Bound by Blood and Flame

Chapter Six: Blood Never Lies

Luka

I waited until dusk.

The village slipped into shadow. Wolves slinked between homes, wary, hungry, restless. Kellan was at the training grounds, cracking skulls and egos with his bare hands—distracted, for now.

I moved quickly.

Lena’s house stood at the far end of the village, close to the treeline. Isolated. Easy to watch. Easy to trap. I hated that she lived there.

I crept around the back, slipping through the side gate with barely a sound. The window to Noah’s room was cracked open, letting in the breeze. I paused, listening.

Soft breathing.

He was asleep.

I climbed through.

The nursery was simple. Worn stuffed wolf. Wooden cradle. A faded blanket that smelled faintly of pine and milk. I moved carefully, pulling the vial from my pocket and the small dagger from my belt.

I crouched by the cradle, my heart pounding in my throat. Noah stirred but didn’t wake. His tiny hand flopped over the side.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

I pricked the tip of his finger gently. A single drop of blood welled up. I caught it on a shard of glass, then pricked my own.

My blood met his on the shard.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened.

Then the mixture shimmered.

The blood glowed faint silver, then pulsed—a flash of light so small only a wolf’s eyes could see it.

Recognition.

Bond.

My knees buckled.

I gripped the edge of the cradle as it hit me—relief, rage, grief. A thousand emotions screamed through my chest.

He was mine.

Not a suspicion. Not a hope.

My son.

And then—footsteps.

Heavy. Angry.

The front door slammed open.

“Lena?” Kellan’s voice roared through the house.

Shit.

I shoved the vial and the glass shard back into my pouch, wiping Noah’s hand clean. He stirred but didn’t cry.

I slipped to the window—then froze.

Kellan’s scent was stronger now. He was heading toward the hallway. I couldn’t make it out without being seen.

There was only one way.

I shifted into my wolf form—bones snapping, fur blooming across my skin. Smaller, quicker.

I dove under the crib just as Kellan’s boots thudded into the doorway.

He stood there, looming, drunk on his own power.

He looked down at Noah, who was blinking awake.

“You’d better not be crying again,” Kellan muttered.

Noah closed his eyes. Still.

Kellan stood there for another moment, silent.

Then, to my horror, he stepped into the room and sat in the rocking chair.

Watching the boy.

I didn’t breathe.

Kellan’s voice broke the silence. Cold. Flat.

“You’re lucky you look nothing like him.”

He said it so quietly I almost missed it.

And then he was gone.

When I finally slipped out of the house, heart hammering in my throat, I wasn’t the same man who had entered.

I was a father now.

And nothing would stop me from protecting my son.

Not war.

Not lies.

Not even blood.