The Werewolf's Bride
“Yours. Willingly given. Or taken.”
The pack snarled, ready to charge.
Darius raised a hand.
The ground trembled.
Runes on the stones flared, crimson to black.
Shadows detached from the monoliths, dozens of them, humanoid, smoke-made, eyes glowing the same crimson as the runes. Cursed wraiths, guardians of the First Moon’s wrath, summoned by the dark moon’s power.
They moved, fast, silent, cutting between Darius and the pack.
Kael roared, shifting mid-stride into midnight wolf, leaping for the nearest wraith. Claws passed through smoke; jaws snapped on nothing. The wraiths reformed, instant, relentless.