The blinding light from the crystal ball faded, leaving behind an eerie silence in the ruins. Selene's body, which had been rigid with the force of the vision, suddenly went limp. Lycan barely caught her before she hit the ground, his claws retracting as he cradled her against his chest. His muscles tensed, every instinct screaming at him to protect her—even from whatever power now pulsed beneath her skin.
Her silver-white hair, usually a muted cascade, now shimmered with an unnatural glow, strands of it floating as if caught in an unseen breeze. The air around them hummed with energy, thick and electric, pressing against Lycan's skin like a living thing. His nostrils flared, catching the scent of ozone and something deeper, something old—the kind of magic that predated curses and packs, the kind that whispered of gods and forgotten rituals.
Selene's eyelids fluttered, then slowly opened—revealing eyes that were no longer the cool gray of winter, but a luminous, moonlit silver, swirling with power.
Lycan's grip tightened instinctively. This wasn't just a trance. Something had changed her.
"Selene," he growled, his voice rough with warning.
She didn't respond. Her lips parted slightly, breath coming in shallow gasps as if she were drowning in the weight of whatever the crystal had shown her. Then, with a sudden, sharp inhale, her back arched against him, her fingers digging into his arms hard enough to bruise.
The bond between them flared.
Lycan snarled as the connection roared to life, a tidal wave of sensation crashing through him. He felt her panic, her confusion—but beneath that, something darker, something hungry. It wasn't just her emotions flooding him. It was power. Raw and untamed, it slithered through their shared blood like a serpent waking from centuries of sleep.
And then—
The forest spoke.
Not in words, not in anything Lycan could understand, but Selene heard it. Her head snapped toward the crumbling stone walls of the ruins, her eyes widening as if she could see something he couldn't. The roots beneath their feet pulsed, the very earth shuddering in response to her presence. The wind carried voices—whispers in a language long dead, fragments of prayers and pleas that had been swallowed by time.
Lycan's hackles rose. This wasn't natural. Even for a werewolf, even for the Alpha King who had seen his share of magic, this was something else entirely.
"Selene," he tried again, his voice sharper this time.
She turned her head toward him, and for the first time, he saw it—the faint, ghostly outline of a crescent moon etched into her irises. The mark of the Lunar Priestess.
Recognition slammed into him like a physical blow.
This was why the cult wanted her.
Her lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, her hands lifted, trembling, as if pulled by an invisible force. And then—
Fire.
A flicker of blue-green flame sparked at her fingertips, dancing like a living thing. It cast eerie shadows across Lycan's face, illuminating the sharp angles of his jaw, the gold of his eyes widening in disbelief.
Selene's breath hitched. The fire burned, but not with heat—it was cold, like the heart of winter, yet it seared through her veins with a power that was both intoxicating and terrifying.
Lycan's instincts roared. Every muscle in his body locked in place, his wolf recoiling at the sight. That flame wasn't just light. It was old magic. The kind that predated curses, the kind that could unmake creatures like him.
And it was hers.
"Put it out," he growled, his voice deeper, rougher—closer to his beast's snarl than a man's command.
Selene barely heard him. The fire was singing to her, a melody woven into her blood. She flexed her fingers, and the flames surged, licking up her wrists in a sudden, uncontrolled burst.
Lycan reacted instantly. His hand clamped around her forearm, claws pricking her skin. "Selene. Look at me."
The pain snapped her focus back to him. The fire sputtered, dimming but not vanishing.
"You don't know what this is," he said, low and urgent. "You don't know what it'll do to you."
Selene swallowed hard. Her pulse thundered in her ears, the bond between them amplifying every frantic beat. She could feel his fear—not for himself, but for her.
And yet…
"I have to try," she whispered.
The moment the words left her lips, the fire answered.
It flared again, brighter this time, spiraling up her arms in ribbons of ghostly light. The air around them hummed, charged with energy, and the ground beneath their feet trembled—as if the earth itself recognized the awakening of something long dormant.
Lycan's jaw clenched. He wanted to drag her away, to snuff out that dangerous power before it consumed her. But the stubborn set of her chin, the defiance in those moonlit eyes—it was the same look she'd given him when he'd first held a blade to her throat.
She wouldn't back down.
So instead of forcing her, he did the one thing he never thought he'd do.
He let go.
Selene's breath caught as the flames spread, not with destruction, but with purpose. They curled around her like a second skin, illuminating the ruins around them in an ethereal glow. The symbols carved into the stone walls pulsed in response, their ancient language suddenly clear to her.
"The blood of the moon shall light the way…"
A vision slammed into her—
A temple drenched in crimson. A silver altar. A High Priestess with eyes like hollow stars, chanting as the blood of a hundred wolves dripped into a sacred chalice.
Selene gasped, staggering back. The fire winked out as abruptly as it had come, leaving her drained and shaking.
Lycan was there in an instant, his hands gripping her shoulders. "What did you see?"
She met his gaze, her voice barely a whisper.
"They're coming for me."
The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. Lycan's grip on her shoulders tightened, his claws pressing just enough to ground her, to remind her that she wasn't alone in this. But the truth hung between them like a blade—whatever power had awoken in her, it wasn't just a gift.
It was a target.
Selene's knees buckled. Lycan caught her before she could collapse, his arms wrapping around her as he lowered them both to the ground. She was trembling, her skin clammy despite the unnatural heat that had radiated from her moments before.
"Breathe," he ordered, his voice rough but steady.
She tried. The air burned in her lungs, too sharp, too real after the visions. The fire had been beautiful, intoxicating—but the aftermath was like waking from a nightmare, her body aching as if she'd run for miles.
Lycan's fingers brushed against her wrist, checking her pulse. His touch was clinical, but the bond between them betrayed the storm beneath his calm exterior. Fear. Anger. And beneath that, something darker—guilt.
"You knew," she whispered.
His golden eyes flicked up to hers.
"About the fire? No."
"About this," she pressed, her voice gaining strength. "About what I am. What my blood can do."
A muscle in his jaw twitched. He didn't answer.
Selene shoved against his chest, suddenly needing space. Needing to think. Lycan let her go, but his gaze never left her as she pushed to her feet, swaying slightly before finding her balance.
The ruins around them felt different now. The symbols on the walls, the crystal ball—none of it was coincidence. This place had been waiting for her.
And if she could find it, so could the cult.
"We need to move," Lycan said, rising to his full height. His voice was calm, but his body was coiled tight, ready for a fight.
Selene nodded, but her mind was elsewhere. The fire had responded to her emotions, to her will. If she could control it—
A sharp pain lanced through her skull. She hissed, pressing her fingers to her temple as another wave of dizziness hit her.
Lycan was at her side in an instant. "Too much, too fast," he muttered, more to himself than to her. "Your body isn't used to channeling that kind of power."
She wanted to argue, but the exhaustion was too deep. Instead, she let him guide her toward the exit, her steps unsteady.
As they stepped out of the ruins, the moon hung heavy in the sky, its light painting the forest in shades of silver and shadow. Selene paused, staring up at it.
It felt like it was watching her.
Lycan followed her gaze, his expression unreadable. Then, without a word, he slid an arm around her waist, pulling her against his side.
"Walk," he ordered. "We'll rest when we're far enough away."
Selene didn't protest. The fire had shown her enough for one night.
And somewhere out there, the High Priestess was waiting.