. The lowest rank. The ones who served, healed, and kept pack bonds strong.

The ones who understood what it meant to be powerless.

"Thank you," I whispered.

Maya's eyes widened slightly. As if she had not expected gratitude.

"You are welcome, dear." She gestured to the clothes. "I brought several options. I was not sure of your size."

I looked at the offerings—leather pants, soft tunics, and sturdy boots. All in shades of black and gray. Pack colors.

"I cannot wear these," I said. "I am not packed."

"No," Maya agreed. "But you are under the Alpha's protection. That means something here."

Protection. Such a strange word for captivity.

She helped me dress, her hands gentle when they encountered my scars. She said nothing about the evidence of my abuse, but I saw the tightness around her mouth. The anger in her eyes was not directed at me.

"Eat," she urged, pushing the tray closer. "You will need your strength."

The food was substantial but straightforward—bread, cheese, dried meat. More than I usually get in a week at Silver Moon.

I ate mechanically, tasting nothing.

"They are going to hate me," I said between bites.

Maya sat beside me on the bed. "Some will. Some already do. But others..." She paused. "Others will wait to see who you truly are before they judge."

"And you?" I asked. "What do you think?"

She smiled sadly. "I think you are a girl who has been hurt too many times. I think you deserve a chance to prove you are more than your bloodline." Her hand covered mine. "And I think Draven sees something in you that terrifies him. Which is why he is trying so hard to control you."

The collar pulsed.

Maya stood. "Finish eating. I will return when it is time."

She left me alone with my thoughts and the weight of what was coming.

The hour passed too quickly.

When the door opened again, it was not Draven but Lyra.

"Time to face the wolves," she said.

I followed her through the corridor, my new boots silent on stone floors. We descended deeper into the mountain until we reached a massive chamber carved from living rock.

The pack was waiting.

Hundreds of them.

They lined the walls, perched on rocky outcroppings, sitting in rows that climbed toward the ceiling. Every eye tracked me as I entered. The hostility was palpable—a living thing that pressed against my skin.

Draven stood on a raised platform at the far end, his presence dominating the space.

Lyra pushed me forward.

I walked on shaking legs, the collar burning with each step. Whispers followed me like poison.

"Abomination."

"Cursed thing."

"It should not be allowed to live."

I reached the platform. Draven gestured, and I climbed the steps, my legs trembling, until I stood beside him.

He grabbed my arm, displaying me like a trophy.

"This," he announced, his voice carrying to every corner, "is Kaia. Last of the Shadowborn line. The creature our ancestors died to destroy."

Snarls erupted throughout the chamber.

Draven held up his hand. Silence fell instantly.

"She wears my collar. Her power is bound to my will. She breathes because I allow it." His fingers tightened on my arm. "And she will serve this pack until prophecy demands otherwise."

"Kill her now!" someone shouted. "Before she awakens fully!"

"Too late," Draven said coldly. "The Awakening has begun. Killing her now triggers the extinction clause. We all die within a generation."

Shocked murmurs rippled through the crowd.

A man pushed forward—older, with silver threading through his dark hair. Authority radiated from him. "You are saying we need the Shadowborn to survive? That is madness."

"That is prophecy, Garrett." Draven's tone brooked no argument. "Sebastian confirmed it. The Veil is dying. Without Shadowborn magic to repair it, we all fade into nothing."

"Then let us fade!" a woman screamed. "Better extinction than enslavement by her kind!"

The pack erupted into chaos.

Arguments. Accusations. Some are calling for my immediate death. Others are demanding answers about the prophecy.

I stood frozen, drowning in their hatred.

Then I felt it.

The power stirring inside me, responding to the fear and rage in the room. The collar burned hotter, trying to contain it, but something was different this time.

Stronger.

"Draven," I gasped.

He looked at me. His eyes widened.

"Everyone out!" he roared. "Now!"

But it was too late.

The power exploded outward in a shockwave of silver light that threw the nearest wolves backward. The collar screamed, runes blazing white-hot as it tried and failed to contain the surge.

I was burning. Dying.

And I could not stop it.

Draven's hands clamped on my shoulders. His Alpha dominance slammed into me like a physical blow, forcing submission on every instinct I had.

"Submit," he commanded, his voice layered with supernatural authority.

My knees buckled.

The power retreated, not gone but contained.

I collapsed against him, gasping for breath.

The chamber remained silent except for my ragged breathing.

Draven lifted me into his arms as if I weighed nothing.

"Meeting adjourned," he said flatly. "We will discuss this further when she is stable."

He carried me out, my face pressed against his chest. I could hear his heart—steady, strong, utterly unafraid.

"What is happening to me?" I whispered.

His arms tightened.

"You are becoming exactly what you were born to be," he said. "And it is going to destroy us all."