CHAPTER 4 — THE CITADEL THAT HOWLS
1297 Words
The Frostfang Citadel did not welcome strangers.
It loomed from the cliffs like a beast carved from moonstone—tall, jagged spires rising into the mist, walls etched with ancient runes that pulsed faintly under the full moon. The wind here did not merely howl.
It listened.
Seraphine felt it the moment she crossed the threshold.
The air pressed against her skin, heavy with lunar residue and blood memory. Every instinct in her body screamed that this place remembered wars—remembered witches burning, wolves dying, screams echoing against ice.
And it remembered her kind.
The gates sealed behind them with a thunderous groan.
Seraphine did not flinch.
She refused to.
Ahead of her, Damian and Darius walked side by side, their presence unmistakably Alpha—backs straight, shoulders squared, steps measured. Every werewolf they passed lowered their gaze, fists striking chests in silent acknowledgment.
Twin Alpha.
The prophecy incarnate.
She was acutely aware of how out of place she looked.
Her coat—dark, shadow-threaded, witch-born—stood in stark contrast to the silvers, blacks, and blues of Arclion. Her magic pulsed quietly beneath her skin, restrained, contained, but never dormant.
Eyes followed her.
Not hostile.
Wary.
Hungry.
“She’s walking in too calmly,” someone whispered.
“A witch doesn’t fear our walls?”
Seraphine heard every word.
She said nothing.
Damian slowed just enough to match her pace.
“Stay close,” he murmured, not turning his head.
“I don’t need protection,” she replied softly.
His jaw tightened.
“I didn’t say protection.”
Darius glanced over his shoulder, silver eyes glinting with amusement.
“He means restraint,” he added. “Ours.”
That did not reassure her.
They entered the High Hall.
The chamber opened vast and cathedral-like, ceiling lost in shadow, columns carved like frozen fangs. Moonlight spilled through crystalline windows, illuminating a circular dais at the center.
The Council was already assembled.
Seven elders sat upon thrones of stone and bone—Alpha-born, each marked with Moonbrand sigils glowing faintly beneath their skin. Their gazes sharpened as the twins approached.
Then—
They saw her.
The hall went silent.
One of the elders rose slowly, his fur-lined cloak brushing the floor.
“A witch,” he said, voice echoing. “In Frostfang.”
Another snarled openly. “Have you lost your minds?”
Damian stopped at the foot of the dais.
“She is under our protection,” he said evenly.
A ripple of shock moved through the chamber.
Darius stepped forward beside him, expression dangerously calm.
“And under our authority.”
Seraphine felt it then—a shift, subtle but unmistakable.
The Council’s attention sharpened.
Not just curiosity now.
Threat assessment.
“She is Red Moon,” one elder said, eyes narrowing. “I feel it.”
A murmur swept the hall.
Red Moon Witch.
The curse.
The anomaly.
Seraphine lifted her chin.
“If you plan to execute me,” she said quietly, “do it now.”
A few wolves bristled at her tone.
Damian’s voice cut through the tension, low and ironclad.
“No one touches her.”
The authority in his voice struck like a physical blow.
Even the elders hesitated.
Darius smiled faintly.
“She entered our territory during a lunar convergence,” he said. “Alive. Unharmed. That alone should concern you.”
One of the elders studied Seraphine intently.
“You resonate,” he said slowly. “With them.”
The word hung heavy in the air.
Seraphine felt her pulse spike.
Damian’s shoulders stiffened.
Darius’ smile vanished.
“That is not up for discussion,” Damian said.
“Oh, but it is,” the elder replied. “If the Pulse stirs again—”
“It won’t,” Darius snapped.
“Not unless you provoke it.”
Silence fell once more.
Finally, the Night Council leader leaned forward.
“She stays,” he said. “Temporarily.”
A pause.
“Under supervision.”
Seraphine exhaled slowly.
Not relief.
Calculation.
Damian turned slightly toward her, his voice barely audible.
“You’ll be given quarters.”
“I don’t want—”
“Close to ours,” he continued, cutting her off gently but firmly.
Her breath caught.
Darius added, softer, “For your safety.”
She looked between them.
“Or yours?”
Neither answered.
The hall dismissed shortly after, tension lingering like frostbite.
As they moved through the inner corridors, the Citadel seemed to narrow—stone walls pressing in, moonlight dimmer here, shadows deeper.
Her magic prickled uncomfortably.
The corridors knew she was not wolf.
Damian stopped before a carved door marked with twin sigils.
“This is yours,” he said.
Seraphine stared at it.
Twin sigils.
“You planned this,” she said quietly.
Darius leaned against the wall nearby, arms crossed.
“We anticipated resistance,” he replied. “Not… resonance.”
Damian looked at her, expression unreadable.
“If you feel overwhelmed,” he said, “call for us.”
“I don’t need—”
Her words died as a wave of dizziness hit her.
The Citadel pulsed.
Moonlight flared.
Her vision blurred.
Damian moved instantly, one hand gripping her arm—not tight, but steady.
The contact sent a jolt through her body.
Heat.
Stability.
Her shadows recoiled, then stilled.
Darius stiffened, eyes flashing.
“Easy,” he warned.
Seraphine steadied herself, heart racing.
“…That was the Citadel,” she murmured. “It reacted to me.”
Damian didn’t let go immediately.
“Or to us,” he said.
Their eyes locked.
Something unspoken surged between them—dangerous, intimate, forbidden.
Darius stepped closer.
“Inside,” he said softly. “Before someone sees.”
They entered.
The chamber was unexpectedly warm.
Firelight flickered along the walls, casting soft shadows. The space was simple but refined—stone, furs, silver-inlaid furniture. Two doors branched from the main room.
One to the left.
One to the right.
Twin quarters.
Seraphine swallowed.
“This is deliberate,” she said.
Damian closed the door behind them.
“Yes.”
Darius watched her carefully.
“You’re shaking,” he noted.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re lying.”
She bristled. “I don’t answer to you.”
A beat.
Darius stepped closer—not threatening, but undeniably present.
“No,” he said quietly. “But your magic does.”
Her breath hitched.
She felt it too—the subtle pull, the hum beneath her skin, the way her power leaned instinctively toward them like iron to a lodestone.
Damian’s voice dropped.
“This isn’t desire,” he said. “Not yet.”
Her eyes snapped to him.
“Yet?”
He met her gaze steadily.
“It’s alignment.”
That was worse.
She turned away, forcing distance.
“I won’t be bound,” she said. “Not to prophecy. Not to wolves.”
Darius’ tone softened unexpectedly.
“Then don’t be.”
She turned back, startled.
Damian nodded.
“No one will force you,” he said. “But we can’t pretend this isn’t happening.”
Her fingers curled into fists.
“And if I leave?”
The twins exchanged a look.
A silent conversation.
Darius answered.
“The Citadel will feel it.”
Damian finished, voice low.
“And so will we.”
The fire crackled.
Moonlight slid across the floor, touching all three of them.
Seraphine wrapped her coat tighter, heart pounding.
“Then give me time,” she said. “To understand this.”
Damian inclined his head.
“You have it.”
Darius smiled faintly.
“For now.”
Outside, the Citadel howled—deep, resonant, alive.
And somewhere within its ancient walls, something old and dangerous stirred.
The moon had accepted her.
Whether she wanted it or not.
- Writer
