The days crawled by, each one heavier than the last. Ronan kept me running on scraps of food and exhaustion. My body ached from endless chores, knees bruised from scrubbing stone floors until my skin cracked.
But it wasn’t just the labor—it was the waiting. The looming dread of the Blood Moon, a countdown I couldn’t stop.
Then, something shifted.
I was in the Luna’s chambers, cleaning dust-covered shelves stacked with leather-bound books and glass vials filled with God-knows-what. Ronan had barked his usual threats before locking me in.
The shelves blurred as I worked, but one book caught my eye—a spine glowing faintly behind a curtain of cobwebs. My heart kicked against my ribs as I pulled it free. Heavy. Worn. Its crimson-etched title burned into my mind: “Blood and Moon: Rituals of Resurrection.”
My breath hitched.
The pages crackled as I flipped through them. Strange symbols filled the first few, but then, there it was. My fate. Spelled out in ink.
“Under the Blood Moon, the vessel must be prepared. Her blood, pure and untainted, will flow into the earth. Her life force will be consumed, and in return, the soul of the Luna will be restored to her body.”
I read it again. And again. My vision blurred.
Her blood. Her life. Me.
I slammed the book shut, panic clawing at my chest. “So that’s it,” I whispered. “They’re going to bleed me dry.”
A creak behind me made me flinch, nearly dropping the book.
Selene was awake.
Her pale, moonlit eyes locked on mine from the bed. She looked fragile, almost translucent under the dim light, but her gaze was sharp.
“You found it,” she said, voice soft and brittle.
I clutched the book tighter. “You’re awake.”
Her faint smile held no warmth. “For now.”
Something about her wasn’t menacing—just tragic. Not some evil queen lurking behind Ronan’s plans. Just… tired.
“You know what he’s going to do to me?” My voice cracked.
Her gaze lowered. “Yes.”
“You’re just… okay with it?”
“No.” Her eyes snapped back to mine, a flicker of fire beneath the exhaustion. “But Ronan believes my life is worth more than yours.”
The words hung in the air, suffocating.
“And you? Do you believe that?”
Selene hesitated, searching my face. “No life is more valuable than another, Elena. But I am bound to him. I can’t stop what he’s set in motion.”
Tears burned my eyes. “There has to be another way.”
“If there is,” she said, her voice almost a whisper, “it’s in those texts. But you don’t have much time.”
The door rattled, and we both froze.
“Elena!” Ronan’s bark jolted me into motion. I shoved the book back onto the shelf and scrambled to my feet.
The door swung open. Ronan’s sharp eyes scanned the room, suspicion simmering.
“What’s going on?” he growled.
“Nothing,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “Just cleaning.”
His gaze lingered, but he didn’t press. Instead, he stepped closer, towering over me.
“It’s time for your preparations,” he sneered.
***
The preparations were hell.
Ronan dragged me to a stone chamber deep beneath the packhouse. The air was damp, the walls scored with claw marks and streaked with dried blood.
“Take off your clothes,” he ordered.
I froze. “What?”
His eyes narrowed. “I said, take them off.”
“I’m not—”
He grabbed my arm, his grip crushing as he shoved me forward. “Do it, or I’ll have someone else strip you.”
Shaking, I peeled off my shirt and pants, my arms crossing over my chest. The bruises and scrapes across my skin burned in the frigid air.
Ronan tossed a thin, white gown at me. “Put this on.”
I slipped it over my head. It barely reached my knees.
“This is your uniform until the ritual,” he said coldly. “No food. Minimal water. The witch will keep you alive just enough to stay pure.”
My stomach churned, twisting in pain.
I sank to the floor, wrapping my arms around myself as silent sobs wracked my chest.
Two weeks.
Two weeks to either escape or die.
***
The days were hell. Ronan’s grip tightened as Selene’s condition worsened. I wasn’t allowed to rest, eat, or escape his wrath. Whenever Selene showed signs of pain, he came for me, his anger sharp and relentless.
“I told you to take care of her!” he roared, his hand around my throat. I could hardly breathe but didn’t dare fight back. The other slaves in the house stayed silent, watching from the shadows, too afraid to intervene.
Still, I found myself drawn to Selene. Not out of pity—but because she was the only one who treated me like a person.
One night, as I sat beside her, she whispered, “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I asked.
“For you. For what’s going to happen,” she said, her voice weak.
“This isn’t your fault,” I said, trying to keep my anger in check. “Don’t apologize for him.”
She sighed, her eyes distant. “You don’t understand. I’m the reason he’s like this. If he can’t bring me back, he’ll never forgive himself.”
“You’re still here, Selene,” I said, gripping her hand.
“For how long?” she replied softly. Her resignation stayed with me long after I left her room.
The ritual loomed closer, and I felt trapped.
The chance to escape came unexpectedly.
I was in the kitchen scrubbing pots when I overheard two pack warriors outside.
“The borders are weak,” one grumbled. “Ronan’s pulled patrols for the Blood Moon preparations.”
The words struck like lightning. Weak borders. A way out.
That night, as I brushed Selene’s hair, my hands shook.
“You’re trembling,” Selene said softly.
“I’m fine,” I muttered.
“No, you’re not,” she said, her gaze heavy in the mirror.
She was right. I wasn’t fine. But I couldn’t let her—or Ronan—know what I was planning.
