Rendezvous Under the Moonshadow

Chapter 15: The Wolf's Testimony

"A… werewolf?"

"Impossible! That's a lie!"

"A disgrace who betrayed the Moon Goddess! How dare he!"

"This is a vampire conspiracy! They're trying to divide us with these lies!"

Anya's words were a spark dropped into hot oil, instantly igniting the emotions of every werewolf present. They were no longer silent. A chaotic wave of angry, doubtful, and shocked voices buzzed across the clearing, a hostile and confusing roar.

Even the few high-ranking Elders, who had remained silent until now, wore expressions of disbelief and grave concern.

A werewolf working for an organization of supernatural hunters. To these ancient wolves, who valued bloodline and pack honor above life itself, the news was as devastating as a catastrophic earthquake.

"Silence!"

Alpha Simon's roar, filled with absolute authority, once again crushed all the noise. His voice was like an invisible shockwave, sweeping across the clearing and forcing every agitated werewolf to shut their mouths.

A dead silence fell over the clearing once more. Only the massive bonfire continued to crackle and spit.

Simon didn't look at his emotional pack members. His dangerous, abyssal grey eyes were locked solely on Anya.

"Proof," he bit out the word, his voice cold and filled with an unyielding pressure. "You claim he was a werewolf. Show me your proof. Otherwise, I will consider you, and the vampire beside you, as enemies who have come to my pack to spread rumors and sow discord, and I will execute you on the spot."

His words were laced with a bloody, merciless killing intent.

An icy chill shot up Anya's spine and straight to the top of her head. She knew Simon wasn't joking. If she couldn't produce convincing proof today, what awaited them was a fight to the death.

She instinctively glanced back at Seraphina.

Seraphina's expression was as serene as ever, as if this all had nothing to do with her. She just stood there quietly, neither offering to help nor showing any sign of retreat.

She had given this stage, entirely, to Anya.

Anya took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the nervousness and fear in her heart. She knew this was her only chance. A chance to make everyone—including Simon, and including Seraphina—see her in a new light.

She met Simon's gaze, which felt sharp enough to pierce her, and slowly raised her hand.

"My proof is myself," she said, her voice not loud, but exceptionally clear and firm.

"I am a werewolf."

"My eyes, my ears, my nose, my blood, and my most ancient instinct, gifted to me by the Moon Goddess, are all telling me—"

"The howl that man made last night, in his final moments, was a true, genuine howl of our kind, filled with despair and rage. Not a single one of you here, so long as you still acknowledge the wolf's blood flowing in your veins, can deny it!"

Her words were powerful and resonant. Many of the werewolf warriors, who had been hostile just moments before, now had thoughtful expressions on their faces.

Because they had heard it. That kind of howl, one that resonated with their very souls, could not be faked.

"And that's it?" Lead Warrior Camus snorted, clearly unsatisfied with the explanation. "That only proves he might have had werewolf blood. It doesn't prove he was a member of the Bloodthorn. Maybe he was just some poor soul they captured, tortured into howling to lure us into a trap."

"No." Anya shook her head, her gaze sharpening. "He was no poor soul. He was a… warrior."

"Although he betrayed us, he still had the instincts and aura of a warrior, one who has been forged in a hundred battles. Camus, as the Lead Warrior of this pack, you should know that better than anyone from your confrontation with him."

Camus's expression shifted slightly.

He remembered last night. The man's incredible reaction speed when faced with his and Seraphina's pincer attack, and the ruthless ferocity with which he had drawn his blade to counter-attack. That was not the action of an ordinary victim. That was the instinct of a true, battle-hardened warrior.

"And besides…" Anya continued, taking a step forward and placing herself fully in everyone's line of sight. "I have a second piece of proof."

She turned, and with a sharp motion, pulled up the leg of her athletic pants, revealing her smooth, well-defined calf.

There, on the muscle of her leg, were three faint, almost invisible pink lines, clearly displayed for all to see.

"What's that?" a young werewolf warrior asked, confused.

"It's… a scar," Anya said, looking at the faint lines, a flicker of remembered fear in her eyes. "From four days ago, when I first encountered that creature they call an 'Imp.' Its claws did this."

She paused, lifting her head and letting her gaze sweep slowly over everyone present.

"I don't know how many of you have actually seen the 'creations' of the Bloodthorn. Their claws and fangs are coated with a faint, yet extremely vicious, corrosive toxin. This poison is designed specifically to target supernatural creatures like us, who have powerful healing abilities. For an ordinary werewolf, once this toxin enters the body, the wound will continuously fester and worsen. Our proud self-healing ability is severely diminished in its presence."

"Unless…" she paused deliberately, drawing everyone's full attention, "...unless there is a higher-level, purer energy to help us cleanse it."

