Luna's Redemption: Bonded by the Blood

Chapter 4: The Stolen Heir

Lysandra woke to the drip of water and the cold bite of crystal against her skin. Her fingers trembled as they brushed her stomach—*flat, empty*. Panic surged, raw and feral, before she choked it back. *Focus. Breathe.*

The cell was a prism of jagged quartz, reflecting her fractured silhouette a thousand times. Her magic lay dormant, smothered by the fae king's wards humming in the walls. But her wolf... her wolf *howled*.

"Where is she?" she rasped, voice echoing. No answer.

A shadow shifted beyond the crystal bars. Lysandra lunged, claws scraping uselessly against the wards. "Give me back my daughter!"

The fae guard laughed, his antlered helm tilting. "The heir is no longer yours, mongrel. She's being prepared for her coronation."

*Coronation.* The word slithered into her chest like a knife. Lysandra's knees buckled. *No. Not like this.*

But despair was a luxury she couldn't afford. She clawed at the wall until her fingertips bled, searching for weaknesses. The wards flickered, and for a heartbeat, her witchlight sparked—a dull silver flicker.

*Enough.*

She pressed her palm to the floor, channeling every shred of rage, grief, and primal instinct. The crystal cracked, spiderwebbing beneath her. The guard shouted, drawing a blade of ice, but she was already moving.

The cell exploded.

Shards of quartz rained down as Lysandra stumbled into a corridor of twisting roots and bioluminescent fungi. The air reeked of decay and honeyed magic. Somewhere ahead, a child's cry echoed—faint, but unmistakable. *Her* cry.

She ran, bare feet slicing on crystal, following the sound. The corridor split, and she froze.

Left: The scent of her daughter, sweet and bright.

Right: The growl of a wolf, familiar and wrong.

*Kael.*

She veered left.

The corridor narrowed, roots coiling like serpents around Lysandra's ankles as she sprinted toward her daughter's fading cries. The air thickened with the fae king's magic—sweet rot and starlight—but beneath it, she caught Kael's scent: pine and iron, warped by the bitter tang of the curse.

She skidded into a cavern bathed in sickly green light. At its center, a cradle of thorned vines hovered above a pool of liquid moonlight. Inside, a tiny figure glowed—her daughter, swaddled in a shroud of shadows.

"No!" Lysandra lunged, but a snarl froze her mid-step.

Kael stood between her and the cradle, his amber eyes dull, tattoos writhing like chains under his skin. His claws were outstretched, not toward her, but trembling—as if fighting an invisible leash.

"Move," Lysandra hissed, her wolf surging.

"Can't," he gritted out. "The pact... binds me."

The fae king's voice slithered from the shadows. *"He is mine now, little wolf. His curse, his pack—all mine. And soon, your child will be too."*

Kael's body jerked forward, claws slashing. Lysandra dodged, but not fast enough. Blood welled on her arm, and her magic flared—a silver whip that cracked toward the cradle. The thorns recoiled, and the baby wailed.

"Fight him, Kael!" Lysandra shouted, parrying his next strike. "You're stronger than this!"

"Am I?" His voice broke as the curse forced him closer. "The pack is dying. The king promised to spare them... if I obeyed."

Her daughter's cries sharpened, piercing the air like a blade. Lysandra's resolve hardened. She feinted left, then dove under Kael's arm, sprinting for the cradle. Her fingers grazed the thorns—

A howl erupted behind her.

Kael's claws sank into her shoulder, yanking her back. She crashed into him, their faces inches apart. For a heartbeat, his gaze cleared. *"Take her and run,"* he whispered, blood trickling from his nose as he fought the pact. *"I'll hold him off."*

Then the curse reclaimed him. He threw her against the wall, pinning her throat. "I'm sorry," he growled, but his claws tightened.

Lysandra's vision darkened. Her magic sputtered, but her daughter's light pulsed brighter—a beacon. With her last breath, she slammed her palm against Kael's chest, pouring every shred of witchlight into his curse.

