Curse Of The BLOODMOON

Sparks In The Ashes

The heat in the deep kitchens of the Silver Ridge packhouse was suffocating, but it could not thaw the absolute numbness in Nadia’s chest.

For three brutal weeks, the packhouse that had once been her palace had become her prison. Nadia, the sixteen-year-old sister to Valeria and youngest daughter of the slaughtered Alpha King Logan, was no longer a princess. She was now a slave, stripped of her surname, forced into a tattered rag of a dress, and kept in the sweltering, damp basements under the watchful eye of Torin’s brutal cooking master, a cruel omega named Marta.

Every single day, Nadia was mocked and beaten. Her hands were raw, blistered from scrubbing massive cast-iron pots, and her back ached from carrying heavy bags of flour. Torin’s loyalists took special pleasure in humiliating her, calling her a traitor’s leftover, forcing her to clean the very dining tables where her parents' blood had spilled just weeks before.

Yet, while the abuse was designed to shatter her spirit, Nadia did not break. Her amber eyes, identical to her father's, burned with a silent, dangerous fire. Unlike the rest of the pack, who had fallen in line out of fear under Torin's tyrannical new rule, Nadia held onto something no one could tear out of her heart: a profound, immovable belief. She believed, down to the very marrow of her bones, that her older sister Valeria was still alive.

There was no physical proof. Torin had claimed Valeria died in the dungeons from her injuries, but Nadia knew her sister. She knew Valeria’s resilient nature. She knew that Valeria wouldn't simply vanish from this world without a fight. Guided entirely by her growing inner wolf’s sharp intuition, Nadia made her decision. She would not stay here to die in the grease and ash. She would escape. She would find her sister, or die trying.

The opportunity came under the cover of a moonless night.

The kitchens were dark, illuminated only by the dying embers of the massive stone hearth. Nadia crept toward the cellar door, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. Waiting in the shadows of the dry storage room was her only hope: a warrior named Brandon. He was a scarred, forty-year-old lieutenant who had remained secretly loyal to Alpha Logan, pretending to serve Torin to survive.

"Are you certain about this, little alpha?" Brandon whispered, his eyes scanning the dark corridor anxiously as he handed Nadia a small canvas sack containing dried meat and a hunting dagger. "If we are caught past the perimeter, Torin will skin us alive."

"I am not dying in this kitchen, Brandon," Nadia whispered back, her voice fiercely quiet as she gripped the hilt of the dagger. "And I know Valeria is out there. I can feel it. We leave tonight."

Brandon nodded grimly. He shifted into his large, brown-furred warrior wolf, his massive paws stepping soundlessly over the cold flagstones. Nadia followed closely behind him, her bare feet moving with absolute stealth. They slipped through the waste chutes of the kitchen, dropped out into the freezing mud of the outer courtyard, bypassed the lazy wall sentries, and vanished into the dense, black treeline of the northern forest.

For the first four hours, freedom felt like a beautiful dream. The crisp winter air filled Nadia's lungs, washing away the smell of smoke and grease. She ran alongside Brandon’s massive wolf form, her heart soaring as the distance between her and Torin’s nightmare grew larger.

But freedom in the shifter territories always came at a devastating cost.

Just as the first pale light of dawn began to bleed through the canopy, Brandon suddenly skidded to a halt. His ears pinned back against his skull, and a low, defensive growl rattled deep inside his chest. Nadia stopped behind him, her body instantly locking into a defensive crouch.

The scent hit her nostrils a second later stale blood, wet fur, and pure malice.

Rogue wolves.

Before Brandon could push Nadia into the thick brush, four massive, scarred wolves exploded from the surrounding bushes. They did not wear the collars of any recognized pack; they were feral, rogue hunters who preyed on border refugees. They encircled Brandon and Nadia in an instant, their yellow eyes gleaming with hunger and predatory glee.

Brandon did not hesitate. With a fierce, loyal roar, the brown warrior wolf lunged forward, throwing his entire weight into the alpha rogue, his fangs tearing into the intruder's neck.

"Run, Nadia! Run!" Brandon’s voice echoed in her mind through their desperate, broken pack link.

Nadia gripped her dagger, her instincts screaming at her to plunge into the fight, but she knew she was no match for three seasoned rogues. She turned on her heel and sprinted through the dense briars, her legs pumping furiously as branches clawed at her face and arms. Behind her, the forest erupted into a chaotic, sickening symphony of snaps, snarls, and the brutal tearing of flesh.

She risked a single glance over her shoulder, and the sight nearly stopped her heart.

Brandon was completely overwhelmed. Two rogues had pinned his massive hind legs, while a third tore viciously at his throat. The loyal warrior let out one final, choked whine, his amber eyes locking onto Nadia’s retreating form through the trees, before his body went completely limp in the snow. He had paid for her freedom with his life.

"No!" Nadia choked out, tears blurring her vision, but she didn't stop. She couldn't stop.

She ran blindly, her breath exploding from her throat in ragged, white plumes. She sprinted for hours, losing all sense of direction as the sun rose and fell. She crossed jagged rocky ridges, waded through freezing mountain streams to mask her scent, and pushed her malnourished body far past its physical limits.

For ten long, agonizing days, Nadia became a wild animal. She starved, eating only snow and tree bark when her meager supplies ran out. She was hunted continuously by border scoundrels and wild beasts, sleeping in hollow logs for only an hour at a time before her paranoia woke her up. Her bare feet were cut to ribbons, leaving a faint trail of crimson dots in the winter frost.

On the tenth evening, her strength finally ran out completely.

She stumbled out of a thick pine thicket and collapsed face-first into a deep snowdrift. Her vision was swimming with black spots, her lungs burning, and her muscles shaking so violently she could no longer lift her chin. Through her fading sight, she looked up.

Rising through the twilight fog just fifty yards away were two massive, imposing stone watchtowers. A high, fortified iron gate spanned between them, bearing the unmistakable crest of a howling winter wolf. She had reached the border gates of the Lycan Kingdom of Duskwood, the very same kingdom where her sister Valeria was currently trapped inside the King's palace.

Nadia let out a weak, rattling breath, her fingers clawing feebly at the snow before her eyelids grew too heavy to hold open. Her body gave out entirely, and she slid into a dark unconsciousness.

A few minutes later, the heavy iron gates groaned open. Two elite Duskwood guards, carrying silver spears and lanterns, walked out into the snow to investigate the perimeter.

"What is that?" one guard asked, raising his lantern, the yellow light falling across Nadia's small, frozen form.

The second guard knelt, roughly rolling her over and checking the pulse at her throat. He noted her tattered grey rags, her severe starvation, and the heavy scent of a royal bloodline hidden beneath the grime."She's alive. Barely. But look at her clothes she carries the scent of the fallen Silver Ridge pack."

The first guard’s eyes narrowed in deep suspicion. "Silver Ridge? Torin just took that throne three weeks ago. Why is an alpha-blooded female collapsing at our gates now? The timing is too convenient. She could be a spy sent by the new regime to test our security."

"We can't just leave her to freeze," the second guard muttered, picking Nadia’s limp body up over his shoulder. "The King issued a strict decree after the last full moon: any unusual refugees from the northern border are to be brought directly to the throne room for interrogation. Tie her wrists, patch her up just enough so she can speak, and bring her before King Kaelen."

Unaware of the cosmic twist of fate, the guards carried the unconscious princess through the gates, completely blind to the fact that she was about to be brought face-to-face with the very ruler who held her long-lost sister close to his chest.