Cassandra’s POV
He took a slow step toward me, the weight of his presence tightening the air around us. Every movement he made was deliberate, calculated, like a shadow that had taken form. His voice, when it came, was low, measured, yet threaded with something ancient and unsettling.
“There is another thing,” he said, “A blood ritual.”
My spine straightened, my brows narrowing. “What kind of ritual?”
He tilted his head, as if mildly entertained by the question. “One that requires the blood of the true heir.”
I didn’t flinch.
Instead, a smile tugged at the corners of my lips, slow and sharp. A grin born not of joy, but of something far more dangerous.
“That won’t be a problem,” I said evenly. “Katrina is already in my care.”
He chuckled, a sound that slithered through the quiet space like smoke, dark, amused, vaguely impressed. “Then this will be easier than I thought.”
I folded my arms across my chest, feeling the pulse of excitement rising in me like a tide. “How does it work?”
He reached into the folds of his cloak, fingers disappearing into the darkness before producing a small glass vial. The liquid inside was thick and nearly black, clinging to the glass as if alive.
“I will prepare the spell,” he said. “Tonight, we strike. But it must be done carefully. It cannot appear as an act of desperation or vengeance. It must look like a rescue mission.”
My smirk deepened. “Brilliant.”
He nodded once. “The Pack is already suspicious of your intentions. If it seems that outside forces are trying to retrieve the Silver Wolf, no one will question the chaos. While they react, you will deliver her to me. And when the time is right you will have her power.”
Excitement surged through my chest, but I forced myself to remain composed. I needed to be in control. I couldn’t afford to seem desperate, even if, beneath the surface, that was exactly what I was becoming.
“Fine,” I said, reaching out to take the vial. “But I want this done quickly.”
He didn’t resist. The moment my fingers wrapped around the glass, I felt a strange warmth pulse through it. My grip tightened, unwilling to let go.
“This,” he said, voice lower now, “is a binding agent. When her blood mixes with it, the power she carries will no longer belong to her. It will transfer to you. Permanently.”
I stared at the vial for a long moment. This tiny container held the promise of everything I had lost. Everything that had been stolen. No more pretending. No more standing to the side while others bowed to her. I would be the rightful bearer again.
Finally.
I turned to go, eager to begin preparations. My mind already raced through logistics, diverting guards, planting doubt, the moment the ritual would begin.
But before I could take a step, his hand clamped down on my shoulder.
I froze.
Every muscle in my body went taut. I hated being touched. Especially by him.
My voice was clipped. “What?”
He held it a moment longer, just long enough for my pulse to spike, before withdrawing his hand.
“Be careful, Cassandra.”
I turned slowly, frowning. That was the first time he had ever offered anything resembling a warning. His tone wasn’t mocking or smug. It was something else. Something close to… sincere?
“Why?” I asked.
He didn’t answer right away.
His masked face turned slightly away, as if he were choosing his words with unusual caution. “Because power,” he said, “always demands something in return. And some prices are higher than you realize.”
I stared at him, confused. Suspicious.
“I’m prepared for anything,” I said firmly. “Whatever the price, I’ll pay it.”
He gave no response.
Instead, he stepped back. Then turned without another word and disappeared into the darkness beyond the tree line.
As his cloak swayed behind him, the wind shifted, and I saw it.
Just for a second.
A mark on his forearm, half-obscured by fabric. Faint but distinct. A tattoo in the shape of a crescent moon, wrapped in dark runes I didn’t recognize. My breath hitched. A cold chill slid down my spine. mI opened my mouth to call after him, but he was gone. Swallowed by the trees.
I stood there for a moment longer, clutching the vial, the imprint of his warning lingering in my mind like an echo. Something about his tone, the way he had looked at me…it gnawed at the edges of my confidence, but I shoved it down. Doubt was for the weak. Tonight, Katrina would bleed. And when she did, I would rise.
I would no longer beg for power, I would own it. The Lunar Flame belonged to me. Not because of fate. Not because of prophecy. But because I would take it.
And no silver wolf, no trembling girl, no ancient magic would stand in my way.
I turned on my heel and strode back toward the Pack grounds, moonlight slicing through the trees above me. Every step forward was a step toward reclaiming my destiny.
Tonight, the true heir would fall.