Luna's Redemption: Bonded by the Blood

Chapter 3: Cursed Sanctuary

The Blood Moon Pack's den was carved into the belly of a moss-choked mountain, its entrance guarded by snarling wolf skulls impaled on rusted spears. Lysandra shivered as Kael set her down, his grip unyielding even as his pack emerged from shadowed alcoves. Dozens of eyes glowed amber in the dark, their growls vibrating through the stale air.

A wiry woman with a scar splitting her lip stepped forward, her gaze raking over Lysandra's swollen belly. "You brought a *hybrid* here?" she spat, claws unsheathing. "And a vampire's leavings, no less."

Kael's voice was a blade. "She stays, Selene."

Selene, his beta, snarled. "The curse festers because of *her* kind. Or have you forgotten how your last witch-mate betrayed us?"

Lysandra stiffened. *Mate?* Kael hadn't mentioned that. His jaw tightened, the tattoos along his neck writhing like live wires. "This one heals," he said coldly. "Or would you prefer to rot?"

The pack murmured, their hostility thickening. A gaunt teenager with ashen skin limped forward, his arm twisted into a claw—the curse's work. "Let her try," he rasped. "If she fails, we feast on her bones."

Kael's glare silenced the crowd, but Lysandra stepped forward, chin raised. "I'll heal him."

The boy bared his teeth. "Touch me, and I'll rip your throat—"

She pressed her palm to his deformed arm before he could finish. Her magic surged—not the controlled spells of her mother's coven, but something raw, *alive*. Silver light spilled from her fingers, and the boy gasped as his bones snapped back into place, muscle weaving over them like new thread.

The pack recoiled, hissing. Selene's claws dug into her palms. "Witch magic," she whispered. "And wolf. How?"

Kael's gaze burned into Lysandra. "The child," he said quietly. "Its power fuels hers."

Before she could deny it, the mountain shuddered. Dust rained from the ceiling as a howl echoed outside—not vampire hounds this time, but something older, melodic. *Fae*.

Selene snarled. "They've followed her."

Kael gripped Lysandra's arm, his voice low. "You've brought death to my doorstep."

She met his glare. "Then teach me to fight it."

The pack erupted into arguments, but Kael silenced them with a roar. "Enough! Prepare for battle. And *you*," he turned to Lysandra, "come with me."

He led her deeper into the den, where the air reeked of blood and bitter herbs. A stone altar dominated the chamber, stained black from countless rituals. Kael shoved a dagger into her hand, its hilt carved with runes. "Your magic is a storm. Learn to wield it, or we all die tonight."

As he spoke, the walls groaned. Vines slithered through cracks in the stone, blooming with black roses that dripped venom. The fae king's laughter echoed, soft and cruel.

*"You cannot hide, little wolf,"* the voice crooned. *"The child is mine."*

The fae vines thickened, strangling the den's entrance as Kael barked orders to his pack. Lysandra gripped the runed dagger, its hilt biting into her palm, and focused on the golden pulse of her child's magic—a fragile tether to control her own.

"Stay behind me," Kael growled, his wolf form rippling beneath his skin. "Your power is a beacon. They'll aim for you first."

"Then let them try," she said, channeling her mother's defiance.

The first fae warrior emerged from the shadows, antlers sprouting from his helm, a bow of twisted bone in hand. His arrow loosed with a melodic hum, aimed at Lysandra's heart.

Kael lunged, intercepting it mid-air. The arrow exploded into shards of ice, slicing his arm. He snarled, blood dripping black from the cursed wound, and charged.

Lysandra darted toward the gaunt boy she'd healed earlier—*Jarek*—now cowering behind a boulder. "Take this," she thrust the dagger into his hands, "and stab anything that glows."

His eyes widened. "Why?"

"Because I can't protect us both!"

She turned, her magic surging as three more fae breached the den. Their laughter echoed, sharp and honeyed, as they hurled spells that turned stone to quicksand. Lysandra's witchlight flared, deflecting one blast, but the second struck her shoulder. Agony seared through her—not physical pain, but a memory: *Darius's brand, her father's death, the fae king's whisper.*

*Focus.*

She slammed her palms to the ground. Silver roots erupted, entangling the fae. Their screams harmonized with the pack's snarls as Kael tore through them, his curse-fueled rage unchecked.

But the victory was fleeting.

The vines at the entrance parted, and a figure stepped through—tall, crowned with antlers, his cloak woven from starlight and shadow. The fae king.

Kael froze, a fae warrior's throat still in his jaws. The king's gaze swept over Lysandra's belly, golden light throbbing in time with her pulse.

"You've made this tedious, little wolf," he sighed. "But I'll forgive you… if you surrender the child."

Lysandra's magic roiled, but the king flicked his wrist. The roots she'd summoned *twisted*, slithering around her throat. She gagged, clawing at them, as Kael lunged—only to be pinned by vines of his own.

"Your curse is quaint," the king mused, studying Kael's snarling form. "A wolf who cannot control his beast… and a witch who cannot control her magic. How *pathetic*."

He stepped toward Lysandra, his fingers brushing her stomach. The child's light flared, burning his hand. He hissed, recoiling, but smiled. "Ah. She resists me. Like her mother."

Lysandra froze. *"Her?"*

The king's grin widened. "Did you think your *mate* was the father? Darius Voss is but a pawn. Your child was conceived under my blood moon, in a ritual your precious mother begged me to end."

The den trembled. Lysandra's magic erupted, shattering the vines. "Liar!"

"Am I?" The king tossed a locket at her feet—her mother's, engraved with a fae rose. Inside, a portrait of Elara, young and smiling, arm-in-arm with the king.

Kael roared, breaking free. "Enough games!"

The king sighed. "Very well." He snapped his fingers.

The mountain *screamed*.

Stone cracked, the den collapsing as the pack scrambled. Lysandra reached for Kael, but the ground gave way—

Lysandra plunges into darkness, the king's laughter echoing above. When she wakes, she's trapped in a crystalline cell—*alone*. Her belly is flat. The child is gone.