Blood Moon Covenant; Rising of the Free Wolves

Elena's candle had burned down to a stub, wax pooling across her desk and dangerously close to the ancient manuscript she'd been poring over for the past three hours. She didn't notice until a drop of hot wax splattered onto her hand. "s**t!" She jerked back, nearly toppling her chair. "Eloquent as always, sister." Elena's heart jumped into her throat. Andrei lounged against the doorframe of her study, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised in that infuriatingly smug way only younger brothers could manage. "How long have you been standing there?" "Long enough to watch you almost set five-hundred-year-old books on fire." He pushed off the doorframe and wandered closer, his nose wrinkling. "You smell like dust and desperation. Very attractive." "I wasn't aware I was trying to attract anyone." Elena carefully moved the manuscript away from the dying candle and lit a fresh one. Her hands were shaking slightly—too much coffee, not enough sleep. "What do you want?" "Father's looking for you. Council meeting started ten minutes ago." "Damn it." She'd completely lost track of time. Again. "Why didn't you come get me sooner?" Andrei shrugged. "I was enjoying watching him get progressively more annoyed. His left eye does this thing when—" "Andrei." "Right. We should probably go." Elena stood, her back protesting after hours hunched over her desk. She was getting too old for this. Twenty-three and already feeling ancient. Maybe that's what happened when you spent more time with dead wolves' writings than living ones. "You're doing it again," Andrei said as they walked through the corridors. "Doing what?" "The curse research. Elena, you've been at this for two years. Maybe it's time to—" "To what? Give up? Accept that we're going to be at war forever?" She heard the edge in her own voice and took a breath. "Sorry. I just... I can't stop thinking there has to be something everyone else missed." "Or maybe there isn't." Andrei's voice was gentle. "Maybe some things are just broken." They reached the great hall before Elena could respond. The enormous wooden doors were already closed—never a good sign. Through them, she could hear her father's voice, measured and calm. He wasn't angry yet, then. "Ready?" Andrei asked. "No." "Perfect." He pushed open the doors. Twenty pairs of eyes turned to stare at them. Elena felt her face heat as she slipped into her seat at the long table, trying to make herself as small as possible. A futile effort when you were the Alpha's daughter with silver-white hair that practically glowed in the firelight. Her father sat at the head of the table, silver-haired and sharp-eyed. He looked at her, and Elena braced for the lecture. Instead, he just sighed. "Nice of you to join us, daughter." "I'm sorry, Father. I lost track of—" "Time. I know." Something flickered across his face—grief, maybe, or just weariness. "Your mother used to do the same thing. I'd find her in the library at three in the morning, surrounded by books, completely oblivious to the world." The mention of her mother sent a familiar ache through Elena's chest. Two years, and it still felt like yesterday. "The Blood Moon is coming," her father announced to the room, and just like that, the temperature seemed to drop. "Forty-seven days." Elena watched the reactions around the table. Fear. Anger. Old Marcus, the war chief, just looked tired. He'd survived three Blood Moons. The scars on his face testified to the cost. "They'll attack," someone said. Petra, maybe. "They always do." "We should hit them first—" "With what forces? We lost three good wolves last month—" "Exactly why we need to strike before they're ready—" The arguments erupted like they always did. Elena let the voices wash over her, watching her father's face. He looked older than his fifty-three years. The weight of leadership, of keeping them all alive, of three decades of war with no end in sight. She wondered if the Solar Alpha looked the same. Tired. Trapped. Human, despite the wolf beneath his skin. "Enough." Her father's voice cut through the chaos. "We defend. We don't instigate. Marcus, double the patrols. No one crosses the border without my explicit permission. Are we clear?" Murmurs of agreement around the table. "There's one more thing." Her father's eyes found hers, and Elena's stomach sank. She knew that look. That was his I'm-about-to-ruin-your-life look. "Elena. You're twenty-three." Oh no. "It's time for you to take a mate." The words hit like a physical blow. Around the table, people nodded like this was perfectly reasonable, like they weren't essentially auctioning her off for the good of the pack. "Father—" she started, but he held up a hand. "I've given you time. Two years to grieve your mother. But you're my heir, and the pack needs stability. They need to know our line continues." Elena's mouth went dry. "I'm not ready." "Which is why you have until the Blood Moon to choose." He gestured down the table to Stefan Lupei, who gave her what he probably thought was a charming smile. Stefan was... fine. Perfectly adequate. Good warrior, nice enough, completely boring. The thought of spending the rest of her life with him made her want to claw her own skin off. "Stefan has expressed interest," her father continued. "But you're free to choose another. Just choose, Elena. Before the Blood Moon." Just choose. As if it were that simple. As if she weren't essentially picking a prison for the rest of her life. "Do you understand?" Elena forced herself to nod. "Yes, Father." She barely heard the rest of the meeting. Something about supply lines and winter preparations and patrol schedules. Her mind was spinning, trapped, calculating. Forty-seven days of freedom. Forty-seven days until she became someone's mate, someone's future Luna, someone's broodmare to continue the bloodline. When the meeting finally ended, she fled. Her tower room was freezing—she'd forgotten to tend the fire before the meeting. Elena didn't bother lighting it now. She just went to the window and pressed her forehead against the cold glass, looking out over the mountains. The Carpathians stretched endlessly in every direction, dark forests and ancient peaks. Beautiful and deadly. Somewhere out there, beyond the neutral zone, the Solar Pack lived their own lives. Fighting their own battles. Probably forcing their own daughters into arranged matings for the good of the pack. "This is insane," she whispered to the empty room. Five hundred years of war. Five hundred years of mothers burying children, of mates lost, of endless, pointless hatred. And for what? Because their ancestors had let pride and anger tear them apart. Because some witch had cursed them, and no one had figured out how to break it. Or maybe no one had really tried. Elena pulled away from the window and looked at her desk, at the stacks of books and manuscripts she'd collected over two years of obsessive research. Everyone thought she was wasting her time. Everyone thought the curse was unbreakable. What if they were wrong? She had forty-seven days. Forty-seven days before her life became someone else's. Forty-seven days before she became just another piece in this endless war. Forty-seven days to find an answer. "Alright," she said to the darkness. "Let's see what you're hiding." She lit every candle in the room and got back to work.