The Dormant Elven Blood

--Bastet’s POV— 7 Years after the Battle of the Wall Selene’s Moonlit Pool I should have been at the gate to Mirrey. I had no idea what the f**k I was doing here, but alas, here I was. Every breath I took—beneath Selene’s moonlight clearing, beside this silvery pool—was a breath stolen from Mirrey’s threshold and my job of keeping the earth realm safe. I had felt the pulse change for some time now, the jail getting weaker as more demons exited the cursed kingdom. Still, I came when summoned, mostly because the message said it was about the safety of all of our kinds. Not because I wanted to. Because if I didn’t, they’d just come looking for me. And I couldn’t have that—not with the seals trembling. The grove was too still. Light pooled across the mossy floor in sheets too clean to be trusted. Selene sat where she always did, her fingers in the water, drawing patterns she only understood. Wakiya circled behind her like a caged animal, the feathers in his head twitching with tension. “They are late,” I said. My voice was rough. It had been too long since I’d used it for anything other than answering prayers. “They are coming,” Selene replied without looking at me. “They better,” Wakiya muttered. “The dark doesn’t care for manners.” He was right. Not that I’d tell him. Triton arrived next, calm and steady as an ocean tide, his tan skin and blue rune glowing on his forehead. Morrigan walked beside him, green-robed and silent, holding his hand. Since they rekindled their relationship, you could feel the bond. Hell, I could feel it from here. Calipso arrived last. I smelled her first: salt and grief. She walked barefoot into the grove wearing black, and soaked to her knees, hair damp, unbound and wild. Behind her, Sung kept pace, still wearing that smug, mortal form that made you want to punch him and ask questions later. “You called me away from my gate,” I said before anyone else could speak. “Tell me this is more than another waste of my time.” Calipso’s voice was low, and it quivered as she spoke. “Gadeus spoke to me.” The grove fell silent. All of us, Gods, frozen in time with the words she had uttered. Selene’s fingers stilled in the water. Wakiya stopped pacing. Even Sung—happy, jokester, unreadable Sung—tensed. “He’s in Mirrey,” Calipso said, in pain for her mate to be in such a destructive, desolate place. “ Still. But he found a way to reach me. And he wasn’t alone.” I crossed my arms. “Go on.” “Aine was with him. She’s alive. And pregnant.” “What?” Morrigan choked. “With the beast child,” Calipso said. “That’s what he told me. And that we need to get her out before she gives birth.” My blood ran cold. If the Fae goddess gave birth inside that cursed place and Mot found her—the consequences would be catastrophic. The light of nature turned inside out. The balance of magic shattered. A vessel born for the unnatural god, it will be the start of both blood and ruin. “We thought she was simply trapped, like last time, in a perpetual sleep,” Triton said. “We didn’t consider—” “No,” Morrigan cut in, voice tight. Knowing now what wasn’t mentioned between us and it was of the acts Mot had subjected my sister to. “We didn’t want to,” I whispered, closing my eyes in pain. Calipso’s hands trembled at her sides. ¨He wasn’t lying. I felt it. I… saw her. Not clearly. But enough.” “Why this?” Selene asked. “Why would Mot want a demigod?” Zheng’s voice answered before Calipso could. “Because the child can withstand to be a vessel for him. And if he becomes nature bond… nature dies with the act.” I growled. “So, we do his bidding now? We lower the seal to his realm and let him out?” “No,” Calipso said. “We finish what we didn’t. We end this. Eternal sleep for him.” “She’s right,” Wakiya said. “We can’t just guard the edges anymore. If he finds his vessel in there, we lose more than just a goddess. We lose the flame. We lose the cycle.” Zheng stepped forward. “That’s why we need to start the elemental witch plan.” I narrowed my eyes. “You mean their plan.” I motioned towards the rest of the Gods. I was damn skeptical about it. My mate died to keep that creature in there, and I was continuing his legacy. “The witches were made for this,” Morrigan said. “To open the gate without releasing the Djinns. A backdoor through the realms.” I didn’t like it. But I knew it was our only shot. “If it fails—” “Then, hell walks out,” Triton said flatly. “But if we do nothing, hell evolves inside and rises before we even think of falling.” A long silence followed. The kind only gods can hold. “Who finds the elven couple?” I asked finally. “I do,” Zheng said. “They are part of the lock. Without them, even we gods could lose our way inside.” “And Mot?” I turned to Wakiya. “I’ll face him,” the thunderbird god said, voice hardening. “Someone has to keep him occupied long enough for the gates to shift.” “Not alone. Triton will also use his light with you.” Selene said. “As light Gods is our destiny,” Triton replied. Calipso stepped forward then. Her voice wavered but didn’t break. “I’ll go with the others to help them get to the fire witch and help my