As Lillian walked through the dense mist that clung to the edges of the forest, her steps grew slower, heavier, burdened by the weight of the secret she carried. The path that led to the Heartstone Circle—the sacred grounds of the Seven Coven—was lined with thornwood trees, their silver leaves trembling with magic, as though they too sensed her torment. Her breath was ragged in her throat, her heartbeat a drum of dread. She had always known that one day, she would be forced to choose between her blood and her duty. But no amount of preparation could have steeled her for what was asked of her.
Guilt struck her with every step. She had stood over the child—tiny, fragile, and innocent. The babe had her sister Bella's eyes, wide and storm-gray, and the hint of a dimple that reminded Lillian of the way Bella used to laugh as a girl. She was supposed to end that life. That was the command of the High Elders. But she couldn't. She simply… couldn't.
The coven came into view: a circle of ancient stones, tall and humming with power, surrounding a bonfire that burned blue with witchflame. The seven high witches stood in formation, their cloaks rustling like whispers in the wind. Their faces, lit by the dancing fire, were masks of age and magic, save for one—the youngest among them, High Priestess Serana, whose eyes were sharp as obsidian and held the most suspicion.
Lillian stepped into the circle, and the murmurs began.
"You are late," came the cold voice of Elder Maelin, her eyes like twin shards of frost. "We expected your return at moonrise."
"I had… complications," Lillian replied, her voice steady despite the storm in her chest.
"Where is the child?" Serana asked, stepping forward. "Is it done?"
Lillian bowed her head low. "The child is gone."
A ripple of silence spread through the circle before a few of the elders exhaled in grim satisfaction. One of them, Elder Thorne, nodded solemnly.
"Good. That abomination should never have existed. It was mercy—for all our kind."
Lillian clenched her jaw, hiding the tremor in her hands beneath the folds of her cloak. She could still feel the warmth of the child's body as she placed her with the old healer in the northern woods. Safe. Hidden. Alive.
"Bella was our hope once," muttered Elder Ysara, her voice like dry parchment. "Born under the Red Moon, just like you. It was fate that the two of you would rise to power and lead us into the next war. And yet she betrayed everything."
"Betrayed us for a dog," spat Serana, venom curling around her words. "A Lycan, no less. Not even one of the tamer breeds, but a pureblooded beast of war."
"The mate bond," Thorne growled. "A weakness. Wolves are ruled by instinct. They sniff out their mates and lose all sense of loyalty or logic. That's what happened to Bella. She let herself be ruled by flesh."
"She should have let us sever the bond when we had the chance," Maelin snapped. "But no—she chose to run. And then, to carry his child? She tainted our bloodline with that creature's filth."
"And the wolves—those arrogant, snarling mutts—did they protect her?" Ysara asked, sneering. "No. They slaughtered their own, just as they always have. They fear magic, even now. Hypocrites who call us monsters but burn their own if they breathe wrong."
"And vampires aren't any better," Serana added with a hiss. "They cloak themselves in civility and old-world manners, but they're parasites. Feeding on the living, hiding behind their immortal thrones while the real war brews in shadow. They care nothing for balance—only for dominance."
Lillian remained silent, her eyes fixed on the flickering flames. The words of her elders swirled around her like a bitter wind. She had heard these grievances all her life—the distrust, the ancient grudges. She had believed in them once. But seeing her sister's tears, her desperation, her courage to love despite the odds... it had shaken something loose in Lillian's heart.
She met Serana's gaze at last. "The child is gone," she said again. "And Bella will trouble us no more."
"You did well, Lillian," Thorne said, though his praise was heavy with ice. "You have done your duty to the coven. The bloodline remains pure."
But as Lillian bowed and turned from the fire, she whispered a silent vow into the night. I will protect her. I will protect them both. Even if it means standing against you all.
And behind her, the fire crackled louder, as though it too knew the truth had not been spoken.
* * * * * *
In the werewolf clan:the office of the alpha king The Alpha King's office was a fortress of stone and silence. Massive blackwood beams held up the arched ceiling, while the walls bore carved emblems of the great wolf clans—each symbol etched with pride and blood. A fire roared in the stone hearth behind the Alpha's desk, its flames casting long, restless shadows across shelves lined with relics of war—fang-pierced helms, shattered blades, and ancient scrolls.
Alpha King Kaelen stood with his back to the room, staring through the tall glass panes that overlooked the moon-drenched forest below. His reflection shimmered faintly in the glass—shoulders square, jaw clenched, golden eyes simmering with restrained fury.
Behind him, Beta Riven closed the heavy door with a quiet thud and crossed the room in silence, waiting for his Alpha to speak.
"They killed him," Kaelen said, his voice low and edged like a blade drawn in grief. "Not the witches. Not the vampires. Our own kind. His own pack."
Riven bowed his head. "They saw him as a traitor, Kaelen. A lycan mated to a witch… they simply choose to rebel against Nyxoria ."
Kaelen turned slowly, his eyes burning now. "He brought love. He brought hope. And they butchered him like a rogue."
He stalked toward the desk, slamming a hand down onto the polished blackwood. Papers jumped. A silver goblet toppled over, spilling untouched wine across a map of the kingdom.