The morning came with no warmth, only the cold gleam of steel and shadow. The Citadel of Azaron awoke to the sound of horns and distant howls, announcing the gathering of the royal bloodline-the Seven Sons of Steel.
From the highest the great hall shimmered in muted gold and gray. Wolves of pure descent filled the space-warriors, lords, and advisors- but it was the circle at the centre that commanded all attention. Six chairs carved from onyx and silver formed a half moon before the throne, each marked with sigil of the Alpha King's brothers.
And on the throne itself sat Ryan Azaron Steel, his golden eyes cold as the dawn over Lycanthra.
The Brothers of the Bloodline
Each brother was a mirror of Ryan in strength, yet none bore his shadowed calm.
Allen, the second born leaned back in his seat, his expression sharp and cruelly amused. ''So,'' he drawled, ''the rumors are true. Our great Alpha King brings home a vampire princess-a servant no less. How very merciful of you, brother.''
Ryan didn't lift his gaze from the parchment before him. ''it's not mercy. It's strategy.''
Allen's laugh echoed through the hall. ''Strategy? You mean weakness. The others whisper already-that you let her live because she is beautiful.''
A ripple of low growls circled the brothers. Damon, the third, snarled, ''A vampire in our walls is an insult to the blood of the Steels. Their kind slaughtered our ancestors during the Crimson War. We should flay her and hang her head at the gate as warning.''
Ryan's gaze lifted then-calm, deliberate and terrifying. ''And yet,'' he said softly, ''it was their wolfsbane theft that led me to the truth of our dying lands. Would you rather be blind to the poison in your soil while you sharpen your blades on ghosts?''
The brothers fell silent. Ryan's authority was absolute-but Allen ever the defiant one smirked and pressed on.
''Still you must see the danger. A vampire in our Kingdom? In your service?'' His tone darkened, ''What if she is here to spy? To learn our defences, our weaknesses?''
Ryan leaned back resting his chin against his knuckles. ''Let her watch. then. Let her see exactly how merciless we can be.''
A cruel satisfaction glinted in Allen's eyes. ''So we make her suffer.''
Ryan's jaw tightened, but he gave the faintest nod. ''If she is here to betray us, pain will teach her loyalty.''
The Call to Court
That same morning, a guard came for Isabella.
She'd been awake long before the summons, sitting by the narrow windows of her quarters, watching the wolves train in the square below. Her crimson eyes glowing faintly in the dim light, her thoughts treading through the air like whispers.
She had always been different from other vampires.
Even before the disease, before the treaty.
Telepathy, her gift from birth.
Hypnotism, the art of bending mortal will.
Mind reading, the gift that made even kings uneasy.
But something had changed since her arrival in Lycanthra. When she reached out to read Ryan's mind, she found only silence-a void, vast and endless. His mind was a fortress with walls she could not breach. And that more than anything, unsettled her.
The Council Chamber
The throne hall of the Alpha's was unlike any places Isabella had seen-towering pillars curved from black granite, lined with faints of silver that shimmered like moonlight. The six brothers stood around the dais, each radiating raw, primal power.
Ryan sat at the centre, the crown of steel and bone resting lightly upon his head. His expression was unreadable.
''Princess Isabella Reon,'' his voice carried through the chamber, deep and commanding voice.
The Decree of the Elders
The chamber trembled with silence as Isabella stepped forward, her dark gown trailing like liquid shadow against the marble floor. The air itself seemed to tense—the scent of her blood, cold and ancient, stirred the wolves' instincts into restless murmurs.
Ryan's golden eyes followed her every step, unreadable yet heavy with unspoken thoughts. The memory of the mate bond pulsed between them—a chain neither could sever.
"Princess Isabella Reon," he said, his tone carved from ice. "You stand before the Court of the Alpha King. You are here to answer for the theft of wolfsbane from Lycanthran lands and for the intrusion of your kind upon sacred soil. What defense do you offer?"
Isabella lifted her chin, unflinching. "My people steal only to survive, not to conquer. We sought a cure, not war."
Allen scoffed. "Then perhaps you should have begged instead of stealing like rats in the dark."
Her eyes flared crimson. "Better a rat with purpose than a wolf without mercy."
Growls rippled through the hall, claws scraping stone. But before Ryan could speak, the massive iron doors creaked open once more.
A hush fell.
The scent of age and power entered the room—earth, dust, and ancient blood. Three hooded figures strode through the doors, their presence commanding instant submission. The wolves bowed low, even the Six Sons lowering their heads.
The Elders had arrived.
They were the oldest among the Lycans, the living embodiments of the First Bloodline. Their word was law—even the Alpha King answered to them.