granddaughter.” “You’ve given enough,” Morrigan said softly. “She’s still giving,” Triton added, barely above a whisper. Calipso looked at them—at her parents. They had kept the truth from her for too long, and she’d found it out too late. But tonight, there was no space left for bitterness. “I won’t lose her,” she said. “Not like I lost him.” I turned toward the east, where the ground cracked beneath my post and the seals hissed with pressure. “I’ll keep the gate sealed,” I said. “But don’t ask me to leave again.” “No one will,” Triton promised. “We’ll do the rest.” And we would try. Because if we didn’t—if we failed again—this wouldn’t be another war. It would be the undoing of all things. This would be annihilation. -Olivia’s POV- Age 20: 7 Years After the battle of the Wall Bastrethra Estate (Florida) There hadn’t been sunlight in seven years. I was only a young girl in Mexico when we lost the sun. Not since the day Aine vanished, taking the dawn with her. Every morning since, the sky over Bastrethra has been frozen in that strange, silver hush—like the whole world was stuck in the hour before sunrise, waiting for something that never came. It was stuck in the night's darkest hour, and maybe we were in our darkest time. Waiting. Pretending. Training. But we all knew something had to give in; there was restlessness, food and shelter were running short, and the rumors of hordes of dark creatures outside the wall reached us every so often. The dining hall looked exactly as it always did—too perfect for a place wrapped in shadows. A fire burned in the hearth, casting flickers across polished wood and soft stone. Bowls of roasted squash, perfect rotisserie chicken, green rice, and buttered flatbread were laid out on the long table like some half-hearted offering to a peace that didn’t exist. I sat with my spine stiff, arms crossed, eyes narrowed at my plate. Across from me, Rafael was quiet—but I could feel it brewing in his mind the way he watched me. That carefully measured silence. That big brother tension. The eyes that said: I’ve already decided what’s best for you, and now I’m about to ruin your appetite, Livvy. To my left, Nate was busy building a tiny wall of peas on his plate. One pea. Two peas. Adjust. Align. Wipe fingertip. Repeat. His mouth moved silently as he counted under his breath. “Fourteen,” he said finally. “Again.” “What’s wrong with fourteen?” I asked, narrowing my eyes at the perfectly assembled pyramid. “It’s a trap number,” he replied without blinking. “Feels even. It is not even real. Not when you divide it by emotion.” Aradhel closed her eyes. Francesco snorted into his tea, and I raised both my eyebrows. At eight, the kid was eccentric, to say the least. He was human, showing no signs of feline or fae magic in his blood. He hardly played, and things like this kept other children from the community away from him. I heard many times people refer to him as punishment to my brother for leaving his fiancé and his child to die. Even though the majority of the feline colony accepted the explanation Rafe and Charlotte gave about Martina, there were always pockets that believed in conspiracy. Mainly, the story that my brother had gotten rid of her for a better model. I looked up to see Aradhel lost in my thoughts. Rafael cleared his throat. “I’ve spoken to Joao.” I turned my head back to my plate. And there it was. “Of course you have,” I muttered, stabbing my fork into the chicken like it owed me something. “He’s a good match,” Rafael said. “For you, maybe.” I countered. “He respects you.” Yeah, he did a little too much. I knew about that. I tried dating Joao, but he couldn’t even kiss me once. I looked up straight into my brother's eyes, so similar to my own. “He respects you. He bows every time you enter a room and probably dreams about your next command, Rafe.” “He’s stable,” Rafael added, ignoring my comment. “Emotionally neutered,” I corrected. “He listens.” Rafe's voice started to rise; I just couldn’t marry him. There was nothing between us, no spark, no chemistry, not even s****l tension- and I refused to get married only for political reasons. “To you.” I pointed my fork at him. “He trained beside you for years.” Rafe let go of his fork and placed his elbows on the table. “He fights like an asthmatic stray cat,” I said. “The only reason I haven’t broken his nose yet is because you asked me to keep it peaceful, because his family is influential in the community. Now I was thinking I was saving it for today.” “Olivia,” Aradhel said, gentle but firm. While my brother passed a hand through his hair, an angry tick he had since he was a boy. I glared at Rafael. “You’re not offering me a partner. You’re offering me your b***h in a mating collar.” Rafael met my glare, calm and cold. “I don’t want you alone anymore.” “I am not alone; I have you, my family.” I motioned to the rest of the table. ¨And even if that wasn’t the case, you are a hypocrite to expect me to take a chosen mate when you had an instant bond. ¨ I motioned my hand to Aradhel. His mouth pressed into a line, and he clenched his fist until his knuckles turned