The Blood Moon hangs like a sword above Black Veil.
Monstrous. Crimson. Thrumming.
The wind itself howls from the mountains, a maelstrom of ash and magic. Everything in the forest bows to it—trees and wolves and power.
Tonight is prophecy.
Tonight is claiming.
Tonight, Vera becomes something else.
The altar is slick with blood.
Her blood.
Obsidian-carved and older than any pack, it drinks her sacrifice like wine.
Vera kneels naked before it—hands bound behind her back with braided leather, throat bare, cunt wet and aching.
The runes painted on her skin burn like they’re alive.
Her hair is matted with sweat and soot.
Her eyes, already gold, flash with something worse.
Something older.
She’s already half gone.
But not broken.
Not yet.
Rael stands behind her, chest