The tallest of the three, Elder Myrren, lifted his hood. His eyes gleamed silver with centuries of wisdom—and warning.
"Alpha King Ryan Azaron Steel," he began, voice low but resonant, "we have returned from the northern councils, where the packs whisper of unrest and omen. The Blood Moon burns crimson longer than it should. And we have learned of your… guest."
Ryan inclined his head slightly, hiding the faint tightening of his jaw. "The vampire princess is here as part of a pact to save her dying kingdom. Nothing more."
Elder Myrren's gaze slid to Isabella, assessing, ancient, and knowing. "The fates are never so simple. The bond between you cannot be ignored."
The hall went deathly still.
Ryan's voice hardened. "The bond is an error. A curse. I will not—"
"You will," interrupted the second Elder, a woman whose voice dripped like oil over steel. "For the sake of the balance, and for the preservation of both realms."
Ryan's eyes flared gold, wolf-light glinting within them. "You would have me mate a vampire?"
"It is not our desire," Elder Myrren said, "but the will of fate. The bond between Alpha and bloodborn has not occurred since the Age of Eclipse. Such unions were forbidden… but also foretold to restore the dying lands."
Elder Soren, the youngest of the trio, stepped forward, his staff thudding against the floor. "You are bound by the Moon's decree, Ryan Steel. Deny it, and risk the wrath of the gods who shaped our kind. The bond must be sealed—by blood and vow."
Murmurs erupted among the court—shock, outrage, disbelief. The Alpha King's brothers bristled, baring teeth.
Ryan rose from his throne slowly, the motion deliberate, predatory. "You command me to wed the daughter of our enemy. To lie beside the one creature whose blood could poison mine?"
Elder Myrren's voice cut through the noise. "We command nothing, Alpha King. But if you refuse, the Moon may command for you."
Their gazes locked, power and defiance colliding in silence. Then, after a long moment, Ryan exhaled—a low growl rumbling from deep within.
"So be it," he said, his tone cold enough to freeze bone. "I will marry her. But not out of love, or mercy. Only to ensure Lycanthra's dominion remains unchallenged."
Isabella's eyes widened slightly, but she said nothing. The words were daggers—but daggers she could bear. Better a cold alliance than another war.
The Elders nodded once, satisfied. "The union will be consecrated under the next full moon."
And just like that, the decree was sealed.
The Citadel
By nightfall, the servants came for Isabella.
Gone were the chains of silvervine—replaced now by silken robes and velvet cloaks. She was escorted through winding halls of obsidian and glass, past guards who dared not meet her gaze. When the doors opened, she found herself standing before a room unlike any she had ever seen.
It shimmered in moonlight—walls carved with runes that pulsed softly with power, a canopy bed draped in sheer crimson silk, the scent of pine and steel lingering in the air. Her new quarters, fit for a queen—or a captive dressed as one.
Isabella touched the window's edge, staring out at the vast kingdom below, silver rivers glinting under the moon. The fortress of her enemy had become her home. The irony cut deep.
She whispered to herself, "If this is fate's design, then fate is cruel indeed."
The Hunt
In the forests beyond the Citadel, shadows moved.
Ryan tore through the trees, his form blurring between man and beast. His claws ripped through bark, his breath came in ragged bursts, and the wolf within him howled in fury.
He could still smell her—the sweetness of blood and moonlight clinging to his senses, driving his instincts mad.
You accepted it, his wolf snarled inside him. You accepted her.
Ryan growled aloud. "I accepted strategy, not weakness."
Liar.The voice in his head was savage, primal. You crave her. You deny what the Moon decrees. You shame the bond.
"I will not be mated to her," Ryan spat into the night. "She is a vampire. Her kind destroyed ours."
And yet your heart beats for her still.
Ryan roared, the sound shaking the forest. The trees bent beneath the force of it, birds scattering into the night sky.
His wolf pressed against his will, furious, wild. You cannot run from what you are, Alpha. Nor from what she is to you.
Ryan dropped to his knees in the clearing, fangs bared, chest heaving.
"Then I will use her," he hissed. "If fate binds me to a monster, I will turn that curse into power. Let her think herself safe in my Citadel—I will learn her secrets, her kingdom's weakness. And when the time comes, I will end her… and end this bond."
But even as he spoke the words, the wolf within him laughed—low, feral, and knowing.
You may destroy kingdoms, Ryan Steel… but you will never destroy her.
And beneath the silver moon, the Alpha King of Lycanthra bowed his head—not to his Elders, not to his gods—but to the war raging within his own soul.