white. “That was different,” He said after a few seconds and looking at his companion. “Was it?” I asked. “Because I seem to remember you were engaged to Martina. You thought she was pregnant. And then you met Aradhel and threw the colony's tradition into the bonfire.” Rafael didn’t deny it. He didn’t have to. “Martina was…” he started. “Lying,” I finished. “Yeah. We all know that now, me more than anyone. But you didn’t know when you did. You still chose Aradhel. You still had your instant bond.” “I felt the bond,” he said. “The second I saw her. It hit like a sword through my ribs.” “And you mated her that night,” I said, louder now. “In the middle of a f*****g desert. Sorry, Nate,” I said to my side, which made the boy shrug and continue to sort through his food. Francesco coughed into his wine. “Like always dining with felines,” he added. “Very dramatic.” “I didn’t plan it,” Rafael muttered to himself. Aradhel rested a hand on his arm, trying to calm him down. “We didn’t choose the bond. But we chose each other after.” She answered for him. I hated how much I wanted to believe her. How much I wanted to feel that kind of certainty. To have someone so perfect made for you by nature itself, of course she was going to choose my brother. I wish nothing more for him and maybe also for myself. “You’re lucky Charlotte stepped in,” I said, still feeling combative; those were the Leopoldo’s genes. “If she hadn’t told the Elders about Martina’s baby—about Thomas being the father—you’d have been publicly stripped of your title.” Rafael flinched at the name. That was his best friend and had died eight years ago before we awakened, when we started our exodus to this place. “I was ready for it. For Aradhel, I would have stepped aside and let someone else lead,” he said. “And the community?” I added. “The ones who clutched their rosaries and called Aradhel the w***e of dawn? The ones who still won’t eat at her table? Do you know what it was like hearing people say she bewitched you? That she was a demon in elven skin?” “I do,” Aradhel said softly. She always did. She just didn’t show how much it affected her, but at our core, the community was still conservative. I looked at her—the woman who’d faced gossip, exile, and losing the love of her life. She did all of this with her head held high and taking it like a champ because she loved my brother, because of their bond. “You had a companionship bond; without it, it wouldn’t have lasted,” I said. “No,” she whispered. “Even after the bond. I accepted all of that because I chose him every day since the companionship bond.” I didn’t believe it. That’s what I didn’t get. Why couldn’t I have that bond? That certainty that someone was mine and mine alone. Because of Danielle. Because she’d said my bond was awakening too early. That if I met him—whoever he was—I would burn. That the magic would eat me alive. So, she’d sealed it. Locked it down. And then disappeared. “She said she’d come back,” I murmured. “She thought she was protecting you,” Aradhel said. “She left me like this.” I clutched my chest where the scar from the mate curse was on my heart. The anger rose before I could stop it. “I’m twenty years old and still frozen at twelve—stuck between magic and mortality. Everyone else is building lives, families, legacies. And I’m still humming in the dark.” Nate perked up. “You are.” I blinked and turned to him. “What?” “In your head. R. E. C. You hum it when you’re upset. It’s like a heartbeat but off-tempo.” “What does that mean? How would you even know that?” I asked, turning away from Rafe. I said my piece, and I wasn’t going to get bullied because he was scared that I would end up alone. I could be alone, but I couldn’t be with someone who someday would stop loving me when he found his true mate. “I listen.” The boy said as his attention came to his knife. “You shouldn’t be able to—” “I hear things,” he said, placing his thumb on the sharp edge. “Dreams. Patterns. Your dreams are fuzzy pressure. His”—he pointed at Rafael—“sounds like metal and ocean.” Rafael stared. Aradhel placed her fist to her mouth but then lowered it. Francesco leaned closer. “You alright, kid?” “No,” Nate said cheerfully. “But I’m symmetrical. So, it balances.” I stared at him. “You’re eight.” “And you’re echoing,” he replied. “Outward instead of inward. It’s going to crack if you keep swallowing your own fire.” Sometimes, I forgot how terrifying he could be. I stood. Finished with my family for this night. “I’m going to train.” “Don’t kill Joao,” Rafael called. “No promises.” Nate waved. “If you see the crow with the white feather, don’t look it in the left eye.” I didn’t ask. I just left. The hallways of Bastrethra stretched long and cold. This place hadn’t always been ours. The Feline had come from Mexico—Catholic to the marrow. Crosses in every room. Saints in every window. We hadn’t even known we were magical until Francesco showed up, smelling like blood and gunpowder, and told us the stories in the Bible had names and fangs. Charlotte and Noah sent him. Sent him to prepare us for the Wall. To pull us into the war we didn’t even