THE OATHBREAKER

CHAPTER FIVE

The flame from the mark faded as quicky as it blazed, leaving a charred knot of lines in the earth smoking lightly beneath the morning light. Heart racing, I stumbled back, the voice, “We see you, Celeste” still repeating in my head. Torian steadied me with his hand, grabbing my arm, his touch firm but not harsh. His eyes sought something I was not yet prepared to give, scanning my face.

"You heard it," he stated, not a question. Throat tight, I nodded, and pulled away, my boots crunching against the earth. Wolves acting with purpose moved throughout the camp, heaving breaths in the chilly air. Kael yelled orders, her voice slicing across the mumblings, but I sensed her gaze shift toward me, cautious, as if I was already a fuse already lit.

"Don't do that again," Torian said, low and deliberate, his voice bearing the weight of an Alpha who wouldn't need to yell. “You are playing their game by touching their magic.”

“I didn't touch it,” I blurted, gently rubbing my wrist where the iron cuffs had left red scars. "It touched me." My words hung between us, and for a second I saw something flicker in his face—not sympathy, but understanding, as if he knew what it was to bear a curse you never asked for.

He didn’t press, just pointed toward the tent. “We need to talk. Right now.”

Torian stood like a statue carved from determination, his broad shoulders blocking the light. Kael entered after us, her eyes scanning us both, but she remained silent, resting against a table with notes and a b****y rag.

"You said Rhea," Torian began, his tone firm but with an edge, "Your cousin. You think she’s the High Blood, leading this cult. Why?”

"Rhea had always revered the old stories, those of blood magic and the first wolves. She used to sneak into the archives and read scrolls the elders destroyed after the ancient battls. If anyone would bind themselves to anything ancient, it's her.”

Kael crossed her arms, with an unreadable expression. "And you didn't think to mention this earlier? That your cousin might be the one killing packs?"

"I hadn't seen her in years, not since I ran," I said, my voice sharper than I intended. But that mark... It is personal," I said, pointing to the picture, the rune tormenting my dreams. She is not just tracking me, she knows I’m here. She is toying with me.

Torian's jaw clenched; his eyes turned toward the map. "If she is targeting you, we use it. We draw her out." I laughed. “You keep saying that, as though you can control it. You have no idea what she has changed into. If she’s the High Blood, she’s not just a werewolf anymore. She’s something else, something that doesn’t bleed like we do.”

"Then we find her weakness" he added, his voice slicing through my doubt, "Everyone has one. Even gods.”

I met his eyes, and for a moment the world narrowed to only us—two scarred and tenacious wolves staring at storm none of us could outrun. There was something in his eyes, not just tactical expertise but also a shimmer of trust, weak and unearned.

Before I could reply, a howl cut the air—sharp, panicked, not the controlled call of Torian's scouts. Her blade already drawn, Kael was out of the tent before I could blink. Torian followed and I limped after them, pain be damned.

The camp was chaos. Wolves dispersed, some half-shifted, claws shining in the early sunshine. Shadows moved at the edge of the ridge, where the forest met the camp, cloaked figures whose bone masks were like skulls. Five, perhaps six, their movements smooth like water passing over stone. The smell of decomposing flowers and iron filled the air, just like that from twelve years earlier.

Torian screamed, "Flank them!" his voice a whip gathering the pack into formation, But the shadows did not move. One then lifted a hand and the earth shook, dark tendrils emerged not as smoke this time but something solid, twisting like roots made of shadow. In a blink, they struck out, catching a wolf mid-shift and threw him screaming into the earth.

Kael bolted like lightning, her bladed cutting through a tendril, but another trapped her arm, knocking her off balance. As a cultist approached her with a curved blade raised, she landed with a heavy thud and her shoulder bled. I didn't think,, I just moved, my knife flashed as I drove it into the side of the cultist. The figure staggered, there was no sound, no blood, just a hiss of air like a punctured balloon before it collapsed.

Kael!” I shouted and dropped to her side, pressing my handon wound. Her face was becoming pale, but her eyes burned fierce and unafraid “I’m fine,” she growled, pushing my hand away. “Get the pup.”

Pup?” I froze, my heart going cold. Across the camp, a small figure hid behind a crate, eyes wide open with fear. A boy, no older than ten, his scent faint but very familiar—Nightmoor blood, distant, but the traces were there. He was one of ours, or had been, before I ran.

The cultists turned, their masks looking directly at him. One stepped forward, the air giving off the same hum I had sensed at the cliff. They weren't here for the camp. They came for him.

I ran, pain piercing my ribs, and took the boy behind the crate just as a tendril brushed my back, ripping through my shirt. Holding on to my arm, the boy whimpered, his eyes wide with the same hope I had seen in that baby wolf’s eyes years ago, the one I couldn't save.

"Stay down,” I hissed, shoving him under the crate. I stood, blade ready to slice through anything, but the cultists did not approach. They watched, silent, then one spoke—voice echoing. "The tether brings the key."

I didnt have time to dissect their words. Torian was already there, his own blade out, cutting through a tendril as he yelled for the pack to close ranks. But cultists moved faster than lightning, one seizing the boy before I could react, its cloaked arm circling him like a snake. He screamed, a noise that tore through me, and then they were gone—vanished into the trees, leaving only the smell of blood and ash.

With blood dripping down her arm, Kael stumbled to her feet, her face full of anger "They took him," she said, glaring at me like I planned it. “You knew him.”

I couldn't deny it, He was bound to Nightmoor, to my past, to the lineage I had attempted to flee—his eyes, his scent. "He's one of mine," I said, voice low. "Or was."

Torian's stare burned into me, not accusing but searching. "They're using you," he said, "your guilt, your past. They know it'll shatter you" I laughed, sharp but empty. "Let them try." Then the reality struck at me. Rhea, or whatever she had become, wasn't only pursuing me.She was unraveling me, piece by piece, using the ghosts of everyone I’d failed.

Torian said, already heading for the tree line, "We track them. Now."

Kael tried to protest, but he silenced her with a gaze. "You're staying. Get that patched up" He turned to me. "You, with me."

I did not argue. The boy's scream still rang in my head, and I'd be damned if I let another pup die because of me. Torian's wolves spread out as we hurried, their noses low, catching the faint trail of blood and magic. The forest was thick, heavy with ozone's pungent smell and damp glades. Every step burned my ribs, but I kept pace, with Torian's presence beside me a constant anchor.

An hour later, we came across the ritual site hidden amidst trees leaning inward like they were afraid to touch the ground. The air was terrible, he stench of decaying flowers suffocated my lungs. At the center a ring of stones vibrated with dark energy, glowing faintly red. Halfway complete, the ritual site was alive and buzzed like a heart waiting to beat.

Torian squatted next to a stone, his hands hovering but not touching. "This is it," he mumbled in a low voice. "Their anchor."

I nodded; my eyes scanning the area. The boy’s scent was here, faint, but fresh, along with something else, Rhea’s scent, twisted, like a wolf but not. "They're close," I murmured, gripping my knife more tightly.

Torian stood and locked eyes with me. "You are not alone in this," he said, and for the first I believed him. Because of the way he stood, unyielding, ready to face anything, not because of his words. It wasn't trust, not yet, but it sufficed.

A twig snapped, and the air changed, heavy with the weight of eyes watching from the dark. The runes glowed brighter, and that voice, Rhea's, but not whispered, again, inside my head. "You can't run forever, Celeste."

I bared my teeth, blade set, and walked towards the darkness. Let them come.

I am done running.