I come to in the dark, my cheek against cold stone. I hoarse from all the screaming. As my sight returns, torches ignite throughout the circular wall, exposing the moonshade council's cavernous hall. Its walls are lined with rough stone benches, and at the far end seven elders sit like guardsmen behind a low dais. Their faces are gaunt, their eyes ringed with worry — and a difficult, unspoken question.
My left wrist throbs under my thin, worn cuff of linen healer's cotton. It's cool and damp in the cell, but sweat forms along my hairline. I make myself sit up, back rubbery, and twist to fınd Rowan on his knees two steps away, broken wall and rooftile shards under his hand to keep me from falling.
"Maris," he murmurs, his voice urgent and soft. "They're waiting."
I gulp, heart hammering. The memory comes rushing back: the torchlight of the Stormfang commander… the wounded wolf's howl… the thump of the talisman drawing him to me. And the floor gave way and darkness swallowed me up. And here I now stand—pulled before the same Council that once lifted me up.
I eye the thick wooden door that is ajar to the larger room. The glow of a torch flickers inside, casting long shadows. Elder Sylis is framed by the doorway, arms over chest, robes sullied black with ash. He nods to Rowan. "Bring her forward."
Rowan's hand presses against my back. His touch steadies me, but I rid myself of it. I must enter on my own. I straighten my chin and enter the hall.
A hush falls. Scores of Moonshade clansfolk occupy the benches, their eyes darting between me and the elders. A rustling: a murmur, as if wind through dead leaves, ripples through the room.
Elder Minara stands at the dais. Torchlight glints off silver streaks in her black braid. "Moonbearer," she says, voice reverberating off stone. "Step forward."
My legs are heavy, sinking into the ground like roots trapped in water, but I slip up to stand before the dais. I can feel my fingers tightening then loosening at my side. The moon talisman—the crack of the crescent visible beneath my sleeve—I want to hide it, but I know that any attempt to conceal it at this moment would only increase their fear. I roll back my cuff. The shattered moon smolders dim, a coal behind skin.
A sharp: intake of breath. Elder Minara's eyes narrow. "'Twas written in the old rites, not a wit of mortal may hold such a binding and not suffer in ruin."
Another of the elders, Oren, brings his fist down on the table. "Dunno, there were rumors the Stormfang Exile might come back. We believed it folly. But this… this is undeniable. You are mated to the outcast Alpha himself.
My heart skips. And yet the very name Draven Storm reverberates against my ribs like a war drum. Only ever whispers: innocent of treason—he'd been framed by his own council. Exiled under a blood moon. Doomed to die if he ever claimed his mate. And here I stand—as a living testament to that prophecy.
I cough, my voice higher than I would like. "I—I don't understand. I never wished for prophecy. I am just… a healer."
Elder Sylis's gnarled hand goes up. "Your title is moot. There's the mark Moonbearer wears"the one made by the broken talisman itself. "You are the key and the curse." He stops, his eyes wandering to the other elders. "We must speak the legend."
The torches gutter. Silence coils around us. Elder Minara leans forward. "The lunar talisman was once complete — made by our Moonfather to unite the destined mates of werewolf alphas. The gem shattered when the Blood Pact of Unity was broken. One half stayed here in Moonshade Grove, the other traveled with the lineage of Stormfang."
You can hear her singing — sweet like river quartz. "Legend says the Stormfang's true mate will die if he ever takes her. This is why Draven Storm was banished under a blood moon: to save the pack from their certain fate. And now," she gestures toward me with a hand, "the shards have claimed you. "Your life is bound with his — but that very binding is his death.
There is a roar in my head, and I can't say a word. The weight of it lands cold in my chest: that I ended his life with my own touch. By our touch.
I raise a trembling hand. "And is there… no way to heal it?
There's a murmur in the crowd. Oren shakes his head. "The prophecy is sealed in moonlight and blood. The talisman's power is the only thing that can bind or unbind it—and the other half is on him."