know we’d been born for. The day we left Mexico, Aine vanished. The day the awakening spell burned across the skies, we changed. Bastrethra now stretched from the heat-sick swamps of South Florida to the fog-thick forests in North Georgia. Home to every Feline who had survived the spell and still remembered what it meant to pray and bleed under the same stars. Rafael and I had awakened early—by accident. Charlotte, Poppy, and Danielle tried to cast a controlled awakening spell. It had backfired. And I felt it. Every nerve lit, every bone cracked, every buried instinct screaming toward the sky. That was the day I stopped being a girl and started being something else. It was the day I was doomed to walk my life alone. I reached the outer corridor. The stained-glass windows cast long strips of false dawn across the stone floor—honey yellow, cherry red, sea blue. The light was all wrong. Cold. Stale. It had no warmth because it wasn’t real; it was cast from the different fires outside. Outside, the training grounds waited—empty, maybe. Quiet, hopefully. I just needed to hit something. To sweat. To remind my body it was still mine. Because right now? I wasn’t sure I belonged to anything anymore. I walked into the gym like it owed me an apology. The scent hit first—sweat, iron, dust, the faint sting of antiseptic somewhere near the far wall. The kind of sharp, familiar atmosphere that curled under your skin and made your pulse find rhythm again. People think the ring is where you burn your rage. But for me? It was where I remembered what my body could do. What it was for. The kerosene lamps overhead buzzed softly, their golden light throwing long shadows across the mats. Ever since Aine disappeared—taking the sunrise with her—we’d learned to live in this fake glow, making gods out of flickering flames and pretending it was enough. It wasn’t. But it had to do. My shoes thudded softly against the rubber flooring as I passed rows of sparring pairs. No one stopped me. They never did. Joao was already in the ring. Of course, he was. Barefoot, shirtless, crouched low in the center of the mat, like he’d known I was coming. His jaguar tattoos coiled down his arms and over his spine, ink-like armor. He looked calm. Too calm. Like always. Like Rafael had programmed him to be. He didn’t smile, but his gaze met mine with quiet readiness. His mouth twitched. “You look like you’ve got something to get out.” I dropped my bag at the edge of the mats, tugging my braid tighter as I kicked off my shoes. “You volunteering?” “You always pick me when you’re angry,” he replied, rising to his full height. I rolled my neck, letting the muscles stretch and pull. “You’re always available. And you don’t break easy.” A short breath of a laugh. “Durable,” he said. “Something like that.” I narrowed my eyes at him, now questioning who had the idea of pairing us. Was it Rafe? Or was it his idea? He stepped back, giving me space. The other felines started the rhythm — palms slapping against drums. Slow. Deliberate. I didn’t wait for a beat drop. I moved. Joao responded immediately. He was always smooth, grounded, but I could tell I’d caught him just slightly off guard by how low I came in. I wanted the pressure. The contact. I wanted to feel my muscles ache. Capoeira wasn’t about winning. Not really. It was about control. Breathing. Knowing when to strike and when to glide past like wind over a blade. But I wasn’t fighting for rhythm right now. I was fighting to feel like I still had something I could choose. We moved—spinning, ducking, weaving. His feet slapped the mat in perfect time with mine, our hips turning like gears in a clock. I clipped his side once. He caught my wrist the next time. I twisted free, smirking, even as my lungs started to burn. “You’re sharper today,” he said between dodges. “Got a lot to cut through.” Another sweep. Another feint. I laughed when I forced him into a roll. He landed with a grunt, then blinked up at me from the mat and smiled, that tired, knowing grin of his. That always made me feel like a stupid little girl. “You needed that.” So condescending. Rolling my eyes, I offered my hand. He took it, warm and steady, and let me pull him upright. There was a comfort in sparring with him. Familiarity without risk. Which only made me hate it more. I wanted excitement, I wanted passion and love, not contentment. “I really don’t think there’s a male here that can keep up with me,” I said lightly—loud enough for others to hear. Maybe Joao. Maybe someone else. He arched a brow. Didn’t rise to the bait. So controlled, so perfect. But someone else did. I felt it before I saw it. The shift in the gym’s energy. Like the air had leaned sideways. I turned. And froze. He was leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, watching us with the kind of stillness that felt... heated. Like a predator just before the pounce. His height alone made him stand out—broad shoulders, thick muscle, bulk with power carved into a motionless frame. His red hair caught the firelight, and I followed the trail of freckles scattered like ancient runes across his pale arms. But