Chapter 3 – The Night She Ran
1152 Words
Chapter 3 – The Night She Ran
She remembered blood on her hands.
But not her own.
The wind howled through the cracks in the walls of the blackstone chamber, and Seren curled tighter beneath the furs. Sleep clung to her like a fog, dragging her into memory, into things she hadn’t wanted to remember—but never really forgot.
---
Three weeks ago.
She stood barefoot in Gavin’s penthouse suite, trembling as the belt slid from his hands.
He smiled when he hurt her. Whispered pet names like poison. Promised her the world and delivered bruises in gold-plated rooms.
“You make me do this,” he’d said, his voice smooth. “You don’t listen. You talk back. You're mine, Seren. You forget that too easily.”
She had begged him once. Pleaded for a second chance. But Gavin didn’t love her. He loved owning her. Controlling her. Watching her break.
That night, she didn’t cry. Not this time.
That night, she waited until he was drunk. Until the penthouse fell silent and his breathing evened.
Then she rose from the edge of the bathtub—clutching her bruised ribs—and slipped the small, rusted key from beneath the floor tile she'd found weeks ago. It didn’t open the front door. But it opened the supply closet.
Inside was a box cutter, a flashlight, and her old boots—things Gavin thought he’d hidden well.
She didn’t take anything else. Not even money.
She walked out the side door of the building, down the fire escape, and into the cold night with nothing but her name and the clothes on her back.
She didn’t stop walking until the world changed.
---
Now.
Seren woke with a gasp.
The stone beneath her was damp. Cold. Her skin sticky with sweat. The dream still clung to her lungs, heavy and sour. But it hadn’t just been a memory.
Something else had entered it.
A voice. A presence. Something watching.
She sat up slowly, cradling her ribs. Her wrist still burned faintly where the mark shimmered. The runes on the chamber walls flickered for a brief moment—like they felt it too.
She rose from her bed and padded barefoot to the edge of the door. A small window slit let in slivers of moonlight.
Far beyond, across the village grounds, she saw movement—dark shapes shifting in and out of shadows. Wolves on patrol. Their silent pacing was oddly comforting. Real. Tangible.
Not like what she’d seen in the dream.
She turned away from the door, heart still thudding.
And froze.
There, on the stone table where Lyra had left the herbs and vials, lay something that hadn’t been there before.
A single white rose.
Tipped in blood.
Seren’s breath caught.
She moved closer, reaching out cautiously. The petals were real. Soft. Fragrant. But the blood—fresh. Still wet.
She looked around wildly. The door hadn’t opened. She hadn’t heard anything. The runes on the walls hadn’t flickered in warning.
She was alone.
Except… she wasn’t.
---
Across the village, Kaelen Duskbane stood at the edge of the watchtower, golden eyes fixed on the forest.
He felt it.
A pressure in the air. An unnatural tension crawling beneath the skin of the world.
The moon above was full, but it brought no comfort tonight. It felt too bright. Too loud. Like it was trying to warn him of something approaching.
Something ancient. Familiar.
“She’s not just human,” Lyra said behind him, her arms crossed as she joined him on the platform. “I tested her blood again. It reacted to the wolfbane root.”
Kaelen frowned. “But she has no wolf scent.”
“Not yet.”
He glanced at her.
“You think it’s dormant?”
“I think something inside her is waking up,” Lyra said. “And she doesn’t know what it is.”
Kaelen said nothing.
He thought of the mark on her wrist. The way she’d looked at him—terrified, yes, but unbroken. She reminded him of someone he had buried long ago. Someone who had died beneath vampire teeth during the last blood war.
“You believe she’s Moonblood?” he asked.
Lyra hesitated. “I believe something is going to try to claim her. And if we don’t figure out what first, we’ll lose her.”
Kaelen’s jaw tightened.
“I don’t care about claiming her,” he said.
“I’m not sure you’ll get that choice.”
---
Inside the chamber, Seren didn’t touch the rose.
She backed away slowly, every instinct screaming. Her fingers itched toward the knife Lyra had left her—a test of trust, she guessed. She pulled it free from beneath the blankets, clutching it tight.
Then came the whisper.
Not in the room.
In her mind.
> “Little flower...
You bleed so beautifully.”
Seren’s vision blurred. The chamber flickered around her like heat rippling through air. The shadows in the corners moved.
And then she saw him.
Only for a breath.
A man—no, a figure—tall, pale, draped in black and red silk, standing inside the chamber’s runes like they weren’t even there. His eyes glowed with a cruel silver sheen. His smile was slow… and sharp.
> “It’s not time yet. But soon.”
And then—gone.
The vision shattered like glass, and Seren dropped to her knees, gasping.
The rose lay where it had before. Blood still fresh. But the chamber was once again empty.
---
When Lyra returned at dawn, Seren didn’t speak. She only handed her the rose in silence.
Lyra’s expression darkened.
“Where did this come from?” she demanded.
“I don’t know,” Seren whispered. “I woke up, and it was there.”
Lyra inspected it, lifting it by the stem. “No one came through the ward.”
“I know.”
Lyra looked at her sharply. “Then something is wrong. No object, no being can breach this chamber unless they’re stronger than the ward itself.”
Seren’s mouth felt dry. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” Lyra said, “someone powerful is watching you.”
---
Back in the great longhouse, Kaelen sat at the war table, a scroll of old records open before him.
The symbol on Seren’s wrist had haunted him all night. He’d seen it once before. Long ago.
Etched into the skin of a dying warrior who had bled out during the last blood eclipse. That warrior had whispered a name as he died.
Lucien.
A vampire name. A legend. A nightmare.
Kaelen’s hands curled into fists.
If Lucien was back—or worse, if he was reaching into the realm again—then Seren Elara wasn’t just a mystery.
She was bait.
Or a key.
Either way… someone was going to bleed.
- Writer
