The Forge Plot Novels & Stories

"After losing Kozlov." "He's rumored to be more vicious than the last one," my father continued. "And he will want revenge for what Jameson did to the organization." I nodded slowly, absorbing this. A new threat. A more dangerous one. "How soon?" "Weeks. Maybe less," Papa said. "Which brings me to what I need to ask you." He leaned back, studying me with an intensity that made me feel like a specimen under glass. "Are you fully healed, Catarina?"

"I can't have a coward for a son. I won't." "Are you kicking me out?" I wiped the blood from my lip. "No." He stayed facing the glass. "I'm fixing you. There is a place for boys who aren't ready to be men. It's called The Forge." "The Forge?" My stomach dropped. "I've heard stories about that place, Dad. That place is a cage. They break people who come there." "Exactly." He turned back. His face was a mask; there was no love, no pity, just ice. "They break the weak parts so the strong parts can grow. You are leaving tonight."

We weren't driving into a base; we were driving into a chasm. The Blood Moon Forge When the doors finally hissed open, I didn't see a military bunker. I saw a cathedral of industry. We were miles underground, in a cavern so vast it had its own weather system of steam and cold drafts. The walls were lined with massive, ancient pipes and glowing blue crystals—the same tech Fenris mentioned they had salvaged decades ago. In the center of the cavern stood the Forge. It was a circular platform of black iron, suspended over a pool of churning, white-hot magma. Surrounding the platform were four massive pillars carved with the symbols of the old packs—wolves, ravens, bears, and dragons.

Duke was left silent for a long while, his tears rolling down his cheeks. However, he eventually held out my ring, and I didn't hesitate to take it away. That seemed to drain him off all his strength, and he dropped limply on the ground. Before we left, Alex threatened viciously, "I'm warning you—don't bother my sister ever again. We will just treat the cost spent to establish the Forest Pack as alimony… but if you stalk her again, the House of Rod will destroy you." Duke looked up, dumbfounded as he muttered, "The House of Rod… The House of the Alpha King…"

Lucian: The woods bent around me as I moved. Trees leaned like witnesses. The wind sharpened its breath. Even the shadows seemed to part as I stalked through them, the dagger still warm in my grip. Arielle's blade. Arielle's bond. And my oath. I didn't care if the path to her was carved through hell. I would carve back. The portal forge was hidden in the spine of the mountain. Old. Half-buried. Left to rot after the Rift Wars. I'd passed it as a child once, my father calling it cursed. A place only fools and traitors dared to use.

I barked out a laugh. The sound wasn't particularly friendly. "The forge is warded to hell." That earned several confused looks. I pointed toward the ceiling. "The Council didn't ask." I pointed toward the walls. "They didn't negotiate." I pointed toward the floor. "They didn't even warn me." Now Mal was trying not to laugh. Good. Someone appreciated my suffering. "They wrapped this place in so many protections I can barely breathe." That wasn't entirely a joke. The forge had always been alive. Open.

Waddled up to the door of the Victorian on the bend. Their life seemed perfect. I suppose I was wrong. In any case, the Fosters were inseparable—even when she got older. They would waltz around town laughing; sit at cafes looking like someone ought to be photographing them for a perfume campaign. And it stayed that way for a while, mind you. Until Chloe climbed out from a Taxi—and this I saw through my kitchen window.

The forge in the heart of Nightveil had long been cold. Once, it had birthed weapons of legend—blades carried by heroes whose names were now lost to time. Now, the old stones sat silent, the anvil dust-choked, the hearth dead. But tonight, it lived again. Veyra stood before the ancient forge, her heart a storm of grief and resolve. In her hands, she held the remnants of a shattered sword—the last relic retrieved from the ruins of a temple days earlier.

It felt like my world came crashing down when I heard Trevor say he wanted to forgive Roxanne. Cyril was our only child born after ten years of marriage. He was our miracle. His body lay cold and stiff upstairs in the surgery room, yet Trevor was determined to forgive the ones who had killed him. "Trevor Walker! Are you insane?" I yelled, completely losing it. I charged toward him and slammed my fists into his chest. "That was your son! How could you say that? How could you…"

• Ava's POV • "What?" I asked. Grandma ignored my sudden surprise and spoke up, "It is said to be formed in the Underworld." I refrained myself from groaning out loud when I heard her say that. "And stolen from there." I looked at her this time, instead of the black gemstone. "Who stole it?" The thought of somebody stealing something from the Underworld, more or less a human, was crazy. "Nobody knows." She sounded very much genuine saying that. As if Underworld even existed. "Many believe it was formed by the dark Furies who went against Hades. They formed this stone for Persephone."