The Lycan’s Witch Luna

Six

Kaiden

“Is there something you want to say?” Alex asked as he stared at me.

I was lost in my thoughts. That girl I saved. There was something off about her. The energy I sensed off her wasn’t something I could describe. But yet, I still wanted her around. She was my mate after all.

“Nothing,” I replied.

Alex looked at me one more time before facing the road. We were riding back to Winthoven. Hopefully, we wouldn’t be interrupted by any other strays.

The last thing I had expected was to find my mate as a stray. And until I could confirm what was going on with her, I couldn’t tell anybody that she was my mate. Not even Alex.

It looked like she had lost her memories which means she didn’t know she was my mate. Or maybe she did and was just ignoring it because she felt uncomfortable.

“You say that and yet your mind is still back at the pack,” Alex said, not facing me. “Or is it about that girl we found?”

I clenched my jaws. Alex didn’t always know when to stop. He was always exuberant and knew when to brighten a moment. But also, it was hard for him to read the room.

“Don’t tell me you are developing a crush on her already,” he teased with a laugh.

I sighed and rubbed my forehead with my palm. This was going to be a long ride.

***

We arrived at Winthoven a couple of hours later and I was shocked at what I saw. Everything was in ashes. The trees leading to the village and most of the houses have been reduced to ash. The smell of ash and blood filled the air. It stung my nose making it crinkle in disgust.

It was silent. The breeze whistling past the ruins was the only sound together with the soft hum of the SUV’s engine.

Alex brought the car to a halt and stepped out of it quickly staring at my surroundings.

There were bodies on the floor. Some were covered in ashes, while some were still fresh with blood. Some corpses had been burned down to bones while others had escaped with slight first-degree burns. My thought was to go to the houses that were still standing. Maybe there were going to be some clues there.

“This is terrible,” Alex said, staring at the ruins. “I mean, whoever did something like this must have been prepared.”

“There’s only one way to know what truly happened,” I said, turning to him. “We split up.”

Alex nodded and took off in the opposite direction. I walked towards the house still standing. The roof had been burnt off and the front door was half burnt.

The porch creaked under my boots, the charred wood threatening to collapse as I stepped toward the half-burnt door of the first house in Winthoven’s ruins.

The air reeked of ash and blood, a sour mix that clung to my lungs and made my nose crinkle in disgust. The village was a graveyard of cinders, its once-lively paths now silent save for the mournful whistle of the breeze through skeletal trees.

Claw marks gouged the door—deep, jagged slashes, too precise for a mere beast, too frenzied for anything but a Lycan in a rage. My gut twisted. I knew marks like these, had left them myself on moonlit nights when the curse took over. But these weren’t mine. Or were they? The haze of last night’s transformation clouded my memory, as always.

I pushed the door open, its hinges screeching in protest. Inside, the stench hit me like a fist—rotting flesh, singed hair, and the metallic tang of blood. I pulled my shirt over my nose, but it barely helped.

The dim light filtering through the collapsed roof revealed a slaughter. Bodies littered the floor, witches by their tattered robes, their faces frozen in terror. A woman, maybe in her thirties, lay slumped against a shattered table, her throat torn open, her eyes glassy. Nearby, a child-no—no older than ten—curled in a corner, small hands clutching a broken amulet, as if it could’ve saved her.

My chest tightened, anger simmering beneath the disgust. Whoever did this hadn’t spared the young. The room was a tomb, the air thick with death and the faint hum of residual magic, now fading like a dying ember.

I stepped over the debris, my boots crunching on splintered wood and shattered glass. The walls bore more claw marks, some smeared with dried blood, others cutting through faded tapestries.

The destruction felt personal, like someone—or something—had torn through here with a purpose beyond killing.

Revenge, maybe. I knew that urge too well, had nursed it against these witches for what they’d done to me. But this? This was a m******e, chaotic yet deliberate, as if the attacker had been driven by a single-minded fury.

I left the house, the stench clinging to my clothes, and headed to the next standing structure, its roof partially intact but blackened by fire.

The same claw marks scarred its walls, identical in length and depth to the ones on the first house—long, curved, and vicious, like a signature etched in rage.

Inside, the scene repeated, though worse. Half-burnt bodies sprawled across the floor, their skin blistered and peeling, some charred to the bone, others still recognizable as witches, their robes smoldering.

A woman’s hand clutched a staff, its tip glowing faintly before flickering out. Another child lay near the hearth, her small form curled as if she’d tried to hide. The smell was unbearable, a mix of charred flesh and ash so thick I gagged, pulling my shirt tighter over my face.

I knelt by the wall, tracing the claw marks. They were too consistent, too uniform across both houses. This wasn’t a pack’s work—packs moved in patterns, with strategy. This was one creature, moving fast, striking hard, and leaving chaos in its wake. The attack had been rushed, sloppy in its execution but devastating in its intent.

A low rumble snapped me out of my thoughts. Car engines, multiple, growling closer. I stood, wiping my hands on my jeans, and stepped out onto the ruined path.

The air still carried the acrid bite of smoke, but now it mixed with the scent of exhaust. Three cars and two SUVs rolled into view, their tires crunching over ash and gravel as they pulled into the village’s center.

My eyes narrowed, tension coiling in my muscles. I knew those vehicles—the sleek black paint, the subtle crest on the hoods.

I recognized it easily.

They were…Ironfang.