The Fallen Moon: Predestined Sin

Chapter 9: Bloodmoon as Witness

The border watchtower stood on the cliff at the southernmost edge of Bloodspear territory. The tower was constructed from black stone, and the beacon fire at its peak glowed dark red under the waning moon.

I stood on the top level of the tower, Caine on my left and Marcus on my right. Behind us was a vanguard of a hundred elite werewolves, with Allen Greymane standing at the very end of the line, his fingers gripping his hilt so tightly his knuckles were white. Below the cliff, Victor's thirty private soldiers had formed a defensive ring, guarding a black carriage in their midst. The Hunter Council's observer was inside.

"He wants you to strike first," I said.

"I know," Caine’s voice was calm. "And I won't give him his wish."

The minutes ticked away. When the waning moon reached its zenith, the carriage door finally clicked open. Two guards stepped out first, followed by the observer—a middle-aged woman with short, ash-gray hair, a silver dagger emblem embroidered on the left breast of her hunting attire. Finally, Victor Ashton emerged. Six years had made him a little stouter, and the corner of his mouth wore that familiar smile—the exact same smile he had worn when he held my hand at my father’s funeral and said, "From now on, you are my daughter."

"Seline!" his voice drifted up, carried by the night wind. "I am here to take you home. The Bloodspear Pack kidnapped you, caged you—the Hunter Council's observer is right here. You can step forward right now."

I felt Caine's fingers twitch beside me—not with anxiety, but with the restrained urge to crush something.

"He practiced that speech," I murmured.

"Clearly."

I stepped forward to the very edge of the watchtower and raised the Bloodmoon Dagger. The runes on the silver blade glowed with a dark crimson luster under the waning moon.

"Victor Ashton. You say the Bloodspear kidnapped me. Then please explain—why is this in my hand?"

His smile froze.

"The Bloodmoon Dagger. The token of the Ashton family head. Whoever holds it is the true spokesperson of the Ashton family. You claimed to the outside world that I was a 'missing heir' and told our people in secret that I was 'slain by wolves.' But I didn't go missing, and I wasn't killed. I was sold out by you to Cole, and then you told everyone I was dead. Because as long as I draw breath, you will only ever be an acting patriarch."

I drew the new dagger Caine had given me—the one with the Bloodspear wolf head carved into the hilt. I held both blades up, side by side under the moonlight.

"An acting patriarch conspiring with foreigners to murder the former head is—under Hunter Council law—high treason."

The ground below the cliff fell into a suffocating silence. Victor snapped his head toward the carriage. The observer did not move.

I pulled the iron box from my breast. The box my mother had pressed into my arms as she lay dying. There was no keyhole; in its place was a recess that perfectly matched the hilt of the Bloodmoon Dagger. I pressed the hilt into the slot. With a sharp click, the lid popped open.

Inside lay a letter. My mother's handwriting, hurried and desperate:

Victor has conspired with the Bloodspear traitor Cole Greymane on the full moon night, trading border access to secure Cole's support in seizing the title of patriarch. My husband and I know we are doomed, but we pray our daughter, Seline, escapes to safety with the Bloodmoon Dagger. I beg the Hunter Council to try Victor Ashton according to our laws, and bring justice to us and the thirty-seven Bloodspear warriors.

It was signed with my mother's name, dated the day before that full moon night six years ago. She had penned this letter on the eve of her death, locking it in a box that could only be opened by the patriarch's token, before pressing it into the arms of her six-year-old daughter.

I tossed the letter down to the observer. She read the final word, then raised her head to look at Victor.

"Victor Ashton, by order of the Hunter Council, you are under emergency arrest on three counts of murder, high treason, and conspiring with hostile forces—"

She didn't finish. Victor let out a subhuman shriek, unsheathed his sword, and charged up toward the watchtower.

Caine moved—but he didn't charge at Victor; he lunged toward me. He shielded me with his body, his back turned to Victor's blade, his eyes locked onto mine.

"The letter. Your mother never mentioned your father’s bloodline in it. She only wrote that you were the heir, leaving out that you are a hybrid of a Moon Priestess and a pureblood vampire. She did it on purpose."

