Chapter 5

Chapter 5: The Hostile Sanctuary

Nadia's POV

 I remember the exact moment when the rocks and earth crashed over my grandma's back, her pained yells mixing with Mara's bleeding snivelling in the distance.

'I'm so sorry, Nadia... they have no choice', she cried, her voice broken in the thick forest.

I squeezed my eyes shut, pushing the memory away from the back of my mind as I pulled my hood lower, trying to block it out.

I am a blackblood, and now close enough to the destination my father spoke of.

The trees opened up ahead, revealing the colossal chasm the blackened canyons flanked on both sides.

The strange acrid smell filled the area, clinging to the back of my throat in nervous anticipation. This was the reason why my father's mark burned soothingly with a hint of warmth.

There it was.

Somehow my chest lightened, the weight of the path I've undertaken pressing down on me with all the force of a thousand memories. That small flame of hope, thought long extinguished when I first watched the blood pour from the stream, seemed to ignite inside me.

This is my father's country, his people. They were supposed to be my salvation after everything that happened.

The village nestled beyond the edge of the cliff was a dark shadow of the one I remember.

Hundreds of survivors had taken shelter among the western crags, my grandma sending a signal to me the moment of my arrival.

I inhaled sharply, stepping over the invisible border.

My heart hammered three loud knocks against my ribcage before it would be allowed to settle. From within the canyons' depths, metallic clicks echoed, heralding the approach of my first and likely last guard patrol.

'Halt!', a gruff voice barked somewhere above me.

Out from the shadows of the rock formation, five individuals in black leather armour emerged, blocking my further progress with nothing but the determined set of their stares.

'Speak your name and business, traveller!', the apparent leader drawled, crossing his heavy boots in front of me, the tip of his sharp blade dangerously close to my neck. 'This place is not open to visitors'.

'I... I came to find shelter', I whispered, raising my hands in a pacifying gesture, revealing the calluses-covered palms. 'I wish to speak with the Elder of the western clan'.

'I think you have us mistaken. His voice was low, threatening as he leaned closer. 'State your name and the reason why you came to the Blackblood Mountains. '

'I am Nadia Hayes', I introduced myself. 'And I come to your sanctuary to confirm my allegiance to your people. I have proof of my...'.

'Your grandmother sent you?', another guard asked, stepping forward, narrowing his eyes at the hooded stranger.

'No!' I shook my head, the growing uneasiness twisting in my stomach. 'She sent me to you'.

At the sight of my unveiled face, all the guards seemed to freeze.

It was not only my face that marked me as a pureblood. As the black leather of my cloak slid off my shoulders, revealing the long cascade of shiny raven tresses, the angry violet hints in my otherwise dark eyes, and the perfect oval of my almost translucent skin.

The leader of the sentinels visibly swallowed, his eyes narrowing as he looked me up and down.

'Does she have a name?' barked the captain, his sword still pointed at my nose. 'Or will we present you to the Elder masked, as some sort of a refugee? State. Your. Name'. His boots came to a halt two inches from my face, his thumb tracing the barely visible birthmark on my right palm.

I could've broken his fingers with a flick of my wrist. I could've knocked him out, disarmed him, and taken the keys from his belt. But all those thoughts were pushed aside as my heart beat frantically in my ears.

'Someone might consider you a princess, little lady', he scoffed, shoving my shoulder roughly. 'Here, purebloods are born troublemakers. I'll let the Elders decide whether you live through the day or not'.

As if on his command, two warriors came to my side and gripped my arms, pinning me against the cold stone wall.

'Wait, really, you can't be serious!' I struggled to break free, horrified beyond words by the sheer realisation of what just happened. 'My parents are dead! So is everyone else in my village!. You have no idea what happened out there!.

'Stop!', the captain commanded, his sneering expression darkening. 'Your Majesty'. With a grunt, he turned away and kicked the rusted gate leading to the inner sanctum.

'This is the Blackblood village. Not the Queen. Move it', his voice rumbled low as the thick metal door groaned open. Beyond, the inner courtyard was filled with hundreds of cloaked figures staring at me, their angry voices in silent harmony rising and falling on an unrelenting wave of judgment.

They saw me as an unwanted guest, a trouble-seeking interloper, making their already fragile hope of survival more hopeless with each heartbeat.

The soldiers herded me inside through the narrow, winding streets, hundreds of curious faces watching me pass.

I could feel the contempt in the eyes of the warriors as we entered the main hall. Women in their thirties, their children clutching their skirts, shot me disapproving looks from the shaded balconies. It was clear to me at this moment that I was not welcomed here, not at all.

They wanted the guards to rip me apart right then and there.

Once we passed through the centre of the inner hall, the warriors guided me to the stone-planted cell at the end of the corridor. The heavy iron door slammed shut behind me with a loud clang, echoing the sound of my grandmother's cave collapsing in on itself.

I slid down the cold concrete, hugging my knees to my chest, pressing my forehead against them.

I felt so very alone; my chest ached unbearably. Hundreds of miles I travelled across these crags, my life bleeding away in this endless exile. Here at the end, the thought filled me with the deepest existential dread because suddenly I realised the truth: there were no places I could call my home.

Beyond the canyons, in the far distance, the dull rumbling of war drums signalled the Lycan King's advance.