The moon hung over Lycanthra like a blade—sharp, silent, merciless.Its light spilled across the Citadel's black towers, turning them to silver spears against the sky. Within those walls, whispers of fear and sickness spread like wildfire.
The Blood Plague had crossed the borders.
And this time, it had found its way to the queen.
The Fever
The healers' hall had become a place of shadows and desperation. Bowls of crushed herbs, vials of wolfsbane elixir, and blood-filled chalices cluttered every surface. Yet nothing stilled the fever that burned through Princess Isabella Reon's veins.
She lay upon a bed of moonlit silk, her dark hair tangled against the pillow, her breathing shallow—too shallow for a creature of immortal blood. Her skin, once luminous as starlight, had taken on a glassy pallor, veins faintly black beneath the surface.
King Darius sat beside her, shoulders heavy beneath his crimson cloak. His hand—cold, trembling, ancient—rested atop hers. "Stay with me, my child," he whispered. "You have survived wars and curses. You will not be taken by this."
A healer knelt nearby, voice trembling. "We've tried everything, Your Majesty. Wolfsbane, moonfire, even the ancient incantations from Theralis. The plague rejects every cure."
"Then find another," Darius hissed, eyes gleaming like frozen rubies. "I did not cross kingdoms to watch my daughter die."
The healer bowed low, shame and fear in his scent. "We will not stop trying."
But even he could not hide the truth. The disease was evolving. It was no longer merely a vampire's curse—it was something else now. Something alive.
Something bound.
The Shadow in the Hall
Far beyond the chamber doors, unseen by mortal eyes, a shadow moved.
Ryan Azaron Steel stood cloaked in darkness, silent as breath, golden eyes glinting faintly from beneath his hood. The scent had dragged him here—blood and sickness, threaded with the unmistakable pulse of the bond.
He hadn't meant to return.
He had sworn to stay away—to bury himself in the wilderness, where the scent of her wouldn't torment him, where his wolf's constant whisper would finally fade.
But it hadn't. It had only grown louder.
You feel it too, his wolf mocked, pacing inside his mind. The fever burns through her, and you burn with it.
"Enough," Ryan growled inwardly.
You can't silence truth, Alpha.The wolf's laughter was low, broken. You left your mate to die.
He clenched his fists, claws digging into his palms. "She is not my mate."
Then why are you here? the beast asked softly. Why does every step toward her make your pulse steady—and every step away, tear it apart?
Ryan's jaw tightened. He didn't answer.
From the shadows, he watched as Darius barked another order to the healers. The king looked smaller now, the weight of centuries bending his proud shoulders. Around them, the wolves of Lycanthra worked in uneasy silence, their loyalty trembling between obedience and pity.
When the healers brought a vial of pure wolfsbane and poured it over Isabella's wounds, the air filled with a hiss like burning metal. She convulsed, gasping, her back arching against the sheets. The black in her veins writhed like living ink, resisting the cure.
"Enough!" Darius thundered, tearing the vial from the healer's hands. "You're killing her!"
"It's the only known remedy—"
"Then your remedies are worthless!" Darius's voice cracked, fury and grief bleeding into one. He pressed his hand against Isabella's forehead, whispering something in the old tongue—a prayer, or a promise. "Please, moon above, don't take her from me."
Ryan's throat tightened.
He had seen kings fall, empires burn, warriors beg for death—but nothing struck deeper than the sound of a father breaking.
The Pull of the Bond
The bond pulsed like fire in his veins.
He could feel her heartbeat—weak, fading, yet still fighting.Every breath she took echoed in his chest. Every shiver of pain drew blood from his will.
He pressed a hand to the wall beside him, eyes closing. "What is happening to me?"
It's her, his wolf murmured, quieter now. She's in pain, and the bond carries it to you. You can deny her all you want, but the blood doesn't lie.
Ryan's eyes burned gold. "I won't let her break me."
She already has, the wolf whispered, almost gently. Look at you, hiding in the dark like a coward. The Alpha King of Lycanthra, too afraid to touch his own mate.
Ryan's lips curled into a bitter smile. "I came to see if she still lived. That's all."
Liar.
He didn't argue. He couldn't.
The Moment of Fracture
Hours passed. The fever deepened.
Isabella murmured faintly in her delirium, the words barely coherent—but when Ryan listened, the sound froze him in place.
"…Ryan…"
He went still.
Darius rose from his chair, startled. "Isabella?"
Her eyes fluttered open, glazed with fever. "He's… here…"
The king frowned, scanning the room. "No, my child. He is not."
But she wasn't looking at him. Her gaze was unfocused—yet fixed upon the very shadows where Ryan stood hidden.
She felt him.
Through the bond. Through the sickness. Through the silence.
Ryan's wolf growled low in his mind. She calls for you. You still going to hide, Alpha?
He turned away, fists trembling. "This isn't my burden."
It's your fate.
Her breathing hitched—then faltered. The sound cut through him like a blade.In that instant, all the walls he'd built—the pride, the anger, the denial—cracked.
Before he realized he'd moved, he was already there.
The Reveal
The doors burst open with a gust of wind. The torches flickered violently as Ryan stepped into the light, his cloak billowing behind him like a storm made flesh. The scent of dominance, wild and ancient, filled the room.
Healers dropped to their knees. Darius turned sharply, shock and fury colliding in his face.
"You," the king breathed. "You dare show yourself now?"
Ryan didn't answer. His golden eyes were locked on Isabella.
He crossed the room in two strides, kneeling beside her bed. Her fevered gaze found him at once—recognition flaring like a dying star. "You came," she whispered, voice trembling.
"Apparently," he murmured, the single word thick with too many meanings.
He pressed his palm against her hand. The instant their skin met, a surge of heat shot through them both—energy rippling through the air like a heartbeat made visible. The black in her veins pulsed once… and stilled.
For a moment, there was only silence.
Then she exhaled, a soft sound—half relief, half pain—and sank back into stillness.
The healers stared, wide-eyed. "Her pulse… it's stabilizing," one breathed.
Darius's gaze hardened. "So. The bond sustains her."
Ryan rose slowly, his expression unreadable. "It seems so."
"Then you will stay," the king said sharply. "If her life depends on you, you'll not leave her side again."
Ryan turned toward him, the golden fire in his eyes rekindling. "Do not command me, old king."
Darius's lips curved in a faint, grim smile. "I just did."
They stood in silence, two rulers bound by one dying girl and a curse neither could undo.
Finally, Ryan looked back at Isabella, her fragile breaths echoing in the dimness. He brushed a strand of hair from her face, his voice low, dangerous. "You're not dying. Not yet."
As he turned to leave, his wolf's voice followed him.Not yet, it echoed. But you are.