Blood And Betrayal

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By noon, the Silverwood estate writhed with activity. Banners snapped in the bitter wind, each printed with the sigils of clans whose names are centuries old. It was the special day of the Crimson Ceremony, when the Blood-moon shines the brightest.

Deimon sat enthroned in his manor's council room, conducting what he'd labeled a "casual meeting" with his Blood-Moon Scion. Casual, as if anything involving werewolf politics could be casual. As tradition demanded, the Scion appeared in ceremonial attire—ancient furs and woven silver threads . Deimon, naturally, was an exception. He despised the old ways the way fire despises rain.

Silver suit, hand-tailored,  cigar smoldering at the corner of his mouth like a fuse waiting for ignition.

"Absolutely not, Uncle Dubois." 

Deimon's voice cut through the festive chatter like a blade through silk. "You're not going to be my chief advisor."

Dubois smiled—that infuriating, knowing smile that had needled Deimon since childhood. 

"It would be wise to have family counsel you, nephew. Blood knows blood. Your father—"

"My father is dead."

     Deimon's words dropped like stones into still water. "And you're not him. Keep your paws to yourself, Uncle. Just stick to being part of the family , that's all."

Dubois's smile never wavered, but something flickered behind his eyes. Something that looked almost like satisfaction.

The room held its breath.

Then—commotion; Shouting, the clatter of boots on marble.

Deimon's lips curved upward. He'd been expecting this.

The doors burst open with theatrical violence. Lauretta Wilson swept into the room like a storm given human form, her face flushed red, her eyes wild. A guard stumbled behind her, hand outstretched uselessly.

"Don't you dare touch me!" she snarled.     "I'm here to see my inlaw!"

"Forgive me, sir, I tried to—"

Deimon raised one finger. The guard fell silent mid-sentence, backing away as if that single gesture had been a blade against his throat.

"What is the meaning of this, Deimon?" Lauretta's voice trembled with barely controlled rage..  "Your men trying to restrain me? I'm I not still part of this family?"

"Madam Lauretta." 

Deimon's tone was honeyed poison. "How good of you to join us. I was beginning to worry you'd miss my big day. A bit early for the ceremony, aren't you?"

Lauretta stood frozen, her expression a roadmap of betrayal and disbelief.

 "Early? I'm not here for any God-damned ceremony, Deimon. I want to see my daughter? Where is Anna?"

"Please, sit with us."

 Deimon gestured to an empty chair with mock civility. "We're family, after all. I happen to be in the middle of a brief meeting with my inner circle—what a coincidence that you should arrive now."

His chuckle was soft, lethal.

The Scion remained silent, their eyes darting between Deimon and Lauretta like spectators at an execution.

"I don't think I can sit for five seconds, Deimon." 

    Lauretta's hands trembled at her sides. "Let me see Anna, now. Then we can discuss whatever theatre this is supposed to be."

Deimon's expression shifted. The mask of civility cracked, revealing something colder beneath. He removed the cigar from his lips with deliberate slowness and crushed it into the ashtray. The ember died with a hiss.

"Since you insist on standing, Madam Lauretta, suit yourself." 

His voice dropped an octave. "I'm sorry, but your daughter is... indisposed at the moment. For reasons I intend to keep to myself."

"Not even from her own mother?"

 Lauretta's voice broke. "Deimon, how can you be this cruel? I demand to see my daughter!"

The temperature in the room seemed to plummet.

"Your daughter," 

    Deimon said, each word carefully measured, "is not in a position to entertain visitors. She has committed sacrilege. An act of infidelity—an outside affair while bound in wedlock. By tradition, she must be confined, punished."

Lauretta gasped—not in surprise, but in fury at his audacity.

"You mean you've locked my daughter in a cell?"

"Your daughter cheated, madam!" 

Deimon's roar shook the windows. It was less voice than violence. "She betrayed her oath! Her covenant! Her pack!"

"How are you so certain?"

     Lauretta stepped forward, matching his fury with her own. " I know the methods you use around here. A modern man, still relying on mystics and spirits? Have you taken her to a hospital? Had actual tests done? Anna would never betray you—not the way she loved you. I know who I raised!"

"Are you suggesting,"

 Deimon said, his voice dropping to something more dangerous than shouting, "that my Diviners lie? In case you're ill-informed, Madam Lauretta, your daughter carries a pup with blood coursing through its veins that contradicts the Ashworth bloodline. An outside affair." He leaned forward. "Her name should not be mentioned casually anymore. Not in this house. Not in my presence."

"Unbelievable."

 Tears streaked Lauretta's face now, hot and unchecked. "What happened to the love you swore to her? The oaths under the Supermoon? Were they all a performance? If you'd meant even a fraction of those words, you wouldn't be acting like the spoiled child you clearly still are."

A murmur rippled through the Scion. Jabari rose, his face tight with warning.

"Madam, that will be—"

"Keep your comments to yourself, Beta." Lauretta's gaze snapped to him like a whip. "This is not your business."

"He's family too,"

 Deimon interjected smoothly. Then his smile turned vicious. "But I suppose if you'd trained your daughter to be a proper Luna instead of a cheap whore, maybe she would have kept her legs closed. Then again, perhaps she learned from her mother. A wolf begets a wolf, as they say."

The room went deathly still.

Lauretta's face drained of color. The tears came faster now, silent and devastating.

