The Luna Curse

Chapter 5: The Wilds’ Secrets

The Ashen Wilds whispered with secrets, their gnarled branches clawing at the moonlit sky. Selene Vireya crouched in the hollow of a dead oak, her breath shallow, her wound a dull fire in her side. The blood-soaked cloth she’d tied around it was fraying, but the pain was nothing compared to the relic in her hand. The jagged stone, etched with runes, pulsed like a heartbeat, its faint silver glow mirroring the unnatural light in her eyes. She’d stolen it on a whim during the raid, but now it felt like a chain, tugging her toward something she didn’t understand.

“What are you?” she whispered, turning the stone. The runes shimmered, warm under her fingers, and a hum vibrated through her bones, low and ancient. Her eyes burned again, silver light flickering in the dark. Her heart raced, not just from the relic but from the memory of that voice—moon’s daughter—and the wolf with red eyes that wasn’t plagued but wrong. Rowan’s pack was hunting her, but this new threat, this cult, felt personal, like it knew her secrets before she did.

“Focus, Selene,” she muttered, her voice rough, barely audible over the Wilds’ eerie silence. She shoved the relic into her pocket, wincing as her wound protested, and leaned against the tree’s rough bark. The loneliness hit harder than the pain—years of running, no pack, no one to trust since Lyria Kaelith turned on her. Lyria, her only friend, who’d sworn to stand by her in the Wilds, only to sell her out to a rival pack for a scrap of safety. The betrayal stung like a fresh claw mark, and Selene’s chest tightened, not from the wound but from the memory of Lyria’s cold eyes, her final words: “You’re a rogue, Selene. You’re nothing.”

“Nothing,” Selene repeated, her voice bitter. “Shows what you know, Lyria.” But the words felt hollow. She’d built walls around her heart, kept everyone out, but that pull toward Rowan—his gold eyes, his steadying touch—kept cracking them. The mate bond, he’d called it, and she hated how it made her feel: alive, wanted, weak.

The relic hummed again, louder, and her vision blurred. A memory surged, unbidden, sharp as a blade. She was a child, no more than seven, running through a sunlit meadow, laughter spilling from her lips. Another child ran beside her, a boy with dark hair and gold-flecked eyes, his hand brushing hers as they chased fireflies. “You’re faster than me, Selene,” he’d said, his voice warm, real. “But I’ll catch you one day.” The meadow faded, replaced by a woman’s voice—soft, urgent, speaking of a prophecy, a curse, a moon’s daughter. Then screams, blood, and Lyria’s face, older, colder, turning away.

Selene gasped, snapping back to the Wilds, her hand clutching the relic so tightly it cut her palm. Blood dripped, and the runes glowed brighter, the hum now a pulse that matched her racing heart. “What the hell was that?” she whispered, her voice shaking. The boy—his eyes, his voice—felt like Rowan, but that was impossible. She’d never met him before the gorge. Had she?

A rustle broke her thoughts, sharp and close. Her head snapped up, claws extending, her eyes still glowing faintly. The air carried a scent—sweat, rot, and something darker, like charred bone. Not Rowan’s pack. The cult. Her pulse spiked, the relic’s hum growing frantic, as if warning her.

“Who’s out there?” she called, her voice sharp, masking the fear clawing her chest. “Show yourself, or I’ll rip you apart.”

A low laugh slithered from the shadows, cold and mocking. “Bold words, moon’s daughter,” a voice said, the same venomous tone from the gorge. A figure stepped into the moonlight, cloaked in black, its face hidden but its eyes glinting red—not plague-red, but alive with dark magic. Two more figures flanked it, wolves with matted fur, their growls low and hungry.

Selene backed away, her wound screaming as she shifted to half-wolf form, silver fur bristling. “You know that name,” she said, her voice steady despite the pain. “Why? What do you want?”

The cloaked figure tilted its head, its grin audible. “The master sees you, rogue. The relic, your power—it belongs to him. Hand it over, or we take it from your corpse.”

