The Flames beneath the Fangs
790 Words
The air stank of old blood and burning herbs.
Seraya crouched low in the ruins, breathing through her mouth as Lucien dropped another dried blossom into the fire pit. The flame shimmered blue, then purple, then gold. She felt it in her bones—a tug, like something ancient stirring within her.
“Sit,” Lucien commanded. “And whatever you do… don’t scream.”
“Why would I—?”
He sliced her palm without warning.
Pain flared hot, sharp, electric—but that wasn’t what made her cry out.
The flame responded to her blood like a lover starved for touch. It leapt toward her, encasing her body in warmth that felt wrong. Too close. Too knowing.
Then she heard it again.
The whisper.
“Daughter of flame… keeper of my wrath…”
Seraya gasped as visions flooded her mind—battles in the snow, a girl with eyes like burning coals, chains snapping from pale wrists.
Lysara.
The first cursed Alpha. The original rebel. The wolf who had nearly burned the Elders to ash centuries ago.
Seraya saw herself through Lysara’s eyes. Or maybe Lysara was seeing through hers.
She saw Kael… his blood on her hands… his betrayal as a golden thread tangled in her fate.
“MAKE THEM BLEED!” the voice roared, and Seraya screamed—
Then everything went black.
When she woke, her hands were glowing.
Not metaphorically.
Her claws had extended, longer, sharper—and they shimmered with a molten orange edge. The veins on her arms glowed faintly, like magma under the skin. The air around her vibrated.
Lucien sat nearby, watching her like she might explode.
“What… the hell… was that?” she whispered.
“Not hell,” Lucien said. “Her. You.”
He stood, slowly.
“She chose you. That’s power even I don’t touch.”
“I don’t want her power,” Seraya said, staggering to her feet.
He stepped close, voice grim. “You don’t get to choose. The moment you tasted vengeance, you woke her.”
Seraya closed her eyes.
“Then let her burn with me.”
That night, in the Moonstone Pack Archives
Kael ran his fingers over the old record book, dust pluming in the candlelight. He hadn’t returned to the Archives in years. Not since his father died.
And yet, the nightmares had driven him here. The dreams of fire. Of Seraya standing in moonlight, her eyes glowing a cursed gold.
He flipped through the genealogy scrolls.
His hand stopped.
Lysara – Alpha Bloodline: Erased by Council Order
“Why would they erase her line?” he muttered.
“She was too powerful,” said a voice behind him.
Kael turned—Elder Myron, face pale and drawn.
“She wasn’t just cursed. She was chosen by the Flame Wolf. The First Wolf who split from the Moon.”
Kael blinked. “You never told me this.”
“We tell no one,” Myron said, approaching. “Because to speak her name is to call her back.”
Kael’s pulse thundered. “Seraya—she’s connected to her, isn’t she?”
Myron said nothing.
And that silence told Kael everything.
Back in the ruins, Lucien threw a knife toward Seraya’s head.
She dodged it with a snarl, tackling him to the ground and pinning him with her glowing claws at his throat.
“Better,” he rasped, grinning up at her. “You’re finally fighting with your instincts. Not just pain.”
Seraya’s hands trembled. “I feel like I could rip the world open.”
“Good.”
“But I’m afraid… I want to.”
Lucien’s grin faded.
“That’s where most warriors lose themselves. The trick isn’t fighting the madness. It’s guiding it.”
He pulled a dagger from his belt and handed it to her. A twin to the soulbound fang.
“Tomorrow, we hunt. I want you to lead the charge.”
“Charge against what?”
Lucien’s eyes darkened.
“Rogues. Killers. Leftovers from the Blood Pact Wars. They took one of ours last week. I want them dead.”
“And if I lose control?”
Lucien leaned in.
“Then I’ll put you down myself.”
In Seraya’s Dream
She stands on a cliff, above a sea of fire. Wolves howl beneath her—hundreds, maybe thousands—each bearing marks carved into their skin.
A crown of flame rests on her head.
Kael is at the bottom, chained.
“Please,” he whispers. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I don’t?” she replies, voice strange—Lysara’s voice. “You killed me long before this fire began.”
She raises her claws.
The world burns.
- Writer
