Lydia’s Letter

Reya’s POV

I was alone when Lydia burst through my chamber door, midnight shadows dripping from her cloak.

“Reya—now!” she hissed; eyes wild.

I leapt up, hand going to my blade. “What is it?”

She thrust a sealed envelope at me—its crimson wax stamped with a spider’s web. Dexter’s signature

My heart clenched. “You didn’t just bring that here.”

Her hands shook. “We don’t have time. Xander’s been alerted. They—Dexter’s men—are already moving.”

I tore into the seal. Inside, a folded note, urgency in every stroke:

Reya, they’re coming for both you and Xander. Riverdale crypt—tonight at the third moon. Protect it. A spider device is hidden inside your chamber. Could’ve taken your life this night. Burn the room.

Lydia

Under the note lay a tiny metallic creature—spider-shaped, cold and sinister.

My blood turned ice.

“Where did this come from?” I demanded, holding the device at arm’s length.

“Under your pillow,” Lydia whispered, voice collapsing. “It’s a tracking device.”

I crushed it underfoot. Hot dread slid down my spine. “Why the crypt?”

Lydia swallowed. “Dexter’s trying to draw us into the open. Xander’s emblem is sacred there. Destroying it would fracture alliances.”

Rage flooded me. “He needs to die.”

She shook her head. “We need proof. If Xander’s hurt... it’s over.”

I inhaled, steadying my breath. “Okay.” I pressed both hands flat against the table. “Time to move.”

Just then, heavy footsteps muscled down the corridor. Xander’s voice rumbled.

“Reya,” he said, half-shout, half-whisper, “I hear—”

I cut him off. “They’re at the crypt. We ride now.”

His golden eyes locked on mine—shock flickering before steel set in.

“Go,” he said, voice low. “I’ll hold the line here. Tonight, we defend both home and alliances.”

I nodded. “Stay safe.”

He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Be mine. Always.”

Behind me, Lydia slid in.

Ride to the Crypt

Moonlight guided our steeds through silent moor. My ribs protested with every bump, but adrenaline smothered the pain.

Three riders: Lydia, me, and two of Mooncrest’s elite guards—Harlen and Sora—faces like carved obsidian, weapons ready.

We reached the woodline that bordered Riverdale’s old estate. Map carved in my mind: crypt lay beneath the chapel. Stone steps descending into darkness.

I eased from my mount, glancing back at Lydia.

“You ready?” she asked, voice soft.

I drew my blade. “As I’ll ever be.”

Ambush in the Woods

We entered the clearing—moonlight pale silver.

Then blades whispered from the shadows. Rogues lunged with stolen crests, teeth bared, metal gleaming.

Harlen roared, swinging a halberd. I pivoted, parrying a strike meant for Lydia. Sora spun in my peripheral.

We fought back—claws, sword, grit. Blood stung the night.

A rogue pinned Lydia against a tree. I crashed into him, jaws snapping. He howled and fell

Another charged me. I ducked, riposte to his ribs with wolf reflex.

Sora downed two at once, footwork impeccable.

They retreated—but not before Lydia spotted something at the edge of the wood: the crimson of Dexter’s banner, quick shimmer through branches.

“He’s overseeing this,” she breathed, grim.

We didn’t chase them. We pressed on—into the chapel.

Inside the Crypt

We entered by dragging the stone slab aside. Cold air hit, like death herself exhaled.

Torches we carried cast dancing shadows on ancient stones and dusty coffins.

Lydia crouched by a runic inscription. “These wards are old... but reactive.”

She paused, hand hovering above a glowing rune. “Tamper with these, blood will leak shadows.”

“Then we move fast,” I said.

We descended stairs, heartbeats echoing.

At the bottom: the crypt chamber. A marble altar stood center, surrounded by niches lined with Riverdale relics. Symbols of unity… and vulnerability.

I spotted fresh footprints in ash. We froze.

Harlen whispered: “They were here within hours.”

A voice hissed behind us: “And now we are.”

Four rogues dropped from concealed platforms—knives raised. Behind them, two cloaked figures holding crossbows.

I barreled forward.

Steel against steel. Metal rang.

Lydia moved beside me, knives flashing.

I felt a push at my back—turned, elbowed him down the stairs.

One rogue circled, dagger toward Sora. I charged and disarmed him.

Then a bolt whistled through the torchlight, slicing close. My heart bottomed out.

I whirled toward the shooter—a tall figure on the balcony, crossbow aimed. Eyes cold.

I glanced back—Lydia crumpled against a coffin, blood blooming on her side.

I howled, charging up the steps.

I burst into the balcony above.

The crossbowman was gone—no bolt in sight, victim unseen.

But I saw fresh tracks—a direction to the chapel’s backside, toward the crypt entrance.

Lydia struggled to draw breath below.

I knelt by her, brutal breaths shedding tears I refused to let fall.

“We need to... hold,” she gasped. “You—you must go find him.”

My wolf leaned against my side, hot and desperate.

“I will,” I whispered, voice breaking with resolve.

I rose.

Turning, I faced the darkness of the corridors.

Somewhere out there, Dexter’s shadow lurked. Something whispered in my blood: this is far from over.