Blood Moon Betrayal

The cellar War

The stone floor of the basement shuddered as the second explosion ripped through the foundation. I didn't wait for a guard. I knew they had already run toward the stairs to join the fight above. I grabbed a heavy, jagged rock from the corner of my cell and slammed it against the rusted iron lock of my cage.

I swung with a desperation that bypassed the pain in my shoulders. On the fourth strike, the ancient bolt snapped. I kicked the door open and stumbled into the dark hallway. The air was already thick with the smell of sulfur and wet fur.

I didn't have my spear. I didn't have a knife. I looked around the damp corridor and grabbed a heavy iron poker from the wall of the laundry room. It wasn't a warrior's weapon, but it was made of solid metal. It would have to be enough.

The screaming from the Great Hall above was deafening now. I heard the crash of furniture and the unmistakable snarls of shifting wolves. I ran toward the main cellar, the place where the food stores were kept. If the rogues were coming through the old mines, they would emerge right beneath the Alpha’s feet.

I reached the heavy oak doors of the cellar just as a massive gray wolf burst through the floorboards. Wood splinters flew through the air like shrapnel. Behind him, three more wolves climbed out of a dark, gaping hole in the earth. They weren't wearing pack colors. They smelled of rot and silver.

One of them saw me. He didn't hesitate. He lunged, his jaws snapping inches from my throat. I swung the iron poker with everything I had. The heavy metal connected with his skull with a sickening c***k. He hit the stone floor and didn't move.

I didn't stop to breathe. I ran for the stairs.

The Great Hall was a scene from a nightmare. The long wooden tables were overturned, serving as makeshift barricades. The air was a haze of blood and woodsmoke. In the center of the chaos, I saw Silas.

He was in his human form, wielding a massive broadsword. He was a whirlwind of lethal precision, cutting through the invaders with a cold fury. But he was surrounded. Four rogues were circling him, their eyes glowing with a frenzied light.

Then I saw my father.

Rowan Thorne stood on the mezzanine, looking down at the s*******r with a calm, terrifying smile. He wasn't shifting. He didn't need to. He held a heavy crossbow leveled at Silas’s back. The bolt was tipped with a dull, blueish metal.

Pure silver.

"Silas! Behind you!" I screamed.

My voice was lost in the roar of the battle. Silas was occupied with a rogue who had latched onto his arm. He didn't see the flash of the crossbow.

I didn't think about the rejection. I didn't think about the cold shack or the bleeding hands on the border. I threw myself across the room, sliding over the blood-slicked floor. I reached Silas just as my father pulled the trigger.

The silver bolt hissed through the air. I collided with Silas, the force of my impact knocking him sideways. The bolt missed his heart, but it tore a deep furrow through his shoulder. He let out a choked roar of pain as the silver touched his blood.

We hit the floor together. Silas rolled, his eyes wide with shock as he looked at me. "June?"

"He’s on the balcony!" I gasped, pointing upward.

My father snarled and dropped the crossbow, drawing a long, silver-edged dagger. He leaped from the mezzanine, landing with a heavy thud ten feet away from us. The rogues closed in, forming a circle around the three of us

.

"Move away from him, June," Rowan said. His voice was cold, stripped of any fatherly warmth. "This is the end of the Blackthorn line. Move, and I might let you live as a servant in my new pack."

I stood up. I stepped in front of Silas, who was struggling to rise as the silver poison began to sap his strength. I held the iron poker like a sword.

"I am not your daughter," I said. "And you are not taking this pack."

Rowan laughed. It was a dry, hollow sound. "You always were a disappointment. You choose the man who threw you in the dirt over the man who gave you life?"

"He didn't give me life," I hissed. "He gave me a curse. I'm ending it tonight."

Rowan lunged. He was faster than he looked, his blade whistling toward my throat. I parried with the iron rod, the vibration rattling my teeth. I wasn't a trained warrior, but I had spent ten years hauling stones and fighting for every scrap of food. I was lean, fast, and desperate.

I ducked under his next swing and jammed the end of the poker into his ribs. He grunted, his eyes flashing with rage. He grabbed my hair and slammed his fist into my face. The world turned white for a second. I felt the copper taste of blood in my mouth.

I fell to my knees, and Rowan raised the silver dagger for the kill.

Suddenly, a massive black shape blurred past me. Silas had shifted. Even poisoned and bleeding, the Alpha was a force of nature. He slammed into Rowan, his massive jaws closing on my father’s shoulder. They tumbled across the hall, a chaotic mess of fur and steel.

The remaining rogues hesitated. Seeing their leader pinned by the Alpha broke their nerves. I saw my opening. I grabbed a fallen spear from the floor and threw it at the rogue nearest to Silas. The point caught him in the chest, and he went down with a gurgle.

The pack warriors, spurred on by the sight of their Alpha fighting, surged forward. The tide of the battle shifted. The rogues began to retreat toward the cellar, realizing the ambush had failed.

Rowan managed to kick Silas off and scrambled toward the secret tunnel. He looked back at me, his face twisted with hatred so pure it made my skin crawl. "I'll see you in the dark, June," he promised. Then he vanished into the hole in the floor.

The hall went quiet, save for the groans of the wounded and the crackle of the fire.

Silas shifted back. He was pale, his veins turning black where the silver had entered his system. He slumped against a pillar, his breathing ragged. I ran to him, tearing a strip of cloth from my tunic to wrap around his shoulder.

"Don't touch me," he rasped, though there was no heat in the words.

"Shut up, Silas," I said. I pressed the cloth against the wound. "You’re bleeding out."

He looked at me then. His flint-gray eyes were clouded with pain and something that looked like a deep, agonizing confusion. He saw the blood on my face and the way I was shaking. He saw that I had stayed when I could have run.

"Why?" he whispered.

"Because I'm a Blackthorn," I said, my voice cracking. "And because the moon doesn't make mistakes. Even if you do."

He closed his eyes as the healers finally reached us. As they lifted him onto a stretcher, his hand brushed against mine. For a split second, the broken bond hummed. It wasn't the warm, golden light from before. It was a low, steady thrum. A heartbeat in the dark.

I watched them carry him away. I stood alone in the ruins of the Great Hall, covered in the blood of my enemies and my kin. I was still an outcast. I was still rejected. But as the sun began to rise over the valley, I knew the game had changed.

The Alpha owed me his life. And I wasn't going back to the shack.