The Fallen Moon: Predestined Sin

I have killed seventeen werewolves. Every single one on a full moon. The full moon makes them slow—not in body, but in mind. As the moonlight brightens, their beastly instincts flare and their reason thins. An enemy driven mad by instinct is ten times easier to kill. This is the lesson the Ashton family bought with three generations of blood. And tonight, it is the rule I am about to break. Because Caine Bloodspear never loses his mind. He sat in the deepest part of the camp, the firelight only reaching his knees. His right hand spun a dagger, while his left rested on his knee. Six years of tracking. Six years of hatred. I had counted his breaths: twelve times a minute. On his thirteenth breath, I leapt from the ancient oak. I drove the Bloodmoon Dagger toward his neck, and then, the world spun. A hand clamped around my wrist. It was so fast there was no afterimage. He hadn't turned, and he hadn't even altered his breathing rhythm. He simply reached back and caught me like a fly. My dagger slipped from my grip, impaling the earth, as my body was hauled flush against his chest. The firelight illuminated his face. His cheekbones were sharp, his jawline like a blade, and his amber eyes held no anger or surprise—only cold scrutiny. It was a bone-chilling calm. "A vampire." His voice was low and lazy. "Daring to step into Bloodspear camp on a full moon." "I am not a vampire." He finally looked at me properly, from my face to my neck, and down to my wrist. His brow furrowed slightly. Then, he leaned down, burying his nose into the crook of my neck. Rough, direct. He was smelling me. I wanted to kick him, bite him, plunge a dagger into his throat. But his fingers slid from my wrist to the back of my neck. The grip wasn't heavy, yet it locked me in place with absolute precision. This wasn't fear—I had carved fear out of my body long ago. It was something else. It had to be the pain in my wrist. Then, he froze. His breathing stopped. The fingers gripping the back of my neck began to tremble. Caine Bloodspear, the tyrant who had slaughtered three vampire clans, had fingers that were trembling. He lifted his head. His eyes burned with hatred, shock, and a violent storm he was desperately trying to suppress. "No." The word was forced through his teeth. It wasn't a command. It was dread. Then, I saw the light. A glow emanating from my wrist. No, from both of our wrists. In the exact same spot, an ancient mark materialized: silver, a crescent moon entwined with thorny brambles. Destined mates. No. This couldn't be real. Destined mates were a legend, a myth werewolves used to comfort themselves, the final joke left behind by the Moon Goddess. But if it existed, it meant the Moon Goddess had bound me, Seline Ashton, to the man I had hated for six years. It meant my entire life's purpose was a joke. "Kill her!" A werewolf spotted us, his cup clattering to the ground. The pack surged forward, only to freeze ten paces from the black rock. They saw the light. Caine released me and stood up, his towering frame looming like a monster in the firelight. He looked down at me, his lips curling into the smile of a man standing at the edge of a cliff, deciding to jump. "This is no destined mate." His voice cut through the murmurs. "This is a curse. An illusion conjured by the dark magic of the Ashton family." He looked at me, his eyes burning with something I couldn't decipher. "But even a curse has its uses. From this day forth, she is a Bloodspear prisoner of war. The lowest of spoils. No one is to kill her, no one is to free her, and no one is to step within three paces of her." A pause. For only half a second. "Her life belongs to me alone." He turned. "Put her in a silver cage." Two werewolves dragged me away. From inside my silver cage, I watched Caine retreat toward his tent. The moment he stepped inside, the heavy silhouette of his tent shook violently, followed by the muffled thud of solid oak shattering under immense force. But the pack was too busy shouting to notice. No one else heard the furious curse he swallowed back into his throat. The silver cage was not a metaphor. Constructed from solid steel, every single bar was plated in silver. As my back pressed against them, a searing pain shot straight up my spine. I didn't scream. I hadn't screamed since I crawled out of my burning manor six years ago. The bonfires continued to burn, and the pack's revelry grew louder. The Alpha's decree had completely put them at ease. To them, I was nothing more than a prisoner. The Moon Goddess hadn't chosen me. There was nothing to worry about. So, they drank. My wrist was still glowing. I looked down at the mark, the silver light pulsing slowly against my skin like a trapped heartbeat. My hands didn't tremble—not since that horrific night six years ago. After the blood of seventeen wolves had fed my blade, my hands no longer knew the meaning of hesitation. If I allowed myself to feel anything right now—anything other than pure hatred—then these past six years would have been for nothing. Caine Bloodspear killed my parents. He must die. No matter what mark burned on my wrist. No matter what the Moon Goddess decreed. A drunken werewolf stumbled over to the cage, thrusting his fingers through the bars, clawing toward my collar. "Alpha said you can't die... but he didn't say we couldn't have some fun." His fingers brushed my collarbone. My hand slipped to the sole of my boot. The backup steel dagger my mother had left me... A foot slammed down, crushing the werewolf's wrist. The force of the kick sent him flying backward, crashing through three rows of ale casks, before collapsing unconscious amidst the shattered clay. Caine Bloodspear stood before the silver cage, the moonlight casting a towering shadow behind him. He looked down at the unconscious wolf, his expression as indifferent as if he were looking at mud on his boots. Then, he looked up at me. My hidden dagger was pointed straight at him. "An Ashton hunter." His voice was low. "Hiding a backup weapon in the boot. It was in your file." "Then why did you come closer?" He didn’t answer. His gaze drifted from my dagger to my collar, to the exact spot that had been touched. He stared at it for a long time. Then, he thrust his hand through the silver bars. His wrist brushed against the silver-plated metal, the hiss of burning flesh loud in the night. He didn’t stop. His fingers hooked into my collar and ripped away the fabric that had been touched. The sharp tear of fabric shattered the silence. He crumpled the torn fabric in his fist and withdrew his hand. The silver burns on his left wrist slowly began to heal. His right hand remained clenched around the scrap of cloth, holding it like a secret he refused to let anyone see. "Next time someone touches you, use your dagger. If you kill them, it's on me." He turned and walked away. I remained on my knees in the silver cage, holding the dagger. The mark on my wrist burned—not from the silver bars, but because his fingers had trembled when he grabbed that torn fabric. That was the second time. The first was when he caught my scent. The second was when he touched my collar. Caine Bloodspear, what exactly are you afraid of? Moonlight washed over the silver cage. In the distance, the pack's wild revelry continued. No one noticed that the Alpha had briefly hesitated before walking away. No one noticed that his fingers had trembled like autumn leaves when he touched me. Only I had noticed. And I hated myself for noticing. I didn't sleep. My eyes remained fixed on his tent. The light inside burned all through the night. Caine Bloodspear, you tore my dignity to shreds in front of everyone. You locked me in a silver cage like a wild beast. But you forgot one thing: Even caged beasts bite. No matter what mark burns on my wrist. No matter what the Moon Goddess says. You killed my parents. And you must die.