Luna's Redemption: Bonded by the Blood

Chapter 2: The Rejection

The vampire court's grand hall glittered like a dagger's edge—all cold marble and sharper smiles. Lysandra adjusted the high-necked lace of her gown, the fabric scratchy against her collarbone where Darius's sigil once lay. Now, only a scar remained, pale and puckered, hidden beneath layers of silk. Her swollen belly strained against the corset, a secret she'd sworn to keep buried.

*Fools*, she thought, watching the nobles swirl in their jewel-toned finery. They thought her a docile trophy, Darius's pet hybrid. They didn't see the wolf pacing beneath her skin, the witchlight she'd smothered for a decade.

"Enjoying the view, mongrel?" A voice slithered into her ear. Lady Seraphine, Darius's sharp-tongued cousin, loomed beside her, goblet of bloodwine in hand. Her gaze dropped to Lysandra's midsection. "How *quaint*. Trying to trap our prince with a bastard?"

Lysandra's nails bit into her palms. "The child is his."

Seraphine laughed, the sound like shattering crystal. "A wolf-witch whelp? Darius would sooner bed a *human*." She leaned closer, her breath reeking of iron. "Run, little mutt. Before he flays you alive for this insult."

Before Lysandra could retort, the hall fell silent.

Darius stood at the top of the staircase, his black-and-crimson regalia swallowing the torchlight. His eyes—crimson as the wine in Seraphine's cup—locked onto hers. Cold. Empty.

"Lysandra," he purred, voice echoing. "Join me."

Every instinct screamed to flee, but the crowd parted like a noose. She climbed the steps, her legs leaden. When she reached him, he gripped her wrist, his touch freezing.

"You've been hiding something, my dear," he murmured, too soft for the court to hear.

Her pulse spiked. "Darius, please—"

He yanked her forward, tearing the lace from her neck. The scar glared under the chandeliers, a jagged accusation.

Gasps rippled through the hall.

"A child," Darius announced, loud enough to silence the room. "*Not* of my blood."

The lie struck like a blade. Lysandra's magic surged, silver light flickering at her fingertips. She choked it back. *Hide it. Survive.*

But survival, she realized too late, was no longer an option.

The courtyard was a theater of frost and fury. Darius dragged Lysandra by her hair, her knees scraping against the icy stones as the vampire court swarmed behind them like carrion birds. Torches hissed in the wind, their flames casting jagged shadows over the obsidian altar at the center—a relic from an era when vampire kings burned their enemies alive.

"You dare claim *my* blood runs in that abomination?" Darius snarled, slamming her against the altar. His fingers dug into her throat, cold as death. "You, a mongrel, thought you could bind me with a bastard?"

Lysandra choked, her vision blurring. The cold seeped into her bones, but the heat of her magic writhed beneath her skin, begging to erupt. *Hide it*, she reminded herself. *Bury it*.

Darius snapped his fingers. A servant hurried forward, bearing an iron brand glowing white-hot. The sigil etched into its tip mirrored the scar on her collarbone—a twisted rose wrapped in thorns, the mark of the Nightrose Court.

"Let's remind the court what happens to liars," he hissed.

The brand pressed into her flesh.

Smoke curled as the scent of burning skin flooded her nostrils. Lysandra's scream tore through the night, raw and primal. The crowd roared—some in delight, others in disgust. But beneath the pain, something *rippled*.

Her wolf.

It surged forward, a feral growl erupting from her throat. Silver light exploded from her palms, shattering the brand into molten shards. The sigil on her collarbone glowed, then cracked like glass, falling away in ash.

Darius staggered back, his perfect mask slipping into shock. "Impossible," he breathed.

The crowd fell silent. Lysandra clutched her searing wound, her breath ragged. The scar was gone. In its place, raw, glowing skin pulsed with witchlight and the faint howl of a wolf.

"You—" Darius's crimson eyes narrowed, a mix of fury and fascination. "You've been hiding *this*?"