My stomach heaves. "Then he's doomed." My hand lands on the illuminating half, the fractured silver offering me solace. "If we touch him again — if I touch him again — he will die."
Rowan steps forward. "Sires, there can be other magics —"
Minara shuts him up with a look. "We've been to the sacred archives and the oracle's scrolls. No cure save the talisman itself—and half of that is lost in Stormfang!"
The hall grows heavier. I look in the crowd for faces, for some hint of compassion, but I find only fear. Fear for me—and for the pack.
Elder Sylis sighs. The Council will meet in executive session. You will stay in the Healer's Cell until your fate is decided. He nods to the guards.
Two Moonshade warriors present themselves. Their weapons are soft clamps at my elbows, not blades or ropes. They guide me backward. I glance one final time at the Council: grotesque carvings of the god of moonlight, gazing at me with mute censure.
Behind me the heavy doors creak shut. Rowan lingers on the doorstep. "Maris—"
I shake my head. "Save your pity, cousin. I have to figure out what this talisman desires. And how to save him."
He presses a kiss to my brow. "You're not alone. I'll find a way."
I give him my sickly sweet smile and the door slams shut. Darkness swamps me once more, only I'm awake enough this time to welcome it. It is better to reflect in darkness than under the gaze of fear.
Hours go by — or is it days? Time becomes lost to me in this cramped cell. The only light is what filters through a slim slit near the ceiling, casting a gray light on stone walls. I'm sitting on the hard floor, cross‑legged, looking down at the crescent on my palm and prodding at its edges with a fingertip. It's cool now, as if the moonlight were distilled. No longer in flames, but in pulses … waiting.
I shut my eyes and go within, trying to find the connection, the bond between the magic and me. A faint power stirs… and I see… a vision.
Blood‑red moon. Its brilliant light spills across the sky, setting what were once-white clouds aflame. Below them, Draven Storm is kneeling on shards of stone, blood across his face, wolf‑fur matted. He holds his hand out to me, his eyes storm‑gray and desperate. The talisman's shard within my hands flares, and I feel ash‑cold fear grip my heart.
He lifts his face to the sky. "Maris…" His voice is faint, barely audible but resonating in my bones. "Please…"
Something snaps in my chest. I gasp, my mind and body back in the cell. My eyes snap open. The wall-slit admits nothing but no moon,muted green of the slack time of day. And yet my palm is hot as though that blood‑moon sky still reigns.
I haul myself up to my feet, lightheaded, my limbs trembling. The cell door judders, then slowly creaks open. Rowan's face is pressed to the glass, his features going slack with relief as he finds me standing.
"You—" He breaks off. He looks down at my hand which I can still feel pulsing. "The elders—"
I shake my head. "I saw him... under the blood moon. He's dying." Pain twists in my chest. "I can't let that happen."
Rowan steps inside. "They're ready to speak. They will decide your fate in the morning."
Dawn—or moonrise. I swallow hard. "Then we better find that other half quick." My voice is quiet steel. "If the talisman is the only key, I have to assume it — no matter the danger."
"The look on Rowan's face clouds with worry. "To travel into the territory of the Stormfang… to them that will be an act of war."
I clench my fingers, the cold crescent heavy in my hand. "I don't care." My heartbeat echoes his name. "I have to be the one to find him again before the next blood moon, or he's going to die without me.
He nods. "Then we depart at dawn." His hand closes over mine. For the first time since this nightmarish showing began, there is a whisper of hope that stirs within me. As where there's a talisman shard — and a prophecy — there must be a way to rewrite destiny.
I step toward the door. Beyond it, the Council waits. And enemies and allies I can't even see yet." But one thing is for sure: I'm not going to sit back and watch the prophecy kill him. I'll carve out my own place in it and then singe its very edges No pain could be worse than losing my mother.. I won't let it happen.