Novel & Cerita Dark Moon: The Blood Of Vargr

The sky that night was not its usual silver. It was red. A blood moon loomed over the Lunar Pack, casting an eerie glow across the mountains. Shadows danced across burning huts. Screams pierced the air. Smoke curled high into the heavens—as if the stars themselves were mourning. Lyra’s heart pounded in her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around a crying infant—Snow. Her daughter. Her Moon Goddess reborn. “Zane!” she screamed, her voice raw with panic. “They’re coming!”

Crystals amplified, elixir poured on wounds prepped, dagger poised. The Blood Moon crested overhead through the vent, red light flooding, runes blazing. Veron sliced his palm, blood dripping, then hers—shallow cut on hand, crimson welling. He pressed wounds together, merging flows, chanting low, energy crackling. Isabella gasped awake, eyes snapping open, green irises flickering gold flecks, body arching against bonds, terror raw as she scanned chains, faces, the altar. Pinned firm, she thrashed, but she was held down by hefty men, my gaze locked sorry, useless.

Daryl’s blade flashed up, slitting its throat — but instead of blood, black smoke poured from the wound, wrapping around his arms. Varrow ignored the fight, stepping toward the door. “All these years,” he murmured, tracing the blackstone with one hand, “and I finally stand before the source.” The voice from within the vault purred. “Varrow. The leech who drinks my blood yet fears my teeth.” Varrow’s expression flickered — anger, then hunger. “We’ll see who fears who when you’re mine to command.” Killian’s shadows lashed out, trying to drag him back — but Varrow turned with inhuman speed, slamming a talisman into Killian’s chest. It burned, magic locking his limbs as his knees hit the ground.

‎The courtyard was bathed in the eerie glow of the blood moon, its crimson light spilling over the stone walls, painting everything in shades of rust and shadow. The air was thick, heavy with the scent of pine and iron, and a restless energy hummed through the pack, their eyes glinting as they gathered in a tight circle. I stood beside Rex, my hand still warm from his grip, my heart steady despite the weight of Sage Elara’s words: *Salvation or ruin.* The prophecy hung over me, a blade waiting to fall, but I wasn’t the girl who cowered anymore. I was Lycan, a mother, a warrior, and tonight, I’d prove it.

Celestia whispered, her smile not reaching her eyes as she leaned in toward me. ​The priestess stepped forward, her hands shaking as she held the ceremonial dagger. As she began the chant to bind our souls together, a sudden cloud moved over the sun, plunging the grove into a shadow that felt intentional and heavy. I looked at the dark woods beyond the pack borders, wondering where Elara was. If she was even still alive, and just as the blade touched my skin to draw the binding blood, a sharp pain flared in my chest that felt like a scream in the distance, making me stumble and drop Celestia's hand as the ground beneath us started to tremble with a low, unnatural hum.

The second day bled into the third with relentless speed, as though time itself conspired to drag the mating ceremony closer. Blackthorn Keep thrummed with final preparations. Banners of black and silver snapped in the wind above the battlements. Torches were set along every path leading to the sacred grove where the rite would take place beneath the blood moon. The air carried the sharp scent of pine smoke and roasting meat from the kitchens, mingling with the metallic tang of freshly sharpened blades. Warriors drilled in the courtyard, their breaths fogging in the cold, while elders chanted low prayers to the Moon Goddess in the chapel tower.

Inside the chest sits a small, crystal flask filled with glowing, dark liquid—alongside a bloody, severed finger wearing a silver signet ring etched with the Nightvale crest. My breath catches in my throat, my heart violently slamming against my ribs as I scramble out of the bed, staring at the ring. "That's... that's Vaelira's ring!" Zyric drops his gaze, his voice heavy with dread. "Lord Vaelor Grimshaw sends a message with the blood-flask: your sister Vaelira Nightvale is bound to the blood-altar at Darkmere Crossing. She has been infected with the shadow-rot poison. If Lady Blackwynd does not surrender herself to the Grimshaw pack before the full moon reaches its peak tonight, they will

Valen’s heavy blade cut through the air, hitting Varick’s shadow barrier with explosive force. Varick screamed, holding up the glowing royal seal to block Valen's strike. CLANG! The collision of gold sun-fire and dark magic created a blinding shockwave. The stone ledge beneath my knees shattered completely! "Valen!" I gasped as the rock gave way. The ledge collapsed into dust, and the dark wind pulled us downward. I fell straight into the freezing, pitch-black void, clutching baby Aurora tight to my heart as the shadows swallowed us whole!

He hovers over the eastern district. Selavane, the Dark Moon, is barely visible—a shape of darkness so absolute it seems to absorb the morning light. She positions herself above the western quarter. And the others—Rhazkar burning like a sun, Nylora flowing like living water, Thrym crackling with storm energy, Myrien towering like an ancient tree—they surround the city in a perfect circle.

These things only pointed somewhere, and reminded me of the one person I truly feared---Vargan. I could feel the monster through the mate bond. His bitterness and darkness was slowly consuming Frost, replacing the love and warmth that I felt effortlessly. In my fear and worry, I picked the grimoire Morgana had given him, and flipped through its pages with desperation and haste. I needed to find a way to break both the blood magic corruption and the blood oath. It wasn't the Lunar eclipse yet, but these early signs... these episodes, and this version of him had sent my body shivering in absolute dread.