“Master?” Selene’s eyes narrowed, her claws flexing. “Tell your master to come get it himself.”

The wolves lunged, faster than she expected, their jaws snapping. Selene dove, rolling through the dirt, and slashed at the nearest wolf’s flank. It yelped, blood spraying, but the second tackled her, its claws grazing her wounded side. Pain exploded, white-hot, but she twisted, sinking her teeth into its shoulder. It howled, staggering, and she kicked it off, scrambling to her feet.

The cloaked figure didn’t move, just watched, its eyes glinting. “You’re strong,” it said, almost amused. “But the plague will break you. Give us the relic, and you might live.”

“Go to hell,” Selene spat, her breath ragged. The relic burned in her pocket, its glow seeping through the fabric, casting silver light across the clearing. Her eyes flared brighter, a mirror to the relic’s glow, and a surge of heat coursed through her, dulling the pain in her side. She didn’t understand it—this power, this light—but it felt like strength, like survival. She bared her teeth, snarling at the cloaked figure. “You want it? Come take it.”

The figure laughed again, raising a hand, and the air thickened, a pulse of dark magic making her skin crawl. “You’re no rogue,” it said, its voice dripping with menace. “You’re the key, and the master will have you.”

The second wolf lunged again, but Selene was ready. She sidestepped, her claws slashing its throat, blood spraying black in the moonlight. The first wolf staggered to its feet, but she kicked it hard, sending it crashing into a tree. Her wound throbbed, but the relic’s heat fueled her, her movements faster, sharper, like the moon itself was guiding her. She spun toward the cloaked figure, ready to charge, but it raised both hands, and a wave of darkness slammed into her, heavy and cold, like a fist of shadows.

Selene stumbled, her vision swimming, the relic’s glow flickering in her pocket. “What… what are you?” she gasped, her voice raw, her eyes blazing silver. The figure didn’t answer, only tilted its head, as if studying her. Then it spoke, its voice a hiss inside her skull, not her ears: “Vaedros sees you now, moon’s daughter. Your light calls to him.”

Her blood ran cold. Vaedros. The name hit like a claw to the gut, tied to the rumors Kael had mentioned in Duskmoor—shadow-cloaked cultists, a dark power in the Ruins of Dravenhold. She clutched the relic tighter, its hum now a roar in her ears, and her eyes glowed so brightly the figure flinched, stepping back. “You can’t run forever,” it said, then melted into the shadows, the wolves limping after it, leaving her alone in the clearing.

Selene collapsed against the tree, her breath ragged, her wound bleeding through the makeshift bandage. The relic’s glow pulsed, and another memory flickered—a woman’s voice, soft and urgent, whispering of a prophecy, a moon’s daughter to break a curse. Her eyes burned, silver light pooling in her reflection on the ground. She was no rogue, not anymore. She was something else, something tied to this relic, to Rowan, to Vaedros.

Back at Duskmoor Hold, Rowan paced the war room, the mate bond’s pull gnawing at his chest. Selene was out there, wounded, hunted, and he couldn’t shake her—her defiance, her glowing eyes, the way she’d saved him in the gorge. Edric’s words echoed, sowing doubt, but the scout’s howl, cut short near the Ruins, was a louder warning. Something was coming, something worse than plague beasts, and it wanted her.

Selene stood, shoving the relic deeper into her pocket, its glow now a beacon she couldn’t hide. She needed answers—about the relic, her power, the prophecy. But as she stepped into the moonlight, a distant howl rose, not from Duskmoor, but from the Ruins of Dravenhold. It wasn’t a wolf’s cry—it was deeper, darker, laced with power that made her skin crawl. The relic flared, its light bursting through her pocket, painting the Wilds in silver.

Far away, in the depths of Blackreach Keep, a figure stirred, cloaked in shadow, eyes glinting red. Vaedros Malagar, the cursed alpha, smiled, his voice a whisper on the wind. “There you are, moon’s daughter. Now, you’re mine.”

What had Selene unleashed? And how long could she run before Vaedros found her?