The sword plunged into Caine's left shoulder. He grunted, then slammed his back fist into Victor, sending him flying. The hunter guards quickly pinned Victor to the ground.

I caught Caine as he collapsed. His body was heavier than I had imagined, and his temperature was alarmingly hot.

Blood bubbled through my fingers. I tore open the packet of herbs the old witch doctor had given me and poured it onto the wound, but the rush of blood washed the powder away, carrying everything with it. I couldn't stop the bleeding. An Ashton hunter, having slain seventeen werewolves and faced death countless times—yet right now, my fingers were shaking.

"Pressure. Right here," he rasped, grabbing my hand and pressing it down over his main artery. The gushing blood slowed slightly. His palm covered the back of my hand, warm, rough, and stained with blood.

"You're insane," I whispered. My voice was trembling.

"I know," his lips curved into a pale smirk. "But now you know too. About your bloodline. Even if I die—"

"You're not going to die. I won't allow it."

He stared at me, a fire burning within his amber eyes.

"An Ashton hunter... refusing to let her enemy die before her eyes?"

"You are not the enemy," I said.

I froze. It wasn't a line I had rehearsed. But the words had slipped out naturally, like breathing, like a heartbeat, like something I could no longer deny.

He stared back, asking no further questions. He simply leaned the back of his hand against mine, incredibly soft, incredibly swift—like a flake of snow drifting onto skin, melting before the chill could settle.

The hunter guards hauled Victor into the carriage. The observer walked up to me, something fracturing in her gray-blue eyes—not anger, but deep regret.

"Your mother was a hunter from my cohort," she said. "The last time she contacted the Council, she said, 'If I die, ensure my daughter survives.' " She paused. "The Council failed her. I owe her an apology. And I owe you one as well."

She retrieved a silver badge from her coat and placed it in my palm. "My name is Irene Ironblade. If you ever require the formal backing of the Hunter Council—whether for Victor's trial or to uncover the truth of your lineage—this badge will open the Council's gates for you."

She turned and walked away. Under the waning moon, the carriage rolled away from the cliff. Inside, Victor stared out through the barred window, his eyes locked onto me, his lips curling into a bizarre, unsettling grin. I knew he still had things left unsaid—secrets about the pureblood, the forbidden ritual, and the true purpose behind "creating" me. But tonight was not the time to demand answers.

I looked down at my hands. These hands had slain seventeen werewolves, washed silver-plated bandages, and sharpened the blade Caine gave me. They belonged to me. They had since I was six years old. No matter whose blood flowed through my veins, the deeds they had done were mine, and the choices they were about to make were mine as well.

The waning moon sank westward, and the first pale sliver of dawn broke across the horizon.

Caine released his grip on my hand and stood. The bandages over his left shoulder were stained with a patch of crimson, but he stood perfectly straight. Below, Marcus was directing the werewolves to pull back their lines, and Allen Greymane followed, his fingers finally releasing their grip on his hilt.

"You said, 'You are not the enemy,'" Caine said.

"I did."

"When did it start?"

I looked into his eyes. The morning light cast a faint, golden hue across his amber pupils—the exact color they had been beneath the silver oaks when he asked, "If she could do it over again, would she make a different choice?"

"I don't know. Perhaps it was when you slid that whetstone beneath my blanket. Perhaps it was when you treated my infected finger with high-grade salve. Or perhaps it was when you shielded me with your body, your back to Victor's blade, looking into my eyes." I pressed my hand over the Bloodmoon Dagger at my chest. "An Ashton always pays their debts. But the debts are settled. From this day on, I no longer live for vengeance."

"Then what do you live for?"

I didn't answer. I simply moved my hand away from the dagger, letting it hang by my side, and lightly brushed the back of my hand against his. It was incredibly soft, incredibly swift—like a flake of snow falling on skin, melting before the chill could settle.

He did not grasp my hand. He simply leaned the back of his hand against mine, standing at the edge of the cliff as we watched the sun rise over the eastern borders of the Bloodspear territory.