The sound did not belong to the celebration. It was not the booming laughter of a Morvane warrior, nor the thunderous beat of the ritual drums. It was a sound ripped from the throat of a creature that had just lost its soul—a sound of pure, unadulterated primal grief and devastating rage.
The Alpha King's howl cut through the night, a raw, crystalline chord of terror that struck the heart of every being in the Keep, whether Morvane or Fae. It was the sound of the world ending.
The music died instantly. The dancers froze mid-step. Glasses clattered to the stone floor. For a fleeting moment, a silence heavier and more absolute than the earlier noise descended, a silence broken only by Kian, whose powerful Morvane form—a shimmering black beast the size of a small horse—stood trembling next to the empty throne.
Gareth was the first to react. His Beta instinct, trained and honed by years of service, overcame his shock. He shoved Myra behind Roric, shouting, "Perimeter! Formation Gamma!" and transformed, his own Morvane form snapping to attention.
Myra, the newly married Witch, was not far behind. Her eyes, usually the colour of warm honey, flashed gold as she scanned the air. She moved past the stunned guests, her gown trailing on the ground, toward the epicenter of the disruption: the two massive Morvane guards, Borin and Silas, who were slumped lifelessly, their great heads resting on the mossy stone.
"Kian!" Gareth’s voice was strained, thick with fear. "What happened? Where is Amelia?"
Kian didn't answer. He was moving in furious, focused circles, sniffing the ground near the throne, his muzzle twitching violently. His growls were low, guttural rumbles that vibrated the very foundations of the altar. He was no longer the King; he was the pure, protective predator, driven mad by the sudden, inexplicable disappearance of his mate.
"She's gone," Kian finally snarled, the word a ragged tear of sound that scraped the throat. "She's gone, and no one saw anything."
He whirled on the assembled crowd, his Morvane eyes blazing like coals, sweeping over the faces of the terrified guests. "Who was near her? Who moved? Speak!"
Panic erupted. The Pack, instantly sensing the catastrophic danger to their Luna, roared into protective formations. The Coven members, unfamiliar with Morvane brutality and terrified by the raw display of Alpha rage, scattered, their fear amplifying the chaos.
Myra knelt beside the two fallen guards. "They're alive, Alpha," she called out, keeping her voice steady despite the overwhelming emotion in the air. "Unconscious. Their hearts are slowing, too slow for mere sleep. It wasn't a physical blow."
She reached out a cautious hand, running her fingers through the strange, iridescent, slightly viscous liquid smeared near their nostrils. It had an oily texture and a faint, sharp scent, like static electricity and burned herbs. She quickly gathered a sample on a piece of clean linen.
"It's an agent," Myra confirmed, rising. "A highly concentrated, airborne, non-lethal poison. It targeted the Morvane’s heightened senses—a systemic shock to the CNS. It’s a specialized knockout draught." Her brow furrowed. "It smells of old Coven compounds, mixed with something… engineered. It was meant to be silent and fast."
Kian’s Morvane jaw clenched, revealing teeth sharp enough to tear steel. "Engineered. By who? How did they get past the wards?"
He turned to the edge of the celebration grounds, where the protective wards—the ancient, interwoven spells of the Fae and the Morvane—hummed visibly, a shimmering, barely perceptible barrier of magic. The wards were intact.
"There is zero sign of forced entry on the perimeter or the outer walls," Gareth confirmed, having quickly scanned the edge of the Keep. "No signs of fighting, no tracks, no scuff marks. They either teleported, or they were already inside."
The realization hit Kian with the force of a physical blow. The kidnappers hadn't come in; they had been invited, or they had hidden themselves flawlessly amongst the guests. It was an inside job, a betrayal executed with surgical precision, utilizing the blind spot of celebration.
"Lock down the Keep," Kian commanded, his voice returning to his human tongue, though the gravelly edge of the Morvane remained. "No one leaves. No one enters. Every single guest, Fae and Morvane, will be questioned and restrained if necessary."
Gareth nodded grimly. "Consider it done. Every exit is sealed. I'll have the Shadow Guard begin separating the Coven from the Pack now."
"Myra," Kian said, turning to the Witch, the raw panic in his eyes briefly visible before the Alpha mask slammed down. "You are our only chance. This liquid—can you trace it? Who uses compounds like this?"
Myra held up the linen swatch. "The composition is archaic, Alpha. A mix of Morvane hunting herbs to dull the senses, amplified by Fae energy to make it fast-acting. It points to someone who knows both worlds intimately—someone with access to ancient Coven recipes and the resources to synthesize them."
She added softly, "It's personal, Kian. This was aimed at breaking you, not just seizing territory."
Kian didn't deny it. He walked back to the throne, his immense Morvane body forcing the ground beneath his paws to compress. He lowered his muzzle to the ground where Amelia's foot would have rested, seeking any scent of the perpetrator.
He found nothing but the stale, neutralizing scent of the airborne agent and Amelia’s faint, terrified musk, abruptly cut off.
Then, his paw nudged something small, cold, and intricate: the heavy silver ring Amelia had designed and planned to gift Myra. It had fallen in the brief moment of resistance. He picked it up, transitioning back to his human form, the raw, scarred hand of the Alpha King dwarfing the delicate jewelry.
The rage, momentarily checked by strategy, returned with crushing force. He looked at the oblivious wedding feast, the remains of the shattered joyous day, and knew this was a calculated move—to take her at her most vulnerable, at his most triumphant, surrounded by his entire court.
"Find me the scent, Myra," Kian commanded, his voice dangerously low. "Find me the magic. I want names. I want a location. I will tear this world apart, stone by stone, if that is what it takes. They think they have won a prize; they have only awakened a beast."
He looked at Gareth, his Beta, the only man who could withstand the full force of his fury.
"We find them, Gareth. And when we do, they will understand the true meaning of the Nightshade Pack's wrath."
The investigation had begun. The Keep was sealed. The wedding was over. The war had just started.