Her words made all the werewolves present fall into deep thought. Some of the older ones, who seemed to recall ancient legends about hunter organizations, had grave expressions on their faces.

And Alpha Simon's grey eyes had narrowed sharply the moment Anya revealed the scar. His gaze was no longer just appraising; it was now sharp and probing, like that of a hawk.

He seemed to have noticed something.

"Nonsense!" Camus retorted again, but his tone lacked its earlier conviction. "Your wound looks almost completely healed now! That only proves your own healing ability is strong!"

"That's right," Anya nodded. Then, slowly, she took the small white jar from her innermost pocket.

She held it up high, displaying it for everyone to see.

"The reason my wound healed so quickly isn't because of my own ability. It's because of… this."

All eyes focused on the small, pure white, unassuming jar.

Seraphina's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. She hadn't expected Anya to bring this out in public.

"What is that?" Simon asked in a low voice, his eyes fixed on the jar with deep suspicion.

"It's… a balm," Anya said, looking at Simon, then glancing at Seraphina beside her, a sly, fox-like smile playing on her lips.

"It was a 'gift' from my 'ally,' Princess Valerius, after I was injured."

She deliberately emphasized the words "ally" and "gift."

The statement caused another uproar.

A vampire, giving a werewolf medicine out of kindness? It was a preposterous idea.

"A vampire's medicine?" Camus sounded as if he'd just heard the world's greatest joke. "Are you insane, Anya?! You actually dared to use something from a vampire?! Who knows what kind of vile curse or slow-acting poison is in it!"

"I had the same suspicion," Anya said, looking at him frankly. "But when I applied it to my wound, what I felt wasn't a curse, or a poison. It was… a pure, cold life-energy, the likes of which I have never experienced before."

"This energy was powerful, noble, and held an unquestionable aura, as sacred as moonlight. It easily cleansed the filthy Bloodthorn toxin from my body, leaving nothing behind."

As she spoke, she uncapped the small porcelain jar.

A crisp, cool scent, like pine and snow and some exotic flower, instantly spread out from her, filling the air.

The werewolves present all had incredibly sharp senses of smell. The moment they caught the scent, their expressions changed.

What they smelled was not the foul stench of death and decay they associated with vampires.

It was… a noble aura that made them tremble from the very depths of their bloodlines, an aura of… awe.

It was the scent of a true True Blood, an ancient monarch, that commanded respect from a primal level.

Even Alpha Simon, upon catching the scent, had an unguarded, moved expression on his stoic face.

He looked at the small jar, then at Seraphina, his eyes filled with a complex mix of emotions.

"...Is this…" he muttered, a note of shock and… nostalgia in his voice that he himself probably didn't notice, "...a holy remedy made from your 'heart's blood,' mixed with the dew of a 'moonpetal' flower?"

"You would actually… use something that even your own Presbyters would treat as a priceless treasure… for an insignificant, little wolf pup?"

Seraphina looked at him, and a faint, almost imperceptible blush of embarrassment touched her ears, though her expression remained as icy and proud as ever.

"What I do with my possessions is my own business," she replied coolly. "I don't believe that is for you, Alpha Simon, to comment on, is it?"

Her response was a tacit admission.

And that admission was more powerful than any piece of evidence.

All the werewolves fell silent.

They looked at Anya, at the small jar in her hand that radiated a sacred aura, and then at the powerful, proud vampire princess who was willing to stand against their own Alpha to defend her.

The suspicion and hostility in their hearts finally began to waver.

A werewolf for whom the Princess Valerius would use her own precious "heart's blood" to heal—could she really be a "traitor" colluding with the enemy?

A vampire who would personally come to offer vital intelligence, who would even confront their entire pack for the sake of a werewolf—could she really be a schemer plotting to incite a war?

The answer seemed to be self-evident.

Anya watched the expressions on the faces of the surrounding werewolves shift from hostility, to contemplation, to something far more complex, and she knew her "testimony" had worked.

She had succeeded, in the most direct and unexpected way, in breaking the stalemate.

She hadn't resorted to grand speeches or tried to prove her own innocence. She had simply laid the facts, bare and undeniable, before them.

She had turned Seraphina's "kindness" to her into the sharpest sword, a blade of irrefutable proof that could pierce through all lies and prejudice.

She glanced at the vampire princess beside her, who still wore a mask of ice, but whose ears… seemed to have a suspicious, faint pinkish hue.

A wave of unprecedented, immense satisfaction and… triumphant joy washed over Anya.

It was the first time she had realized that standing beside this powerful, god-like woman didn't just mean being protected by her.

She, too, could… in her own way, protect her.

Protect the clumsy, hidden tenderness beneath the ten-thousand-year-old glacier.

(End of Chapter)