Blood Eden

Chapter6:Ashes

The storm had passed, but the cabin walls still shivered.

Calla sat curled on the edge of the cot, knees drawn to her chest, the scratchy wool blanket draped over her shoulders doing nothing to quiet the tremble in her bones. Elias hadn’t spoken in twenty minutes. He stood by the window, arms folded, jaw clenched so tightly it looked like his teeth might shatter.

“You’re angry,” she said finally, voice dry.

“No.” His tone was flat. Cold. “I’m scared.”

Calla blinked. “You’re… what?”

Elias turned. There was something fractured in his expression, like he was barely holding it all together. “Do you know what it means when a dormant shifter turns?” he asked, stepping closer. “It means the blood that changed him is sacred. It means someone touched by the old magic is alive. It means every damn law we’ve built to keep the balance—every secret we’ve buried—is about to come undone.”

She swallowed. “And you think that’s me.”

“I don’t think, Calla.” His eyes met hers, burning. “I know.”

He crossed the room in two strides and crouched in front of her, leveling his face with hers. His hands stayed on his thighs, clenched into fists, like touching her would be too much. Like he didn’t trust himself.

“Your blood,” he said quietly, “is Moonblood. The last of it.”

The words knocked the breath from her chest. “That’s impossible.”

“I wish it were.”

Her mind reeled. Moonblood was a myth. A story used to scare children—or give them hope. The original bloodline of wolves, touched by lunar fire, purged by the Conclave centuries ago. They weren’t supposed to exist.

“I’m not anyone’s legacy,” she snapped, trying to cover the panic crawling up her throat. “I’m just a girl who’s been running since she was seven.”

“No, Calla.” Elias’s voice softened, but it didn’t lose its weight. “You’re the reason packs like mine still breathe. And the reason people like Maren Locke will burn the world to get to you.”

The silence that followed cracked like thin ice beneath their feet.

Then Elias stood abruptly, turning his back to her. His shoulders rose and fell like a storm building inside him.

“Something’s wrong with me,” he said. “I’ve kept it buried for years. I keep my beast chained, locked in a corner so deep I forget he’s even there. But since you came…”

She stood slowly. “What are you saying?”

He turned around, and she froze.

His eyes—normally gold-flecked and cold—had turned obsidian. A void.

“I’m saying I feel it rising,” he said, voice guttural. “And I don’t know how much longer I can keep it down.”

Before she could speak, before she could even reach for him, the air outside cracked—loud, sharp, unnatural.

Calla jerked her head toward the window.

“What was that?”

Elias moved fast. “Stay here.”

But she followed him anyway, heart pounding, every instinct screaming.

He flung the cabin door open.

And there, at the tree line, lit by moonlight and shadow—

—stood a figure cloaked in silver mist.

Juno.

Barefoot. Covered in blood.

Her hands were shaking.

Her lips parted.

“They took Kane,” she whispered, voice hoarse. “They took him. And they’re coming for her next.”

She pointed straight at Calla.

Then collapsed.