The Blood-moon Scion

Deimon slammed his fist on the table, making the silverware rattle. The meatball turned to ash in his mouth as he forced himself to swallow. The evening brought no solace—only the gnawing ache of betrayal and the weight of decisions yet to come. After his turn in the cellar with his treacherous mate, Deimon settled with his inner circle for the Blood-moon Rite, the sacred pack supper reserved for those who bore the burden of leadership.

Seven chairs surrounded the ancient oak table. Seven, as tradition demanded: the Alpha, his Luna, his Beta, his Elders, and his Diviner. Tonight, the Luna's seat was empty. Six wolves sat in uneasy silence, their eyes flickering between each other as Deimon wrestled with his rage.

The candles guttered in their silver holders, casting dancing shadows across the feast that none of them truly tasted. This was meant to be a celebration—the Blood-moon Rite marked the unity of pack leadership, the sacred bond between those who guided the clan. Instead, it felt like a funeral.

Dubois Ashworth—Deimos's uncle and his late father's half-brother—carved his meat with deliberate precision, each slice a calculated provocation. His eyes, the same ice-blue as his deceased brother's, studied his nephew with barely concealed contempt.

"Curious, isn't it, nephew? Who won't be joining us come the Lunar Solstice?"

Deimos's eyes flashed wolf-gold.

"Don't play ignorant, old man. It doesn't suit you."

"Peace, young Ashworth."

Edith's voice cut through the tension like moonlight through fog. The blind Elder's sightless eyes turned toward Deimon with unnerving accuracy. Her fingers, gnarled with age but steady as stone, reached for her wine glass without fumbling. "Your uncle means no disrespect."

Dubois smiled, showing too many teeth.

"Let the boy rage, Edith. Bottling it up will only make the shift more violent. We've all been young. We've all felt the sting of betrayal." He paused, his knife glinting. "Though perhaps not quite so... publicly."

"You dare mock me?"

Deimos's voice dropped to a growl, the sound vibrating with barely contained power. His canines lengthened, pressing against his lower lip.

"When my world is crumbling? When my bloodline has been contaminated beneath my own roof?"

The air thickened. Jabari, seated to Deimos's right, tensed. His hand moved imperceptibly closer to the silver knife at his belt—not to threaten his Alpha, but to be ready if Dubois pushed too far. The Beta's role was protection, even from family.

Seraphina Livingston, the pack's young Diviner, remained silent. Her violet eyes reflected something the others couldn't see—threads of fate twisting in ways that made her stomach turn. The young Alpha needed to bleed his fury before it poisoned him. Love betrayed was a venom no wolf could metabolize easily. She'd seen it before, in her visions. Alphas who internalized their rage became tyrants or madmen.

But there was something else in the threads tonight. Something that whispered of secrets not yet revealed.

"Enough."

Greystone's command carried the weight of decades serving the Ashworth line. His silver-streaked hair caught the candlelight as he fixed Dubois with a warning glare. The Elder Advisor's patience was legendary, but even legends had limits.

"Turning on each other serves no purpose. We are pack. We are family. Act like it."

"What Anna Wilson did—"

Greystone continued, his voice tight with controlled anger, " wasn't merely infidelity. She mocked the sanctity of Ashworth's bloodlines. She spat on the Lunar Covenant. She carried a bastard beneath the Ashworth roof, under the protection of our Alpha's mark." His fist clenched. "It's an act of war disguised as love."

Deimon's hands trembled.

"I took her to the Howling Springs. We performed the Lunar Binding under the full moon. I marked her. She marked me. Our souls are threaded, and she—"

His voice cracked like breaking ice. "Before I pass judgment, she'll name the father. She'll scream his name until her voice gives out. And then I'll tear out his throat with my bare hands and feed it to the crows."

The violence in his voice made even Jabari shift uncomfortably.

"Where is the Luna now, Alpha?"

Jabari asked carefully, his tone the practiced neutral of a wolf who'd learned when to tread lightly. The handyman of violence, some called him. Tonight, even he walked on eggshells.

"Chained in the cellar. Silver-bound and wolfsbane-laced."

Deimos's lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile. "She won't shift. She won't heal. She'll feel everything."

Dubois's fork clattered against his plate. "You're torturing your own mate? A woman you took blood oaths with?"

"One more word, uncle, and I'll forget we share blood."

Deimos's eyes burned crimson—an impossibility outside the full moon, yet there it was. The mark of a White Alpha. The genetic anomaly that made him both revered and feared. "Test me tonight, and you'll learn why Father chose me over your son to lead this pack."

The threat hung in the air like smoke. Dubois's jaw tightened, but he held his tongue. Barely.

"But you took a blood oath!"

Dubois finally pressed, standing now, his chair scraping against the stone floor. "You shared the Lunar Ball with her! You bathed in the Howling Springs and spoke the ancient vows! Those bonds aren't easily severed—they're not meant to be severed!"

"Where are you going with this, Dubois?" Caleb interrupted, his own patience fraying like old rope.

"What I'm saying, Caleb Greystone, is that punishment for a bound Luna doesn't fall to her Alpha alone. Not when sacred vows have been exchanged. Not when the Lunar Covenant has been invoked!"

