POV: Wren
Alaric’s pulse failed beneath my fingers.
One beat.
A pause.
Then another, weaker than the first.
I pressed my palm to his chest. The wolfsbane burned through his shirt. Black veins spread from his heart toward his throat, branching beneath his skin like ink poured into water.
“Stay with me.”
His eyelids did not move.
I dragged him across the great hall alone. His boots scraped over the stone. By the time I reached his chamber, my injured arm shook so badly I could barely lift him onto the bed.
I tore open his shirt.
The poison had reached the old scars along his ribs. Each mark darkened as if the wolfsbane knew where he had already been broken.
“Wake up,” I ordered.
Nothing.
I bit the inside of my wrist until blood filled my mouth. Then I pressed the wound to his lips.
“Drink.”
His jaw remained locked.
I forced a few drops between his teeth. His throat moved once, but his body rejected the rest. Even unconscious, he fought the bond my blood tried to form.
He had spent years protecting me from himself.
Now that restraint was killing him.
Tears struck his chest. I wiped them away with an angry hand.
“You do not get to die after calling me nothing,” I whispered. “You do not get to leave me with all your lies.”
The Devourer stirred behind my ribs.
Its hunger reached toward the poison, but I felt the danger in that instinct. If I let it feed directly from Alaric, it might take more than wolfsbane. It might take his wolf. His memories. His life.
A different memory surfaced.
Seven relics in the Pack Vault.
The Moon Chalice purified poisoned blood. The First Crown restored broken Alpha power. The moonstone shard carried enough sacred light to revive a dying wolf.
No one outside the Council could touch them.
No one except, perhaps, the thing the Council had spent eighteen years hiding.
I kissed Alaric’s forehead.
“Hold on.”
The Pack Vault stood inside the mountain behind the castle. Six Elite guards watched its copper doors. Ancient runes covered every inch of the frame.
Captain Matthew saw me crossing the frost-covered lawn in my torn silk shirt. He drew his sword but did not point it at me.
“Lady Wren, return to the castle.”
“Alaric is dying.”
His expression changed. “What happened?”
“The Council poisoned him.”
The other guards exchanged uneasy looks.
Matthew stepped forward. “Let me summon the healer.”
“There is no time. Open the vault.”
“I cannot.”
“You can. You are choosing not to.”
His jaw tightened. “Those relics belong to the pack.”
“So does its High Alpha.”
A horn sounded from the eastern wall. The Council was already searching for me.
Matthew lowered his voice. “If you cross that threshold, Marrok will demand your execution.”
“If I do not, Alaric dies before they decide what to do with me.”
I raised my branded arm.
Dark mist leaked from my fingers.
“Please move.”
Matthew’s wolf flashed in his eyes. “Wren, whatever is inside you, do not let it choose for you.”
“I am choosing.”
The mist struck before he could answer.
It rolled across the guards without sound. One by one, their eyes closed. Matthew fell last. I caught his shoulder before his head hit the frozen ground.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
The copper doors blazed when I touched them. White runes climbed my arm, burning brighter than the Blood Pool brand.
The Devourer opened its mouth.
The runes went dark.
The doors swung inward.
Moonlight spilled through a crystal dome high above the vault. Seven relics floated within a ring of pale fire: the chalice, crown, blade, three star-orbs, and the moonstone shard.
I stepped into the flames.
Holy power poured through me. It should have burned away the darkness. Instead, light and shadow collided beneath my skin.
Pain folded me to my knees.
A hidden seal cracked around my soul.
I saw Alaric’s hands drawing it years ago. I heard his voice speaking over a sleeping child.
Hide her. Bind her. Let the monster sleep.
He had sealed the Devourer inside me when he brought me to the castle.
The relics screamed.
Black wings of shadow burst from my back. A wolf-shaped darkness rose through the crystal dome and shattered it. Glass rained into the courtyard. The red moon vanished behind the creature for one terrible second.
Every alarm in the territory began to howl.
I gathered the relics and ran.
War horns followed me across the lawn. Wolves shifted along the walls. Torches flared to life in every tower.
I reached Alaric’s chamber and threw the relics across his chest.
The Moon Chalice cracked.
White fire entered his body.
He arched from the bed. Black veins writhed beneath his skin, then began to retreat. His heart stopped.
One second.
Two.
Three.
“No.”
I slammed both hands over the moonstone and forced every spark of sacred power into him.
His heart struck once against my palms.
Then again.
Alaric gasped.
His eyes opened, bright gold and wild.
He looked at the relics. Then at the black smoke curling from my shoulders.
“What did you do?”
“I chose you.”
His gaze sharpened despite the poison. “The guards?”
“Alive. Unconscious.”
“The vault?”
“The dome is gone.”
A broken sound left him, too bitter to be a laugh. He touched the side of my face as if checking that I was real. “You crossed six Elite guards, consumed an ancient ward, and broke into the holiest chamber in the territory.”
“You swallowed wolfsbane for me.”
“That was different.”
“It was your life. It was not different.”
The chamber doors shook beneath a blow from the corridor.
A hundred voices roared outside.
Alaric tried to rise, but weakness dragged him back. His hand locked around my wrist.
“You broke the seal.”
“You never told me it existed.”
Another blow split the center of the doors.
Marrok’s voice rolled through the castle, amplified by Council magic.
“By order of the Elder Council, surrender the Devourer. Wren of the Eastern Bloodline will be executed before the Blood Moon sets.”
The final bolt tore loose.
Alaric pulled me against his chest as the doors began to fall.