it was his eyes—gods, those eyes—bottle-green and intense, fixed on me like I was a riddle he already resented solving. My stomach flipped, just once. Something stirred somewhere low and deep, like it had rolled over in its sleep and tightened my lower belly. One of the Lycans. He had to be. No one else could have that kind of aura. Rafael had mentioned them. Visiting from the English province for the Lycan Ball. Political allies, or something close to it. Which one was he? I couldn’t remember the names. But something about the way he stared at me made my spine stretch taller in response. Joao was saying something beside me, probably checking if I was alright, but the words didn’t land. Because that Lycan wasn’t just watching. He was studying me. Learning me. I narrowed my eyes. A quiet, electric defiance crackled in my chest. Then another voice cut through the gym. “I can beat you,” someone said—young, loud, male, cocky. I turned my head just enough to see the wolf beside him, brown-haired and full of himself, grinning like he’d already won. Joao immediately stepped forward in front of me. Protective of what he now believed was his. Of course. “You will show respect—” he began, but I held up a hand and pressed it to his chest. “It's okay, Joao,” I said, cool and calm and loud enough for the room to hear. “I can take this pup with my eyes closed.” The redheaded Lycan stood straighter. And suddenly, the room felt very, very small. “No one is going to fight here,” he said, voice low but sharp. A command, not a suggestion. Everyone stilled. I didn’t. “If you’re not going to let him fight me,” I said, crossing my arms, “then maybe you should.” I watched his eyes shift slightly. Assessing me. Still, no emotion. Just that same iron weight behind his gaze. Joao leaned in, hissing softly, “Liv, that wolf is a Lycan.” “I noticed,” I muttered, and then louder, to the man now stepping onto the mat, “What’s it going to be, then, Lycan? You going to let your pup embarrass himself, or are you doing the honors?” Something flickered in his expression—annoyance, maybe—but it passed like a shadow. He stepped into the ring. Up close, he was more intimidating. Taller. Broader. His chest rose and fell evenly, not even winded. And that scent—earthy, clean, wild—hit me hard. Sweat and forest and heat. I felt it then. A pulse. Deep in my bones. Attraction. A female realizing who the strongest male in the room was. He looked down at me, smug. “Why do you think you can win against a Lycan?” I didn’t answer. Instead, I hooked my foot behind his knee and swept. His ass hit the mat. The gym gasped in unison. “That was cheating!” the younger wolf barked from the sidelines. I smiled, sweet and sharp. “Everything’s fair in love and war, wolf.” The lycan stood slower this time. He looked... focused now, his nostrils shifting as if he could scent my interest. “Ever done Capoeira?” I asked, turning around, breaking eye contact, and tipping my head. My breath was short, but my stance was sure. He shook his head. I pursed my lips. “Think of it like dancing. While we hurt each other.” The drums picked up again. And we danced. He grabbed my waist and flung me. I twisted mid-air, landed, rolled, turned, and launched myself forward again. Every motion was measured. Beautiful. Deadly. He was fast. I was faster. But gods, he was strong, and I felt so small in his arms. I moved in for a strike—and he caught me. One hand on my hip. One on my wrist. Our skin touched. Something exploded under my skin. I felt it. So did he. His eyes widened—just for a fraction of a second—but it was there the tiniest of pulses, chemistry at its finest. This incredible specimen of a man was a picture-perfect example of what I wanted, minus the mate bond. My breath hitched. The rhythm shattered. He recovered first. Took me down. Legs locking around mine. Pressure. Contact. I tried to fight him off, but my arms were trembling. Not from fear. From that same buried thing. Whatever it was. Heat? Hormones? His body over mine was too much. I didn’t understand what I was feeling, but I wanted it to stop. Or never stop. I didn’t know. Then— “Olivia!” Francesco’s voice broke the spell. The Lycan pulled off me immediately. I sucked in a sharp breath and sat up, heart pounding. Francesco reached me in two strides, eyes flashing. “Rafe is looking for you,” he said firmly. “You shouldn’t be fighting wolves. Your brother’s going to have a heart attack.” I nodded, already shaking inside. “I’m sorry,” I said quickly, turning to the redhead. “We’ll leave our fighting for another day. Nice meeting you…” He didn’t reply. Francesco did. “Rowan.” I blinked. The name landed like a stone in my chest. Rafael’s enemy. The one who’d hated us for years. The Lycan who blamed us for the death of his mate. I looked at him again. And everything stilled. “Rowan,” I repeated, softer now. All the want I felt evaporated with a single word. And the way the name tasted on my tongue felt too real. It was a f*****g joke. I turned before knowing that no matter how much attraction we had, it was impossible. Because gods help me... If Rafe found out.