But Lysandra didn't wait.

She ran.

The night swallowed her, her bare feet slipping on frost as she raced toward the treeline. Behind her, Darius's roar shook the earth: *"FIND HER!"*

Contractions clawed at her belly—the child, reacting to her magic or her terror, she didn't know. Snow crunched underfoot, the Blood Moon Forest looming ahead like a promise. Or a tomb.

She stumbled, collapsing at the edge of the woods. The world spun, her vision doubling. But then—

Amber eyes glowed in the dark.

A wolf, larger than any natural beast, emerged from the shadows. Its fur was midnight black, its gaze feral yet sharp. Intelligent.

Kael.

He stalked toward her, a low growl rumbling in his chest. Lysandra's magic flickered weakly, her strength spent.

"Please," she whispered, not knowing if he understood. "Don't let them take my child."

The wolf paused. Sniffed the air. Then, in the distance, howls erupted—vampire hounds.

Kael's growl deepened. He bared his teeth…

The vampire hounds' howls sliced through the night, closer now. Lysandra's breath hitched as another contraction seized her, sharp and unrelenting. She clawed at the frozen earth, trying to drag herself away, but Kael's wolf loomed over her, his amber eyes blazing. For a heartbeat, she thought he'd finish what Darius started—until his gaze flicked to her trembling hands, still smoldering with silver witchlight.

A snarl ripped from his throat, but it wasn't aimed at her.

He lunged past Lysandra, intercepting the first hound mid-leap. Jaws snapped, blood sprayed. The hound crumpled, its obsidian fur matted and smoking where Kael's claws tore through it. Two more lunged, fangs glinting. Lysandra pressed her back against a tree, her magic flickering weakly. *Protect the child*, she begged silently. *Even if it kills me.*

The forest pulsed around her. Ancient magic, thick as the pines' resin, seeped into her veins. Her witchlight flared—brighter, wilder—and she gasped as it lashed out, striking a hound mid-air. The creature disintegrated into ash.

Kael froze, his wolf form shuddering. For a heartbeat, the curse's shadow lifted from his eyes, replaced by something sharper: clarity. He stared at her, panting, blood streaking his muzzle.

"You're… like *her*," he rasped, his voice rough and human-sounding, as if the curse fought his words. "The witch who—"

A guttural growl cut him off. The curse slammed back into place, contorting his body. He staggered, fur rippling as bones cracked.

Lysandra didn't hesitate. She crawled to him, pressing her glowing palm to his heaving side. "I don't know what I'm doing," she whispered, "but *hold still*."

The magic surged—a storm of wolf and witch—and Kael's convulsions stilled. His amber eyes locked onto hers, wary but calculating. "Why help me?"

"Because they'll kill us both if you die here," she snapped, wincing as another contraction twisted her insides.

The remaining hounds circled, hesitant now. Kael bared his teeth, a warning rumble in his chest, but his gaze dropped to her belly. A faint, golden light pulsed beneath her gown, casting shadows over the snow.

"Your child…" he muttered. "It's *alive* with magic."

Before she could reply, a horn blared in the distance—Darius's hunters. Close. Too close.

Kael's ears flattened. "Can you run?"

"Do I have a choice?"

He shifted, his wolf form shrinking into a broad-shouldered man, tattoos writhing like serpents under his skin. Without a word, he hauled her into his arms, ignoring her protest. "The pack won't welcome you," he said, "but they'll fear me enough to obey. For now."

They vanished into the trees, the hounds' howls fading behind them. Lysandra clung to him, her cheek pressed against the scar over his heart. The child's light dimmed, but the forest seemed to *breathe* in its wake, whispering secrets only the cursed could hear.

As Kael carries Lysandra deeper into the Blood Moon Forest, the trees begin to bleed black sap, and a shadowed figure watches from the cliffs—a crown of antlers silhouetted against the moon.