BLOOD AND MOONFIRE

Chapter 3 – Chains and Smoke

Nyra

They gave me a room.

Technically. Four walls, a bed, and a door that locks from the outside.

Vexa stretches inside my head. Cozy. If you’re into captivity chic.

“It’s temporary,” I tell her.

That’s what prisoners always say before the wallpaper starts talking.

I throw my jacket on the chair and check the window. Bars, of course. Someone welded them from the outside—old design, done by someone who thought about claws.

The scent of metal and paint burns my nose. Fresh work.

They expect you to stay, Vexa says.

“Not forever.”

He wants you close.

I don’t answer. The mate-bond has been pulsing like a headache since the kitchen. Every time Draven is near, it spikes—heat under the skin, a rhythm that isn’t mine.

Vexa hums low. You could stop pretending you don’t feel it.

“And you could stop narrating my bodily functions.”

You’re the one glowing every time he breathes.

I drag my hand down my face. “You’re impossible.”

You love me.

I can’t help but smile, even as exhaustion starts to sink in.

A knock at the door. Not a polite one.

“Come in,” I say, because what’s the point.

Rook enters—dark hair, sharper expression. Her energy screams “right hand of the Alpha.”

She drops a tray on the desk. “Food. Again.”

“Planning to fatten me up?”

“Planning to make sure you don’t collapse in the tunnels when you start working.”

I blink. “So he’s actually trusting me with that?”

She shrugs. “He’s trusting his instincts. They’ve kept us alive so far.”

And now those instincts include you, Vexa whispers.

Rook studies me for a long moment. “You really worked under Gael?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Then you know what he does to traitors.”

“Better than most.”

Her eyes narrow. “And you think helping us is going to fix that?”

“No,” I say. “I think helping you might keep him from building another army under your floor.”

That earns the faintest flicker of respect. “Fair point.” She turns toward the door. “Draven wants you in the east wing at dawn. Cairn will meet you there.”

“Lucky me.”

She pauses. “You should sleep.”

I look at the bars. “I’ll try.”

When she’s gone, the room feels smaller. The hum in my chest won’t fade.

He’s not sleeping either, Vexa says. You can feel it, can’t you?

“I’m not checking.”

You don’t have to.

I lie down and stare at the ceiling until the lines blur. My body wants rest, but my mind keeps replaying the look in his eyes when I said Gael’s name—like recognition mixed with rage.

Vexa drifts close. You trust him.

“I don’t.”

You want to.

I roll onto my side. “He’s an Alpha. They’re all the same.”

He’s not.

“Vexa—”

You can smell the difference. Stop lying to both of us.

I sigh. “He’ll use me. They always do.”

Maybe. But he won’t sell you. That’s new.

That thought lingers too long.

The dream hits fast when I finally sleep.

Tunnels again. Endless, wet stone and echoing footsteps that aren’t mine. Something crawls along the ceiling, whispering in Gael’s voice.

Mapmaker. You left my door open.

I turn and the walls breathe, shuddering with veins of blue light. The floor splits under me. Hands reach up—cold, wet, familiar.

I wake up gasping.

It’s still night.

The hum in my chest has turned into a steady pulse. Not fear—something else.

Vexa stirs. He’s moving.

“What?”

The Alpha. He’s outside.

I get up, cross the room, and peer through the narrow slit of window. Down in the courtyard, Draven stands alone under the lights, bare-armed, training or punishing himself. Sweat glints across his shoulders. Every motion is controlled violence.

Vexa makes a low sound between appreciation and warning. You should look away.

“I’m just… observing the enemy.”

Sure.

He stops suddenly, like he heard her. Looks up. Straight at me.

My breath stalls. The mate-bond flares, hot and sharp.

He doesn’t move. Neither do I.

Then he turns, grabs a towel, and walks off like nothing happened.

Vexa exhales in my head. You’re both doomed.

Morning comes with the kind of gray light that never really wakes anyone.

The door unlocks with a sharp click.

Cairn stands there, tablet in hand. “You eat?”

“Define ‘eat.’”

He sighs. “You’ll fit right in.”

The east wing smells like dust and rust. Maps cover the walls—old layouts of tunnels, ventilation shafts, sewer systems. Some mine. I can tell by the handwriting.

I reach out and touch one. “You didn’t get these from any public archive.”

“No,” Cairn says. “We took them off bodies.”

That stings more than I expect.

You built the paths that killed them, Vexa says quietly.

“I know.”

Cairn watches me but doesn’t push. “Draven wants these cross-checked against any recent shifts. He thinks the ground under sector three is hollow.”

“It is,” I say.

“You sure?”

“I designed that sector. If they’ve started digging there, you’ll have company by nightfall.”

He exhales. “Great.”

He studies me again, curious now. “You ever regret building any of this?”

“Every day,” I say. “But regret doesn’t fill tunnels.”

He nods, understanding something he probably didn’t expect to.

When he leaves, I start marking the maps with red ink. My hands shake a little, but I keep going.

Vexa whispers, You’re doing the right thing.

“For once.”

He’ll see that eventually.

“Who? Draven?”

Both of you will. Sooner or later.