The tattoos *screamed*.

Kael recoiled, his body convulsing as silver cracks split the curse's hold. The fae king hissed, "*Enough!*" and the cavern trembled.

Lysandra scrambled to the cradle, tearing through thorns. Her hands closed around her daughter—warm, alive, her tiny face glowing with fae runes. But as she turned to flee, the pool of moonlight erupted.

A hand of liquid starlight seized her ankle, dragging her toward the abyss.

Lysandra's magic falters as the pool devours her. Kael, half-freed from the curse, lunges—but the fae king's laughter drowns his roar. The last thing she sees is her daughter's cradle vanishing into the dark... and Kael's amber eyes, begging forgiveness, as the void swallows them both.

The void was not emptiness—it was *alive*.

Lysandra tumbled through a kaleidoscope of fractured memories: her mother's execution, Darius's sneer, Kael's amber eyes flickering between rage and regret. The pool of moonlight had dissolved into a labyrinth of mirrors, each reflecting a version of herself she'd buried. The hybrid. The mother. The weapon.

"Kael!" she shouted, her voice swallowed by the abyss. Only echoes answered.

A mirror shimmered ahead. In it, her daughter lay in the thorned cradle, now suspended over a chasm of writhing shadows. The fae king stood beside it, his antlered crown dripping starlight. *"You persist,*" he sighed, *"like a cockroach in a tomb."*

Lysandra slammed her fist against the glass. "Let her go!"

*"Gladly,"* he purred. *"In exchange for... him."*

The mirror rippled, revealing Kael trapped in a cage of thorned vines, his tattoos blackened and bleeding. His wolf form thrashed, half-primal, half-human, snarling at phantoms only he could see.

"His curse is mine to command," the king said. *"Relinquish him, and your child lives."*

Lysandra's magic roiled. "Never."

*"Then watch her die."*

The cradle tilted, her daughter's wails piercing the void. Lysandra lunged, but the mirrors multiplied, boxing her in. Reflections of Kael flickered—his claws tearing at the vines, his human voice begging, *"Kill me. Save her."*

The king laughed. *"Choose, mongrel: the wolf who betrayed you, or the heir who will *become* me."*

Lysandra's hands glowed, silver and gold intertwining. "I choose *neither*."

She shattered the nearest mirror, and the void screamed.

A thousand shards became a thousand blades, slicing toward the king. He flicked them aside, but the distraction was enough. Lysandra's magic lashed the cradle's thorns, seizing her daughter—

A hand gripped her wrist.

Kael, freed from his cage but bleeding from a dozen wounds, hauled her backward. "The void's collapsing!" he shouted.

The realm shuddered, mirrors exploding into stardust. The king's roar followed them as they fell, clutching the child, through a storm of light and shadow.

Then—

***Impact.***

They crashed into a forest clearing, the air reeking of pine and blood. Lysandra's daughter whimpered, unharmed, her tiny fingers clutching a shard of void-glass that pulsed with eerie light.

Kael collapsed beside them, his tattoos now still, his breaths shallow. "The pact... it's gone. But so is the curse."

Before Lysandra could speak, the shard in her daughter's hand *flared*.

A portal tore open, not to the fae realm or the void, but to a desolate wasteland where skeletal trees clawed at a crimson sky. From it staggered a figure—a woman with silver-streaked hair and storm-gray eyes.

*Elara.*

Lysandra's mother, long dead, gasped her name. *"Lysandra... run. He's coming."*

Behind her, the crimson sky *ripped*, and a silhouette emerged—taller than the fae king, crowned in flames, with eyes like dying stars.

The portal collapses, Elara vanishing with a scream. The newborn's void-shard dims, but the figure's voice booms across the forest: *"The child is marked. She will be* mine*."*

Kael's amber eyes met Lysandra's. For the first time, she saw fear.