Dubois's voice rose. "This matter belongs before the Council of Elders. This is bigger than pack law—it touches on the Old Ways themselves!"

"Nonsense!"

Greystone shot back, rising to match him. "The Alpha's sovereignty over his pack—over his mate—is absolute! It's the foundation of our entire structure! What good is an Alpha who can't discipline his own household?"

The argument erupted like wildfire, both wolves on their feet now, dominance rolling off them in waves that made the candles flicker and dance. The temperature in the room spiked as their inner wolves surfaced, testing, challenging.

Jabari's hand went to his knife. Edith's fingers tightened on her wine glass. The ritual supper was seconds from becoming a bloodbath.

"Silence."

Seraphina's voice wasn't loud, but it carried the weight of the ancestors. The word rippled through the room like a stone dropped in still water. The room fell still. Even the shadows seemed to bow. Both Dubois and Caleb froze mid-gesture, their wolves retreating under the Diviner's authority.

"The Diviner speaks,"

Edith murmured, satisfaction curling her lips. "And when the ancestors speak through her, even Alphas listen."

Seraphina rose slowly, her movements deliberate. Her hands traced symbols in the air—ancient pack signs that predated language itself. Only she could see them, glowing threads of power that connected past to present.

"By the Old Laws, the Alpha holds sovereignty over his pack—including his mate. This has been true since the first shift, since the first moon called to the first wolf."

She paused, letting her words sink in like roots.

"But the gravest punishment—excommunication from the pack bond itself—requires witness. It requires ceremony. It requires the acknowledgment of the Greater Pack." Her violet eyes found Deimon, and for a moment, he saw something in them that made his blood run cold. Pity.

"Alpha Ashworth, what judgment do you seek?"

Deimos's jaw clenched so hard it ached. When he spoke, his voice was hollow, scraped raw.

"I want her erased. Every bond, every vow, every thread that ties us—severed. Death would be mercy, and I'm not feeling merciful. I want her to live knowing she lost everything. Her pack. Her mate. Her purpose."

Seraphina nodded slowly, as if she'd expected this

. "The Lunar Solstice arrives in two days," she continued, her voice taking on the cadence of prophecy. "A Blood Moon rises—the first in seven years. The four great families gather for the Cleansing Rite at the Sacred Grounds."

She paused, letting the weight settle over them like a shroud.

"There, before the assembled packs, before the Silverfang, the Lupin, the Nightshade, and our own Ashworth clan, you must declare your Luna anathema. Strip her mantle. Denounce her bond. Only under the super moon, when the veil between worlds grows thin, can bonds forged in moonlight be broken without destroying the Alpha who made them."

Edith's unseeing eyes gleamed with ancient knowledge.

"She'll stand trial in the square," the blind Elder added, her voice carrying the chill of prophecy. "Her body will be cleansed. The abomination she carries will be purged by Incineratura ; ritual by flame. The Old Ways demand it—strangers in the bloodline must be weeded out like poison in the blood."

"It's the Rite of Severance,"

Jabari said quietly. "I've only heard of it in stories. My grandfather spoke of one, generations ago. The Luna didn't survive it."

"Most don't," Edith confirmed grimly.

Greystone placed a heavy hand on Deimon's shoulder, the gesture both comfort and anchor.

"I know this tears at you, young Alpha. Your fated mate, condemned by your own decree. The mate bond will fight you every step of the way—it'll feel like ripping out your own heart." His grip tightened. "But you're protecting something greater than yourself. You're protecting the pack. You're protecting the purity of the bloodline. History will remember you as the Alpha who chose duty over desire."

Deimon closed his eyes. Behind his lids, images flashed—Anna's smile, her lies, her hands on his face as she swore eternal love. Her swelling belly that carried another male's spawn, another male's legacy. His chest heaved once. Twice. Three times.

The wolf inside him howled for blood.

Then his eyes snapped open, blazing crimson with power that shouldn't exist outside the full moon's call. The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees in an instant. Every wolf felt it—the crushing weight of an Alpha's wrath channeled into cold, calculated fury.

This was the power that made White Alphas legendary. This was why they were both revered and feared.

"We prepare for the Crimson Moon Ceremony,"

Deimos said, his voice deadly calm, each word precisely measured. "The four families will gather at the Sacred Grounds. They'll witness my ascension as Alpha under the Blood Moon. They'll see the strength of the Ashworth line." He raised his cup, the wine inside reflecting the red glow of his eyes like captured blood. "And they'll watch as I tear away every thread that binds me to a traitor. Nothing—nothing—will ruin my first Crimson Rite. Not a faithless mate. Not her bastard. Not the whispers of weakness that will follow."

His smile was all teeth and winter. "I'll show them what happens when you betray a White Alpha."

The others raised their cups in answer, their voices joining in the traditional response: "Blood and moon. Pack and honor."

But the cheer that followed rang hollow, echoing off stone walls like a funeral bell.

Only Seraphina remained still, her cup untouched on the table. In the swirling darkness behind Deimos's chair, she saw something that made her blood run cold—a shadow that didn't belong to anyone in the room.