Even Edith, who had remained stone-faced throughout, shifted uncomfortably.

 "Deimon, that's—"

"I'm sorry, Madam Lauretta."

 Deimon's tone turned official, as if he were dismissing a servant.

"But you must leave. You've disrupted a Scion meeting. As a non-member, that's a transgression. However, out of great respect for your late husband— Mr. Wilson , may his soul rest—I'll let it slide. The Ascension Ceremony is at midnight on Ascension Hill. Don't be late, Madam. Perhaps then you'll see Anna. I bid thee farewell."

The words were a door slammed in her face.

Lauretta wiped her eyes with shaking hands.

 "I see. So that's how it is."

She gathered her bag, her movements jerky with suppressed emotion. At the threshold, she turned back.

"Just so you know, Deimon—I'm not afraid of you, or your people. And I never liked you. I thought marriage might force you to grow up, but I see now you're still a peevish child playing king."

 Her voice was ice. "I bid thee farewell as well."

"Always remember to close the door!"

 Deimon called after her with theatrical cheer. "It's cold outside! Where are your manners, woman?"

The door slammed.

He turned back to his Scion with a chuckle. "Stubborn creature, that one. I've always hated dealing with her, and she's made it abundantly clear the feeling is mutual. She'll learn, though. They always do." 

He clapped his hands once. "Now, shall we resume?"

"You could have at least allowed the poor woman to see her daughter," 

Dubois said quietly. "One last time. Was that truly too much to ask? Your words alone might kill her from grief."

Deimon's gaze sharpened. 

"I've told you before, Uncle—I don't appreciate your constant disagreement. In fact, I did her a favor. She'll see her daughter tonight."

"Perhaps," 

Dubois murmured into his cup, "before you send the girl to the afterlife."

"Shut up, Uncle."

 Deimon's voice was flat. "Sometimes I wonder if you're actually my father's brother, or just the black sheep who wandered into the wrong family."

"Have you checked on her recently, Master Ashworth?"

 Greystone, who had observed the entire spectacle in silence, finally spoke. His tone was carefully neutral.

"Her handmaid has that under control. She's the only one allowed to see her. I've instructed them  she should be dressed in ceremonial garments before the ritual."

"Master Ashworth..." 

Seraphina began, her voice tentative.

"Enough!" 

    Deimon's palm struck the table. "Enough about Anna, everyone . Let's discuss something else that doesn't bite on my soul, please."

Seraphina recoiled as if struck.

She felt it then—the cold spreading through Deimon like frost through veins. Something had changed in him. Something dark and irreversible.

What had gotten into him?

 ---

By dusk, the atmosphere had transformed.

Snow fell in thick curtains, but the estate blazed with light and movement. 

The path from Silverwood to Ascension Hill was lined with torches, their flames dancing wildly in the wind. Different clans and packs had converged on the mansion for a final reception before the march to the ritual grounds.

Above, the Blood Moon was positioning itself, still veiled by roiling clouds. It would be a wild night. Every werewolf would transform under its crimson gaze—at their strongest, most primal. Some would go feral from the moon's energy .

The night seemed to be proceeding smoothly.

Until a roar erupted from the Silverwood manor that silenced every conversation, stopped every heart.

"WHAT? HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE?"

Deimon's bellow was bestial. He shoved past the guard at the dungeon entrance and plunged down the stone steps, Jabari at his heels.

The cell was empty.

Only silver cuffs remained, just sitting there. The air was cold and lifeless.

His Luna was gone.

"How... How did this happen?" 

Each word was a barely contained eruption.

The omega guarding the cell—Zuri—trembled violently, his mouth working soundlessly.

Jabari moved before Deimon could. He seized Zuri by the collar and slammed him against the stone wall with bone-rattling force, lifting him until his feet dangled uselessly.

"Are you going to speak," 

Jabari growled, "or shall I rip your vocal cords out and read them myself? What happened to the prisoner?"

"I'm sorry, Master Ashworth!" 

Zuri sobbed. "Only her handmaid was allowed in—we didn't inspect her ourselves! Please, forgive me—"

Deimon snarled, a sound more animal than man. His palms were clenched so tightly that blood seeped between his fingers.

"This shouldn't be possible."

     His voice was deadly quiet now, which was somehow worse than the roaring. "The shackles are forged from pure silver. The locks sealed with blood magic. Only our master keys can open them. Who did this?"

He inhaled deeply, scenting the air.

Nothing. Only the faint, lingering residue of Anna's suffering.

His eyes fell on the latch. It was mangled, twisted—but not broken from the outside.

Someone had opened it from within.

"She had help." 

Deimon's words were slow, calculated. "There's a mole among us. Someone close." His gaze swept over them. "The higher-ups won't like this. I promised them a spectacle, and now I'll be made a fool on my own Ascension day."

He turned to Jabari.

     "Release him. Zuri's as innocent as he is ignorant."

Jabari dropped Zuri, who crumpled to the floor.

"Organize a search party," Deimon commanded. "Immediately. Alert the Nomads—unleash the bloodhounds. I want her found within three hours, before the Ascension begins." His jaw tightened. "Prepare for the ceremony regardless. I won't keep the higher-ups waiting. In the meantime..."

His eyes glinted like cold steel in firelight.

"Bring me Anna's handmaid. The one they call Aurora."

    Deimon squatted and inspected the latch

"She has some explaining to do."