The Magicless heiress

The Blood Moon rises

---

Chapter Eight: The Bloodmoon Rises

Night fell heavy over Silverwood. The usual calm hum of the forest was gone, replaced by a silence that made even the trees seem to listen. The crescent moon hung low and red on the horizon — a warning written across the sky.

Lyra stood near the outer walls of the camp, watching the sentries light torches along the border. The flames flickered against the carved runes — protection spells glowing faintly in gold. She didn’t need to ask to know the truth: everyone was scared.

Kael had doubled the guards, posted warriors at every entrance, and forbidden anyone from leaving without permission. The attack that had brought her magic to light now felt like a prelude. Something far worse was coming.

Footsteps approached from behind. “You shouldn’t be out here alone,” said Rowan, Kael’s second. His tone was polite, but his eyes were cautious.

“I can handle myself,” Lyra replied.

He gave a small, humorless laugh. “That’s exactly what worries me.”

Before she could answer, a horn sounded from the western ridge — sharp, shrill, and unmistakable. The entire camp froze.

Kael’s voice rang out, clear and commanding. “Positions! No one moves without my order!”

Lyra’s pulse quickened as warriors shifted into their wolf forms, claws digging into the dirt, eyes glowing beneath the moonlight.

From the darkness beyond the trees, a faint red mist began to rise. The scent hit her first — iron and rot. Then she saw them.

Figures cloaked in crimson stepped from the shadows. Their eyes burned bright red, their movements too smooth to be human.

“The Bloodmoon Clan,” Rowan muttered, unsheathing his blade.

Kael stepped forward, his voice like thunder. “You have no right in these lands.”

One of the figures laughed, a hollow, echoing sound. “We go where the blood calls us, Alpha. And it calls for her.”

Lyra’s stomach twisted. The leader of the clan stepped closer, his pale face half-hidden beneath a hood. “The heiress of D’Amara. The one born without magic — yet cursed to carry the oldest kind of all.”

Kael’s growl rumbled through the air. “You’ll touch her over my dead body.”

The man smiled, baring fangs. “That can be arranged.”

The world seemed to shatter at once — wolves lunged, swords clashed, and the night erupted into chaos. The Bloodmoon warriors moved like shadows, their red energy slicing through defenses as if they’d known the wards by heart.

Lyra ducked behind a fallen log, her hands trembling. She could feel her magic stir again — wild, alive, like it recognized the enemy.

“Focus, Lyra!” Kael shouted across the field. “The runes! Strengthen them!”

“I don’t know how!” she cried.

“Then listen to it!”

His words struck something inside her. She closed her eyes, blocking out the noise, the screams, the fire. She could feel the runes beneath the earth — the same symbols that protected the camp. They hummed faintly, like a forgotten song waiting to be remembered.

She raised her hands. Power surged up her arms, light spiraling between her fingers. The air crackled, and the golden runes flared to life, spreading across the clearing like wildfire.

The Bloodmoon warriors screamed as the magic burned their shadows, forcing them back.

Kael saw the glow and ran toward her, shifting mid-sprint. His wolf form — huge, black, and fierce — slammed into one of the red-cloaked attackers, sending him flying into the trees.

Lyra held the spell as long as she could, but the energy grew too strong. Pain split through her head, her vision blurring. The light dimmed, fading with her strength.

Strong arms caught her before she fell. She looked up through half-closed eyes and saw Kael — blood on his jaw, fury in his gaze.

“They’re retreating,” he said, his voice rough. “You did it.”

But Lyra shook her head weakly. “No… they’ll come back. They said… they need me alive.”

Kael’s grip tightened around her. “Then they’ll have to go through me first.”

As he carried her back toward the camp, Lyra’s eyes drifted toward the forest. The red mist was gone, but in the far distance, the blood moon still hung low and bright.

Somewhere out there, she could feel the clan watching.

Waiting.