CHAPTER 3
1151 Words
X Chapter three X
The drums did not stop.
They pounded through the mansion walls, vibrating the windows, shaking the floorboards, echoing through Wren’s bones like a heartbeat that wasn’t hers. She lay limp and terrified, barely recovering from the drugs.
Figures in blood red robes entered one after another, each carrying strange objects bones, jars of ash, feathered, leaves, masks, and blades carved with ancient symbols. Their faces were hidden, but their presence cold, demonic, ritualistic making the air heavy.
The entire house felt like it was holding its breath.
“Spirit wolf, it’s a pleasure to have your company,” Vina Ronoarh said, sweeping the door open like a queen welcoming royalty. “I see you brought the pack along.”
A towering figure draped in fur stepped inside, his eyes glowing a faint silver. Behind him, more wolves men who carried the aura of beasts were led into the room with predatory calm.
“The arrangements have been made,” Willom said, bowing deeply as he guided them toward a chamber lit only by candles.
Inside, the room was transformed into something nightmarish. Hundreds of candles burned around a massive ritual circle drawn with black ashes and crimson paint. Strange symbols crawled across the floor like living shadows.
“Andrew and the others are still on the front lines,” the Spirit wolf growled. “Let us finish this ritual before any… interference.”
These wolves every one of them—belonged to the Spirit Clan the demonic pack of wolves they were more of witches than wolves.
The same clan Vina Ronoarh came from.
And the Spirit wolf himself was her uncle.
“Bring forth the girl,” he ordered.
Willom nodded and strode down the hallway toward the room where Wren had been left unconscious. He grabbed the handle and flung the door open
Empty.
His eyes flew to the window. Wide open. Curtains blowing.
She jumped.
Impossible… but she did, how did she fight all that dose?.
He bolted downstairs.
“Mrs. Ronoarh—she has fled!”
Vina didn’t flinch. She simply lifted her wine glass to her lips, bored.
“Go bring her to me, Willom.”
No panic. No worry.
Just certainty.
Willom stepped outside and inhaled deeply, nostrils flaring like a hunting predator.
“I have to get away… I have to get away…”
Wren ran as fast as her trembling legs would carry her. Everything looked different now bigger, darker, twisted. The trees loomed like giants, the fountains roared louder, and every shadow felt alive. Her breath tore through her lungs but she kept going.
The iron gate was massive, towering over her, and it didn’t open automatically anymore. She pulled, pushed, kicked—nothing.
“What do I do… what can I do?” she sobbed, gripping the cold metal with her tiny, fragile hands.
Her body shook. Her fingers bled.
But she refused to stop.
Wren climbed. The thorns lining the gate tore into her skin, ripping her palms, slicing her legs through her dress. She cried out but kept going using every ounce of strength she didn’t know she had.
Finally, she threw herself over the top, falling hard onto the ground below.
She lifted her head—
Willom stood on the other side of the gate.
“Miss Frenard,” he said calmly, though his breath was tense. “You should not be doing this. Accept what has already happened. What you’re planning is impossible. You’re only making things worse.”
“Get out of my way!” Wren screamed, scrambling up and running left.
He appeared in front of her.
She darted right.
He was there too.Behind her.Beside her.
Everywhere.
He moved so impossibly fast she could barely breathe.
Wren froze, trembling violently.
“What… what are you?”
Willom stepped closer. “Enough. Come with me. Now.”
“No!” she cried. “You want to kill me! I won’t go back!”
She fought, kicked, punched—but he grabbed her easily, lifting and dragging her with strength she couldn’t match.
“Please… someone… please…”
Her thoughts were screaming even if her voice couldn’t.
God… if You’re real… don’t let me die. Not like this… I have to ask Grandmother why she did this… please… help me…
No help came.
Willom pulled her through the doors and back into the mansion.
“I thought you had lost her,” Vina sighed, setting down her glass with annoyance. “Shall we begin?”
The Spirit wolf rose. Willom forced Wren into the center of the ritual circle, tying her to a heavy wooden chair. She struggled fiercely, but the ropes dug deeper into her skin.
“Let me go! Please please let me go!” she screamed.
“Silence her,” the Spirit wolf ordered.
A pack member shoved a thick rag into her mouth. Her screams became muffled cries, her tears falling helplessly down her cheeks.
“Vina,” the Spirit wolf said, handing her a black thread and a long green leaf, “tie this to Alpha Sasha’s wrist and place this leaf on his chest.”
Vina hurried to the adjoining room to prepare the items a special ritual had been set up there, the male body had been laid unconscious he looked cold and lifeless.
The chanting began deep, ancient, echoing against the walls as the candles flickered wildly. The light in the circle intensified, glowing brighter, hotter.
Wren’s back throbbed from the fall, blood staining her torn dress. Her arms burned from the rope. Her entire body shook in agony.
The ritual grew louder. the circle blazed red. her heartbeat hammered in terror.
Help… someone help…
Her muffled scream filled the circle.
And then
A violent jolt ripped through the room, shaking the candles, the walls, the air itself. The Spirit wolf's chant snapped in half—his voice choking on shock.
Wren blinked through tears, lifting her head.
A tall figure stood in the doorway.
Thin. Pale. Lips dry his hair scattered around his face.
His presence cold enough to silence every wolf in the room.
Her breath caught.
The boy who had gone missing.
The boy who had been declared dead.
The boy the news said was gone forever.
Sasha.
Andrew Ronoarh’s son.
Alive.
His eyes dark, wild, burning locked onto Wren. Something ancient flickered behind them, something powerful and hungry.
“She is…” he whispered, stepping closer, voice low and rough like a growl.
“…mine.”
Everyone froze.
The Spirit wolf stumbled backward in pure disbelief. “Impossible!”
Sasha strode into the circle. The ropes binding Wren snapped apart like they melted at his touch. He grabbed her arm firm, possessive pulling her against him.
His breath ghosted along her ear as he whispered, voice haunting and fierce
“Mine.”
The entire room gasped.
And the ritual—shattered.
- Writer
