The wind howled through the skeletal forest as if mourning something ancient and lost.
Seraphina stood in the ash-laced snow, her heart still pounding from the chase. The wolves had disappeared into the trees, yet the echo of their growls still reverberated through her bones. Her mark burned beneath her skin like fire—alive, awakened. She had seen him.
The male.
The Alpha.
And in that moment, she had known—something inside her had shifted.
Lucien Duskbane.
The name alone made her breath catch. He was more than feared. He was whispered about in forgotten tales, the Alpha of blood moons, the one who commanded shadows and silence alike. But nothing had prepared her for the pull—the way his silver eyes had locked onto hers as if he'd been waiting centuries for her arrival.
Her fingers still trembled as she gripped the dagger she'd stolen from the dead hunter's belt. She shouldn't have been able to run this far, but something—something—was guiding her steps.
Branches cracked behind her.
"Why do you run, little flame?"
His voice was a low snarl, rough and sensual, like velvet soaked in danger.
She turned. He stepped into the clearing, shadows licking at his heels. Lucien was tall, his broad frame wrapped in black leathers and a fur-lined cloak. The moonlight touched his raven-black hair, and his eyes—cold grey and merciless—glowed faintly.
Seraphina raised the dagger. "Stay back."
"You'd stab me?" he mused. "Adorable."
He was circling her now, predatory. Her breath hitched as the power radiating from him pressed against her skin.
"I've seen you before," she whispered. "In the vision."
Lucien stopped, narrowing his eyes. "What vision?"
She hesitated. "When my mark burned. I saw a man—your eyes. You were in a throne of ash. And… I was standing above you."
Something flickered in Lucien's expression—recognition, maybe. Or fear.
"You saw the Crimson Throne," he muttered.
Seraphina lowered the blade an inch. "What does it mean?"
Lucien came closer. She didn't move. The dagger trembled in her grip.
"It means," he said softly, "you're not just marked, girl. You're chosen."
His hand moved like lightning—he disarmed her, pulling her close. Her back hit a tree. His scent filled her senses: smoke, pine, blood. Dangerous. All-consuming.
"I don't want this," she whispered.
"Neither did I," Lucien said. "But fate doesn't ask for permission."
---
They walked through the forest, the snow crunching beneath their boots. The wolves followed at a distance, silent sentinels in the trees.
Lucien said little, but Seraphina could feel him watching her. Studying her. The mark on her back pulsed with every step. The bond between them—whatever it was—was strengthening. Growing.
They crossed into unfamiliar terrain—stone ridges veined with crimson roots. A shallow river ran red beneath a broken wooden bridge.
Lucien paused. "This is the border."
"Border of what?"
"The Crimson Vale. My pack's territory."
She looked out across the jagged horizon. Storm clouds loomed. The wind carried howls that weren't wolf.
"Is this where I die?" she asked.
Lucien smirked. "No. This is where you begin."
---
The Crimson Vale was unlike anything Seraphina had imagined. Towering trees with blackened bark surrounded ruins half-swallowed by earth. Strange runes glowed faintly on ancient stones. Spirits whispered in the wind—fragments of forgotten oaths.
The pack fortress was built into the mountainside. Carved from obsidian and bone, it radiated power. Torches lit the path as they approached. At the gates, warriors stood watch—tall, scarred, and silent.
One stepped forward. "Alpha Lucien."
"She's with me," he said.
The warrior's eyes fell on Seraphina. He inhaled deeply, then growled. "She reeks of prophecy."
Lucien's expression darkened. "Mind your tongue."
The gates opened with a grinding of stone. Inside, the fortress was cold and vast. Seraphina's footsteps echoed against the stone floor. She was led down winding corridors lined with tapestries depicting blood moons, beasts, and burning thrones.
At the end stood a great hall.
And in it, the Elders.
Seven in total. Each cloaked in red. Their faces hidden beneath shadowed hoods. They stood before a throne of black stone—Lucien's seat.
One of the Elders stepped forward. "You brought her here."
"She's marked," Lucien said. "She saw the Crimson Throne."
Gasps echoed in the chamber.
"She is the She-Wolf," another Elder whispered. "The one who brings the end."
Seraphina's pulse thundered. "I don't want to end anything. I don't even know what I am."
"You are cursed," an Elder hissed. "Born under an eclipsed moon. Your mother died screaming, your village burned. Death follows you."
Lucien stepped in front of her. "She's not a weapon."
"No," said the eldest among them. "She is the blade and the hand that wields it. She is the scream in the silence."
---
That night, Seraphina wandered the halls. She couldn't sleep—not with her blood roaring and the visions swirling.
She ended up on a high balcony overlooking the woods. The moon hung heavy in the sky, crimson and full.
Lucien found her there.
He leaned against the stone wall. "They're afraid of you."
"So am I," she said quietly.
He said nothing for a while. Then, "You carry a piece of the old magic. The kind that was buried when the gods fell."
"I'm not a god."
"No. But they left their teeth in you."
She looked up at him. "You've killed people."
"Yes."
"Will you kill me?"
His eyes were unreadable. "If you turn. If the mark consumes you."
Seraphina's throat tightened. "Will you hesitate?"
Lucien stepped closer. His hand cupped her cheek. "No."
But his touch lingered. And in that moment, she saw it—the grief buried in his soul. The sorrow. The longing. The need.
"You dream of fire," she whispered.
"And you dream of wolves."
Their lips met—not with softness, but with hunger. Desperation. Like two doomed stars colliding.
---
The fortress shook with the scream.
Seraphina bolted upright in the darkness, heart pounding.
Another scream. And then a voice.
"Help!"
She ran. Down the corridor. Past the murals.
She found the source in the east wing—a door cracked open. Blood smeared the walls.
Inside, a girl lay broken on the floor, her back torn open.
A man—one of the elders—stood above her, teeth bared. His hands dripped red.
"No," Seraphina gasped.
The elder turned. "Too late."
Seraphina's vision flared. Her mark burned white-hot.
She screamed.
The room shattered.
Power exploded from her. Runes flared along the walls. The elder was thrown against the stone. The air cracked like lightning.
Lucien arrived, eyes wide with horror.
"You've awakened," he said.
Seraphina collapsed.
As darkness swallowed her, she heard the wolves howling.
And the elders whispering.
"The Crimson Cries have begun."