The First Blow

Chapter 11 — The First Blow

The full moon hung like a blade above the Blackthorn territory—bright, sharp, and watching.

Ezra felt it before the howls came. Not a sound. A pressure. A weight pressing into his chest like the night itself had grown teeth.

He was in the courtyard, sweat soaking through his shirt despite the cold, fists wrapped tight. Kael’s voice rang out behind him—gruff but focused.

“Faster. Again. Don’t just swing—feel your wolf.”

Ezra rolled his eyes but threw another punch. The training dummy rocked on impact. His muscles ached, but there was rhythm now. Flow. Like maybe—just maybe—his wolf had stopped fighting him and started… moving with him.

Then came the howl.

Low. Long. Not Blackthorn.

Everything froze.

Alric, mid-step, tensed like a wire pulled too tight.

Kael’s head snapped toward the ridge. His posture changed—no more coach, no more calm. Just a predator, still and deadly.

Ezra’s stomach twisted.

“They’re here… right?”

Kael’s voice was quiet, clipped. “Yeah.”

The courtyard erupted. Wolves sprinted for weapons. Guards barked orders. Steel flashed under moonlight. The calm was gone—ripped away like a curtain before a storm.

Ezra just stood there, heart hammering, trying to breathe through the hum in his blood.

His mark pulsed under his sleeve—hot and steady.

Then the voice came, loud and sudden, not a whisper this time:

Blood calls. Choose.

Ezra muttered through clenched teeth, “I already did.”

Kael was beside him in an instant, golden eyes glowing faint. His claws were out—just enough to show this wasn’t training anymore.

“Stay with me,” Kael said. “Whatever happens. You stay.”

Ezra huffed, trying to keep it light even though his palms were sweaty. “What, you think I’m gonna run?”

Kael didn’t answer. He just handed him a blade—short, rune-marked, and cold as ice.

Ezra looked at it. Then looked at him.

“You keep handing me weapons like I know what I’m doing.”

“You’re learning,” Kael said. “Fast enough.”

---

They met Raen at the tree line—where Blackthorn ended and the wild began.

This time, he wasn’t alone.

A dozen wolves stood behind him. Older. Scarred. Quiet. Their eyes said everything—we’re not here to talk.

Raen himself looked like he’d stepped out of a different story. Long coat too clean. Calm like this was a social visit. And that smile—easy, practiced, like he wasn’t standing in the middle of someone else’s territory.

“This doesn’t need to be war,” Raen said. “Just hand him over.”

Kael didn’t move. “No.”

Raen’s eyes slid past him—to Ezra.

And they locked on.

Ezra’s mark burned.

“You,” Raen said softly. “You’re brighter under this moon. Like you remember now.”

Ezra forced himself to keep his voice steady. “Get to the point, Raen.”

Raen tilted his head, the predator mask slipping into something colder. “The mark’s not random. You were born with a claim inside you. My claim.”

Ezra snorted. “You’ve got a funny way of asking someone out.”

Raen didn’t laugh.

“You don’t feel it? The pull? That fire in your spine? That’s blood memory. That’s what the mark is waking.”

“Pretty sure I’ve already been claimed,” Ezra said, lifting his hand—the Firebind scar still raw. “By choice. Not prophecy.”

Raen’s smile turned to stone.

“You chose wrong.”

Ezra opened his mouth, but it was too late.

The first blow landed before anyone moved.

One of Raen’s wolves lunged, claws out, fangs bared. Steel met flesh.

Chaos.

Ezra didn’t hesitate.

His wolf surged—not a full shift, but close. His senses sharpened. The earth felt different under his boots—like he was standing in something ancient.

He dodged a swipe, drove his blade deep into a shoulder, yanked it free. The blood felt too warm.

Magic crackled at the edges of the trees—raw and wild.

He turned—couldn’t see Kael.

Panic swelled in his chest. But he shoved it down. Focus. Survive.

Ezra ducked behind a log, panting. His mark was glowing gold, so bright it lit the dark.

Then—Raen’s voice.

In his head.

> You’re not one of them. You never were. You feel it.

Ezra growled. “Get out of my head.”

> You’re breaking, Ezra. One more push. You’ll see.

A crash—Kael landed beside him, shoulder bleeding, breathing hard.

“You good?” Ezra asked, scanning his face.

Kael just growled, eyes locked on Raen. “Stay close.”

Then—stillness.

Raen walked into the middle of the fight, arms up. His wolves froze.

“This isn’t war,” he said again. “Just a message.”

He turned to Ezra, eyes glowing now.

“The next moon, you won’t have a choice. The mark will open. And you’ll come.”

Ezra stepped forward, breath ragged. “Not even in death.”

Raen smiled. “We’ll see.”

Then he was gone.

Just like that.

---

The estate was a warzone. Two Blackthorn wolves wounded. Elders yelling in the war room. Alric sharpening a blade in the corner, sparks flying.

Kael stood at the window, staring into the trees like Raen might crawl back out of them.

Ezra sat alone in the infirmary, shirt ruined, ribs aching, hands shaking even though he pretended they weren’t.

The mark still pulsed.

Not pain. Not yet. But it was getting louder.

“You think this ends with a fight?” the voice whispered.

“You think love can silence blood?”

Ezra didn’t respond. Didn’t have an answer.

Kael stepped into the room. Bandaged, worn, but still solid. Still him.

“You did good,” he said.

Ezra gave a tired shrug. “Didn’t die. That’s something.”

Kael crouched in front of him, gaze steady. “You’re not losing to him.”

Ezra looked down at his hands—shaking, stained with blood that wasn’t all his.

“What if he’s right?”

Kael’s voice didn’t waver. “He’s not. You get to decide who you become.”

Ezra wanted to believe it.

But as the moonlight hit the window, the mark lit up again—gold and red this time—and that voice whispered:

> He’s coming. And he remembers what you are.

—

Raen’s retreat wasn’t surrender—it was strategy. Ezra’s mark is changing fast, stirring something ancient buried in his blood. As the next full moon approaches, Ezra must choose not just who he stands with… but what he truly is.