Chapter Three – The Blood Tithe
ESTELLA
The capital glowed beneath the pale light of the morning sun, the city bathed in gold and ash. From a distance, its marble towers stood tall, sharp like knives against the red sky. Smoke rose slowly from incense pits, twisting in the air, reluctant to cover the smell of decay and fear that filled the streets. To anyone who didn't know better, Luna Amara might have looked magnificent. But beneath the shine, corruption spread like an open wound.
At the center of the city stood the Moonbound Citadel, a fortress made of cold stone and cruelty. Ancient and unyielding, it cast long shadows over the land, reaching into the hearts of the people. Inside, its halls echoed with the voices of a thousand bloodlines, all connected by violence, ambition, and lies.
High on her obsidian throne sat Luna Amara—the Moonbound sovereign whose name silenced everyone. She was like a figure made of moonlight and bone, dressed in silver robes and decorated with fragments of the fallen. Each bone piece rattled when she moved, sounding like funeral chimes. Her silver hair curled down her shoulders like a serpent, and her pale eyes never blinked—they didn't need to.
Luna Amara didn't rule with kindness or mercy. She ruled with power—and fear. Fear was what kept her court in check.
"The time has come," she said, her voice sharp and cold. It rang through the chamber like glass breaking. Her words were final. No one questioned her. They obeyed.
The nobles in the Hall of Echoes grew still. Her voice didn't float through the room. It struck like a blade at their throats, forcing silence. Every heir, every pack lord, lowered their head—not in respect, but to survive.
"The realm is fractured," she continued. "The bloodlines weaken. The old vows are forgotten. To save order, we must return to the beginning. We must return to sacrifice."
A chill ran through the room, quiet as the wind before a storm. No one dared speak. To speak would be to defy her—and defiance meant death.
Then came the hammer blow. "By decree of the Moonbound Court," Luna said, her smile chilling, "a Blood Tithe shall be enacted. Every pack with diluted blood—unmarked, unmated, unproven—must surrender one youth to the Citadel. They will serve the realm and cleanse its decay. In return, their families will be protected. Those who refuse will be traitors to the blood."
A heavy silence filled the room, so deep it felt like the world held its breath. The nobles, draped in velvet and gold, shrank away. The air froze.
This wasn't justice—it was slaughter. But I didn't. Not yet. Not here. The stone walls pressed in, cold and suffocating.
Then came movement. A figure stepped from the shadows beside the throne—General Theron.
He was a nightmare in armor, dark as night and just as deadly. His armor gleamed in the torchlight, warning all who saw him. Theron didn't walk—he prowled, a predator made of blood and war. His presence stole the air.
He knelt before Luna, but it was more for show than loyalty. "A bold decree, my Luna," he said, his voice smooth but deadly. "A necessary one. The realm must remember its rulers."
Luna smiled, a cold and terrifying thing. "Then it will be your honor to carry it out."
Theron stood, his movements sharp and commanding. "With pleasure."
He looked over the gathered nobles, his golden eyes scanning them like a curse. Wherever his gaze landed, people flinched. Some clutched their robes, others looked away. But no one dared to meet his eyes. Fear hung in the air, thick and real.
Behind the throne stood the High Priestess, veiled in dark cloth. Though her mouth was hidden, I saw the satisfaction in her slight smile. They were all part of it— Theron, the Priestess. This wasn't about protection. It was a purge.
The Blood Tithe wasn't justice—it was extermination masked as loyalty. And the worst part? No one here would fight it.
-------------------++
Far from the polished lies of the capital, in the forgotten wilds, a storm whispered through the ruins of an ancient temple. The wind howled through broken stones and shattered columns, mourning what had been sacred. Ivy clung to the walls, and moss covered altars where gods no longer listened. This was where I hid. Where no one could see my grief.
I sat beneath a crumbling archway, wrapped in a threadbare cloak. Pain pulsed from my side—a wound that refused to heal. Every breath was a battle, but I bore it. It kept me grounded. Reminded me I was still alive. Still burning with purpose.
But the ache in my chest was worse. That was a wound without blood. A hollow carved by loss. Raymond's name lived inside it, a scream that never stopped.
Footsteps broke the silence. A man stumbled from the shadows, his breath heavy, his face pale. He collapsed at my feet, sweat dripping down his temple.
"They're calling it a Blood Tithe," he gasped, eyes wide with fear. "They're… they're taking children."
I straightened, the air growing colder. My breath caught, and the anger I'd buried surged beneath my skin.
"Which packs?" I demanded, my voice sharp.
"Riverfang. Hollowclaw. Duskwind." He hesitated. "All the unmarked packs—the ones without First Moon blood. They call it 'service,' but it's a purge. Quiet. Systematic."
Kael stepped from the shadows beside me, as silent as ever. He took the crimson-sealed scroll from the trembling messenger, his golden eyes scanning it with precision. I saw the tension in his jaw tighten with each line.
"How many?" I asked, though I already knew the answer would be unbearable.
The messenger's lips trembled. "Too many. The youngest. The ones without mates. The ones no one will miss."
Rage burned through me. This wasn't sacrifice—it was a culling. They were wiping out generations with a decree.
"And Raymond?" I forced the question through my grief.
The man hesitated, then dropped his gaze. "There are whispers… that the mating ritual was corrupted. That he discovered something—something about Luna. They silenced him before he could speak. Some say it was political. Others… say he knew the truth that could bring her down."
The pain flared, sharp and cruel. My mate—my heart—had been killed. Not for who he was, but for what he knew. I would never hear his voice again. Never see his smile. All that was left was vengeance.
"There's a meeting," the messenger whispered. "Two nights from now. Raven's Den. Beneath the old wine quarter. They want to resist. But they need proof. They need you."
Kael turned to me, his eyes stormy with concern. "It's too dangerous," he warned.
"I don't care," I replied, forcing myself to stand. Pain lanced through my side, but I welcomed it. "I won't hide while they take more lives. I won't let them erase him."
Kael stepped in front of me, blocking my path. "Estella—"
"I said I don't care," I snapped. "I'll go. I'll give them what they need. And then, I'll burn her world down."
He said nothing. His silence was heavy with things he couldn't say.
I turned away, walking toward the fire. The flames danced in the wind, casting shadows on the stone. I pulled out the pendant Raymond had given me—the one the priests had tried to take. I held it tightly, feeling its warmth.
"I'll go to Raven's Den," I whispered. "And when I'm done… they'll all remember his name."
Kael's voice was soft, barely a whisper. "And after that?"
I looked back at him, my eyes filled with purpose. "Then we make the Court bleed."