The Moonblood Prophecy

CHAPTER THREE — THE FIRST CONNECTION

LYANNA'S POV

I’m not supposed to be here. The High Witch placed me under house arrest two nights ago: soft words, a gentle voice, and iron bars beneath velvet. “For your protection,” she said. But nobody puts a witch under “protection” unless they fear her.

My powers have been unpredictable since the ritual. Spells misfire. Crystals c***k. Flames flare too high. And the other witches… they look at me like I’ve become something they don’t recognise. Or something they’re afraid to name.

So when I slip out of my confinement room at dawn, I know I’m breaking at least seven coven laws. But I need answers. Answers: I won’t get locked away like a cursed artefact.

I tie my cloak tight and hurry through the temple’s side halls until I reach the abandoned east chamber, the only place the coven avoids. Old training rooms line the walls, dust dulling the once-glittering spell runes. Perfect. No audience. No judgement. No whispers. Just me.

I step into the moonlit training circle, inhale deeply, and ground my feet.

“Focus,” I whisper to myself.

“Control. Don’t break anything this time.”

I pull on my power gently, only a little. Enough to feel it swirl beneath my skin like smoke. Enough to try shaping it. My birthmark responds instantly. It burns.

A sharp sting, then a deeper throb, then heat spreading like wildfire across my shoulder. I clench my teeth, willing it down, fighting for control. But the pain doesn’t listen. The pain grows. My knees buckle.

A wave of agony slams into my ribs as if someone struck me with invisible claws. I cry out, clutching the edge of the spell circle. My vision blurs. The room tilts. I feel something snap inside my magic, like a string pulled too tight. And then the world explodes into white-hot pain. Not mine. Someone else’s.

A sharp stab across the back. A burning s***h on the shoulder. Breath knocked out of lungs that aren’t mine.

I gasp and clutch my chest, choking on air. My heart slams against my ribs. My head spins as images flicker through my mind. Teeth. Blood. Dark fur. A forest swallowing moonlight. And a roar; raw, feral, echoing across my skull.

It feels like I am being torn apart. It feels like I am someone else. The last thing I hear before collapsing is my own voice whispering:

“Who are you?”

And then everything goes black.

RONAN'S POV

Pain has been my shadow for days, but this? This is different. I’m hunting. No, surviving. I’ve managed to put a few miles between myself and the Cleaners after killing their leader, but my body is still shredded, bleeding through makeshift bandages of torn fabric.

The forest wind stings every wound, but I keep moving. I can’t stop. If I stop, they’ll find me. If I stop, I die. Then it hits me. A stabbing pain across my ribs, not from my wounds, but in my mind, sharp as lightning. My knees almost give out.

“What?” I choke.

Another jolt hits my shoulder, burning deep under my skin.

Then a wave of dizziness. A choking gasp. None of it is mine.

My vision blurs, and for a second I see a flash of something impossible: A moonlit room. A girl collapsing. A glowing birthmark burning like a brand. Not a wolf. A witch.

I stagger, grabbing a tree, breath tearing out of my lungs.

“What the hell is happening?” I snarl.

Her pain slams into me again, stronger this time. My pulse stutters. My body reacts like I’m the one collapsing, like I’m the one losing consciousness. I grit my teeth, fighting it off, forcing myself upright.

This isn’t normal. This isn’t instinct. This isn’t magic; I understand. But I know one thing: Someone! Some witch is connected to me in a way that should be impossible. And she’s in pain. A lot of pain.

I clutch my chest as the connection deepens, the bond threading tighter around my ribs. Every breath she loses feels like a piece of my own slipping away.

“No,” I growl. “I don’t want this.”

But the bond ignores my protests. Just like fate always does.

LYANNA'S POV

I wake with a scream lodged in my throat. My whole body trembles. Sweat clings to my skin. My head throbs with a dull, rhythmic ache. I’m not in the east chamber.

I’m back in my confinement room; someone must have dragged me here, but no one else is around. No healer. No council member. Not even a guard. Just silence.

And the overwhelming certainty that something inside me has changed forever.

I press a shaking hand to my birthmark. The skin is hot, pulsing with a faint glow beneath the surface. Every throb sends a new wave of nausea rolling through me.

“Who are you?” I whisper again.

The connection is weaker now, but not gone. Never gone. A faint hum in my chest answers me. Steady, stubborn, wild.

A wolf’s pulse. My stomach twists.

Witches don’t bond with wolves. It’s the first rule etched into coven law. Wolves are violent, unpredictable, and dangerous. Their magic clashes with ours. Their instincts override reason. Their bloodline is cursed. Every child in the coven grows up hearing the stories.

But the thing inside me – the bond – doesn’t care about rules. It doesn’t care about kingdoms. It doesn’t care about me. It beats to one truth: a wolf out there is tied to me. And I felt his pain like it was my own.

RONAN'S POV

I drag myself to a stream, my muscles trembling, blood dripping into the dirt. The water burns against my cuts, but I grit my teeth and wash them clean. The connection flickers again. Softly, like someone touching the edge of my thoughts with cautious fingers.

She’s awake. I feel her heartbeat steadying. I feel her magic simmering. I feel her confusion twisting under her skin.

“Witch,” I mutter, tasting the word like poison.

Witches and wolves don’t mix. Ever. Even the moon avoids their magic. Their spells suppress our instincts; our instincts disrupt their power. The two worlds exist only to hate each other.

So why…why do I feel her? Why does every breath she takes tug at my lungs? Why does her fear thrum inside my chest like a second heartbeat? I shouldn’t care. I don’t care. I shove the sensation down and growl at the cold water. But the bond is still there. Throbbing. Humming. Waiting.

“I’m not going to you.” I snap into the forest, knowing she can’t hear me—but still angry at the air, at the moon, at whatever force thinks it can chain me to a witch. I’m a prince. The Alpha King’s son. I choose my battles. I choose my destiny. No damn prophecy decides that for me. And then… A faint whisper of her fear flickers through me again.

It isn’t loud. It isn’t painful. Just enough to make my pulse skip. Just enough to tell me she’s in danger again. Just enough to make me curse under my breath.

“Damn it.”

I grab what little strength I have left, stand, and stare east. That’s where she is. That’s where the bond pulls. That’s where every instinct in my body screams to go. Not because I want to help a witch. Not because I care who she is.

But because something ancient and relentless is dragging us toward each other like two blades on the same chain. Whether we’re ready or not. Whether we want it or not.

And I know when I find her it won’t be friendly. It won’t be gentle. It will be a collision. A violent one.