Page 65
She nuzzles her face against my shoulder, her voice muffled. "I can't ask you to watch me die."
"Then don't die." I tilt her chin up to make her look at me. "Stay with me. Fight with me. Let me prove that some things are worth more than duty or destiny or whatever cosmic bullshit your family thinks controls your fate."
The bedroom grows quiet, every breath we take trembling under the reality of our deepest desires. Finally, she exhales shakily.
"I never wanted anything more than I want to stay right here with you."
Something fierce and protective rushes through me—the wolf's natural loyalty blending into an even deeper, soul-deep devotion. It brings the absolute certainty that I'd burn the world down before I let anyone take her from me.
"Then we make it work. Whatever it takes."
She falls asleep before I do. My arms stay locked around her, my chin resting on the crown of her head, and I listen to the moon clawing at the sky outside our window—relentlessly climbing, ever building, far from finished.
The ancient text's warning once again surfaces unbidden.
I tighten my hold and send a vow out into the universe: her life is wholeheartedly secure. We will walk through tomorrow and the ritual together, stepping into an endless future. Standing as her ultimate shield is exactly why the wolf chose so wisely.
25
SERENITY
Three days pass in a blur of frantic research and stolen moments. On the morning of the fourth day, I wake to crimson light bleeding through the lakehouse windows. The unnatural moon hangs heavier in the sky now, its red light painting everything the color of fresh wounds to completely overwrite the normal morning sunshine. Even with the curtains shut tight, that unnatural light seeps through every crack, staining the walls and making shadows writhe like living things.
Darius sleeps beside me, one arm drapes protectively across my waist. His breathing remains even and slow, though tension coils inside his relaxed exterior as the wolf refuses to fully rest while danger circles this close.
The ancient seals along my wrists flash with heat. My ancestral magic responds to the approaching peak, growing stronger by the hour until the intensity becomes painful. The power thrums beneath my skin, demanding release.
I slip carefully from bed and gather my clothing. Darius remains soundly asleep, though his fingers twitch slightly as he reaches instinctively toward my warmth. Part of me longs to wake him and curl back into his arms to savor this beautiful sanctuary we've created. Yet, the visions are calling to be understood right now.
I quickly get dressed and slip out of the bedroom, padding barefoot into the safe house's main room. I cross my legs near the window, palms flat against the wooden floor. The property's protective wards buzz around me, but they feel thin now—taut against the supernatural pressure building across the city.
"Show me what's happening," I whisper to the crimson twilight against the windows. "Show me what they're doing."
My magic responds, spewing outward. The familiar disorientation hits first—that sensation of falling through space and time while my body remains perfectly still. Then the visions crash over me in a torrent of stolen sight.
I’m transported underground, landing further in than the tunnels Darius and I explored. This place exists far beyond what any map of Chicago's infrastructure would dare to chart. Ancient stone corridors carved from bedrock stretch in every direction, their walls covered in symbols that predate recorded history. It is the entity's prison.
The Moon Prophet stands at the center of a vast circular chamber, his ceremonial mask catching the light of dozens of ritual candles. Around him, hooded figures chant in a language that makes my teeth throb. The Order of the Crimson Moon has finally gathered for their grand finale.
"The blood moon reaches its zenith soon," The prophet's voice echoes off the stone walls. "All preparations must be complete before then."
My vision shifts, following the magical currents deeper into the complex to reveal holding cells carved directly from living rock. Inside them, paranormals with lunar bloodlines huddle in warded cages. I count hundreds of them, primarily vampires and shifters. The surviving descendants of the founding bloodlines are gathered in one massive subterranean prison to harbor fragments of the ancient seal.
Their terror hangs heavy in the air. The cavern reeks of blood and fear alongside a desperate hope that someone might come for them before the ritual begins.
The chanting grows louder, more insistent. I follow the sound back to the main chamber where Sybil Velkyn traces intricate patterns in what looks like fresh blood across the floor. The symbols flare in hot crimson, their glow echoing the rhythm of the moon above.
"The Vessel approaches," Sybil murmurs with an edge of anticipation that makes my skin crawl. "I can feel her power growing stronger. She won't be able to resist much longer."
They are talking about me.
"And if she doesn't come willingly?" A question emerges from the shadow of one figure’s hood, muffled by the layers of fabric.
The Moon Prophet's laugh sends ice through my veins. "She will. The entity calls to her now, whispering promises of unlimited power. Few mortals can resist that temptation indefinitely."
The vision fractures and shows me flashes of their full plan. The ritual chamber features fully prepared binding circles and spell-laced restraints designed specifically for my magical signature. At the center of it all rests an altar carved from black stone that seems to swallow all surrounding light.
The imprisoned entity stirs beneath the city, its attention turning toward me. Ancient hunger and malevolent intelligence press against my mind as it tries to claw its way inside.
