Bloodmoon forsaken

Chapter3

Far to the north, beyond the borders of any pack, beyond the frozen rivers and jagged cliffs, Kieran felt the shift.

It was sudden, violent—a ripple that tore through the air like an unseen storm. Ancient. Raw. Unnatural.

The sensation slammed into him with the force of a crashing wave, sending a shiver racing down his spine. His breath hitched, his body tensed, and for the first time in years, Kieran felt something close to fear.

He inhaled sharply. The crisp northern wind carried nothing but the usual scents of ice and pine, but underneath it—something else.

Something wrong.

Blood.

Not the scent of an ordinary hunt, not the metallic tang of battle. This was deeper. Older.

Kieran clenched his jaw, his fingers curling into fists. He had known this day would come. He had prepared for it, trained for it, but still—he had hoped it would never happen.

The world had shifted.

Something had awakened.

And if he did nothing—it would consume everything.

He turned his gaze toward the horizon. The sun was a dying ember, casting streaks of red and orange across the sky, but it did nothing to warm the cold settling in his bones.

Behind him, the wind howled through the mountains. The wolves of the North had gone silent. A rare thing. Even they could feel it—the disturbance, the wrongness that now clung to the air like a sickness.

Kieran exhaled slowly.

For years, he had stayed away from the rest of the world, severing himself from the packs, from their petty rivalries, their endless power struggles. He had no love for the politics of Alphas or the wars they waged over land and pride.

But this?

This was bigger than any pack.

And if he ignored it, he would regret it.

With a quiet curse, he turned and strode back toward the ruins.

The Black Keep loomed ahead, a fortress of crumbling stone and forgotten power. Once, it had belonged to a great northern pack, but those wolves were long dead. The North did not forgive weakness.

Now, the keep belonged to him.

Few dared to step foot here. Even fewer left alive.

The heavy iron doors groaned as he pushed them open, stepping into the dimly lit hall. Shadows flickered along the stone walls, the torches barely pushing back the encroaching dark.

Near the long, scarred table, Rowan waited.

Kieran’s second-in-command. His only remaining ally.

Rowan was built like a predator—lean, deadly, silent. A rogue like Kieran, but bound by something far older than pack loyalty.

“You felt it,” Rowan said, his voice low.

Kieran didn’t answer right away. He crossed the hall, pulled a bottle of dark liquor from the shelf, and poured himself a drink.

Rowan didn’t press. He never did.

Finally, Kieran spoke. “It’s awake.”

Rowan exhaled sharply. “So it’s true, then.”

Kieran drank deep, letting the burn settle before setting the glass down with a quiet thud.

“We always knew this would happen,” he murmured.

Rowan folded his arms. “What do you want to do?”

Kieran said nothing at first. The fire crackled in the hearth, filling the silence between them.

Every instinct in him told him to ignore it.

He had spent years keeping himself out of this war. He had left the packs behind, severed himself from their politics, their endless blood feuds and curses.

But this was not a pack problem.

This was something else.

Something worse.

If he let it fester—**if he did nothing—**the world would bleed.

He dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. “We find it.”

Rowan didn’t ask questions. He simply nodded and turned to gather supplies.

Because they both knew the truth.

Whatever had awakened tonight—it was only the beginning.

And if they did not stop it, nothing else would.

Kieran moved to the stone balcony, the icy wind cutting against his skin as he looked out over the mountains.

His thoughts churned, piecing together fragments of old legends, warnings passed down through bloodlines long extinct.

This power—it wasn’t new. It wasn’t unknown.

It was forbidden.

A gift and a curse, a power sealed away forever.

Kieran braced his hands against the cold stone of the balcony, his sharp gaze locked on the distant horizon. The mountains stretched endlessly before him, jagged and merciless, their peaks lost in swirling mist.

The North was ancient. Unforgiving. A land that belonged to no king or Alpha.

And yet, even it had shuddered in response to the power that had awakened.

A deep unease settled in his chest.

What have you done?

The question lingered, heavy and unanswered.

Rowan’s quiet footsteps approached behind him. “We leave at dawn?”

Kieran nodded, his grip tightening on the balcony’s ledge. He should have left already. Whatever had happened—whoever had awakened that power—they would not be safe for long.

No creature held that kind of strength and remained unnoticed.

Especially not her.

A muscle in his jaw ticked.

If the stories were true, then whoever bore that power was already being hunted.

Rowan leaned against the stone beside him, his sharp gray eyes scanning the night sky. “It’s been centuries since the last one.”

Kieran’s expression darkened. Too long. Long enough that most had forgotten, had convinced themselves the bloodline was gone.

Long enough that some fools might have believed it was safe to wake it.

Kieran exhaled, his breath misting in the cold air. “Not anymore.”

Rowan was silent for a moment. Then—

“How bad is this going to get?”

Kieran didn’t answer immediately. He glanced at Rowan, taking in the tension in his stance, the way his fingers curled slightly—ready for war.

“It depends,” Kieran said at last, his voice low.

Rowan raised a brow. “On?”

Kieran looked back toward the horizon.

“Who got to them first.”

Because if it was the wrong people—if they had already found the one who had awakened—then it might already be too late.

The world had just changed.

And he would not let it burn.