His Reluctant Luna

Chapter 10: The Bloodmoon Rising

The sun set like a wound in the sky.

I stood at my window, watching the last light bleed away, feeling the pull of the moon growing stronger with every passing minute. My skin tingled. My blood hummed. The air itself felt different — charged, alive, waiting.

Tonight, everything changed.

I checked my pocket for the third time: Damon's strand of hair, coiled like a dark promise. A small knife for my blood. And a silver vial, empty, ready to catch the moonlight.

Three items. One ritual. One chance.

A knock at my door.

Damon stood in the hallway, dressed in black, his golden eyes gleaming in the candlelight.

"Ready?"

"No."

"Good. Being ready means you've stopped being afraid. And fear keeps you alive."

We walked through the silent castle together. The servants had been sent to their quarters. The guards were posted at the walls, watching for threats. Kael was waiting for us at the courtyard gate, a torch in his hand.

"The moon will be at its peak in twenty minutes," he said. "The ritual must happen exactly at that moment."

"And the southern packs?"

Kael's jaw tightened. "My scouts report movement at the border. They know what tonight is. They'll come."

"How long do we have?"

"An hour. Maybe less."

I looked at Damon. "Then we do this fast."

The courtyard was bathed in silver light.

The gravestone stood in the center — Elena's grave, the one I'd found Damon kneeling at on my first night. Now I knew what lay beneath it wasn't her body. Just a seal. A lock. A prison holding her spirit.

I walked to the grave and knelt.

Kael handed me the torch. Damon stood at my side, his presence solid and warm.

"What do you need from me?" he asked.

"Just stay close. When the ritual starts, don't break contact."

I set down the torch. Pulled out the knife.

And cut my palm.

The blood welled up, dark and warm. I let it drip onto the grave — once, twice, three times.

The ground trembled.

I took Damon's hair from my pocket and placed it on the bloodstained earth.

The air grew heavy. The torch flickered. The moon seemed to pulse, swelling larger in the sky.

I raised my hands to the light.

And I called her.

Elena.

I'm here.

Show me how to free you.

The moonlight gathered in my palms — not gently this time, but violently, pouring into me like water through a broken dam. I felt myself lifted, pulled, stretched. My blood was on fire. My bones were singing.

And then I saw her.

Elena appeared in the air before me — translucent, glowing, more beautiful than any painting. She looked at me with my own eyes, and smiled.

My daughter.

"Mom."

You did it. You found me.

"I need to break the seal. How?"

The grave is not my prison. The mirror is. To break it, you must shatter it with the truth.

"What truth?"

The truth of who killed me.

The courtyard gates exploded inward.

Wolves poured through the breach — not the wolves of the Bloodmoon Pack, but strangers, their eyes red, their fangs bared. At their head stood a man I didn't recognize — tall, scarred, with cold gray eyes.

"Viktor," Damon growled.

The leader of the southern packs.

"Alpha Blackthorn." Viktor's voice was smooth, mocking. "I heard you were having a family reunion. I thought I'd join."

"You're not welcome here."

"I'm not here for you." Viktor's eyes found me. "I'm here for the Moon-touched."

He knew what I was.

"Step away from the grave, girl. Your mother made a deal with me 300 years ago. She broke it. And now you're going to pay the price."

"Get him out of here," I said to Damon.

"Aurora—"

"Trust me."

Damon's eyes met mine. For a moment, I saw the war in them — every instinct screaming at him to protect me, and the trust I was asking him to give.

Then he turned to face Viktor.

"You want the Moon-touched?" Damon said, his voice low and deadly. "You go through me first."

He shifted.

It was the first time I saw it happen. His body blurred, reshaped, expanded — bones breaking and reforming, fur tearing through skin, until a massive black wolf stood where the man had been. Twice the size of any natural wolf, with eyes of burning gold.

He lunged.

And chaos erupted.

While Damon and Viktor's wolves clashed, I turned back to the grave.

"The mirror," I said to Elena. "You said the truth would break it. What truth?"

Elena's spirit flickered. The night I died, I wasn't killed by a hunter's blade. I was betrayed by someone I loved.

"Who?"

My brother.

The word hit me like a physical blow.

Kael?

He didn't mean to. He was tricked — Viktor convinced him I was a threat to the pack. Kael gave me the blade that was meant to bind me, not kill me. But Viktor changed the spell. And instead of binding my power, it trapped me.

"But Kael loves you. He's been grieving you for 300 years."

I know. And he has. But the truth is the only thing that can break the mirror's spell. You must tell it. Speak it aloud.

I looked around. Kael was across the courtyard, fighting two wolves at once, his face set in grim concentration.

I didn't want to do this.

But I had no choice.

"Kael!" I screamed. "Elena told me the truth!"

He froze. Mid-swing, one of the wolves tackled him, sent him crashing to the ground. He didn't get up. He just stared at me.

"It was you."

The courtyard seemed to stop. Fighting slowed. Heads turned.

"I didn't mean to—" Kael's voice cracked. "I didn't know what Viktor would do. She was my sister. I loved her."

"The truth is spoken," Elena's voice echoed. "Now break the seal."

I grabbed a stone from the grave's edge. I raised it high.

And I brought it down on the mirror's surface.

The glass shattered.

Light exploded —

— and everything went white.

I woke on my back, staring at the night sky.

The moon was overhead, full and blazing. The fighting had stopped. The courtyard was silent.

I sat up.

Beside me, the grave was open. Empty.

And standing in front of me, solid and breathing and real, was a woman with dark hair and golden eyes.

"Hello, Aurora," Elena whispered. "I've dreamed of this moment for 300 years."

I couldn't speak. I just threw my arms around her and held on.

Across the courtyard, Viktor lay pinned beneath Damon's massive wolf form. The southern pack was retreating, fleeing into the forest.

It was over.

Damon shifted back to human form, breathing hard, blood streaking his chest. He looked at Elena.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then Elena smiled.

"You look older," she said.

"I am older." Damon's voice was hoarse. "I've been waiting for you."

"I know. I'm sorry."

He crossed the courtyard in three steps. And then he was holding her — the woman he'd mourned for 300 years, alive in his arms.

I stood back and watched.

My mother. The Wolf King. Together again.

And I realized — this wasn't the end of my story.

It was the beginning.