The palace had grown too quiet.Even the wind seemed to move in whispers, as though afraid to disturb what lingered within the walls.
Isabella's chambers were heavy with the scent of fever and silver herbs. The healers had tried everything—wolfbane tinctures, moonwater incantations, even the burning of white ash beneath her bed. None had worked. Her skin was pale as marble; her pulse thinned with each dawn.
King Darius sat beside her, his once-regal posture bent beneath invisible weight. His fingers trembled as he brushed a strand of hair from her brow. "She breathes," he murmured, as though saying it might make it truer.
The head healer shook her head, voice breaking. "The plague is not of this world, my king. It rejects every cure we know."
Outside, the moon hung wan and cold above Lycanthra.And somewhere beyond the walls, a storm was coming.
The Summons of the Alpha King
Ryan stood at the heart of the Great Hall, flanked by his six brothers. The Court of Shadows had not been called in over two centuries—not since the Moon Wars.Yet tonight, every banner hung, every torch burned, and every eye turned toward the Alpha King.
"Send word to every border," Ryan commanded. "Every healer, every witch, every doctor, every scholar. I don't care where they hide—drag them to my court."
His voice echoed like thunder across the marble. None dared disobey.
The brothers exchanged glances.Beside him, Lucien, the eldest, placed a hand on his shoulder. "Brother, you summon the world for one woman."
Ryan's jaw tightened. "For my queen."
From further down the dais, Kael, the youngest, smirked. "Let's just hope the witches don't charge for travel. You might have to pawn your temper."
Even Cairn, usually silent, huffed a quiet laugh.Ryan shot them both a glare sharp enough to draw blood. "Mock me again, and you'll be cleaning the kennels."
"Tempting," Kael said. "Less politics there."
Despite the humor, tension thrummed through the room like a heartbeat. The wolves could feel it—the desperation pulsing through their king, the pull of the bond that would not let him rest.
The Arrival of the Witches
By dawn, the hall filled with strangers: healers draped in moonlight silks, alchemists bearing satchels of smoke and glass, scholars with scrolls older than kingdoms. But it was the witches who drew the most attention.
They entered in a slow procession, their leader cloaked in midnight-blue. Her hair shimmered like silver thread, her eyes the color of eclipse light.
"I am Seraphine Vaelor, daughter of the Nightborn line," she said, bowing with eerie grace. "My ancestor wrote The Book of the Eclipse Pact. The curse upon your queen is bound to its prophecy."
Ryan's eyes narrowed. "You know the cause?"
"I know its hunger," she replied. "The Blood Plague was born from imbalance—vampire and wolf divided. The only cure lies in union."
Lucien frowned. "Union?"
Seraphine's gaze lifted to Ryan. "The blood of her mate. The Alpha King's blood carries the power to cleanse what the Moon and Night first divided."
A murmur swept the hall. The brothers exchanged glances—shock, disbelief, even awe.
Ryan's voice came low, dangerous. "My blood?"
Seraphine stepped closer. "Willingly given, freely offered. It will break the plague's hold. But know this—the bond between you will strengthen beyond measure. She will become part of you, and you of her."
Kael whistled softly. "Guess we're planning a royal blood donation, then."
Cairn elbowed him. "You always ruin the dramatic moments."
But the hall had gone still. Every wolf there could sense it—the storm beneath Ryan's skin. His pride warred with the fear of losing her, the bond pulsing hotter, louder.
Finally, he spoke. "Prepare the ritual."
The Blood and the Moon
That night, under the waning moon, the witches gathered in the Moon Chamber. Runes glowed along the marble floor, weaving silver light around Isabella's fragile form. Ryan stood at the center, his brothers behind him, his hand outstretched as Seraphine held the blade.
"Once given, there is no undoing," she warned.
He didn't hesitate. "Do it."
The blade bit deep into his palm; blood shimmered crimson-gold under the moonlight. Seraphine caught it in a crystal chalice, then poured it drop by drop between Isabella's lips. The room trembled—the air thickened with power.
Her body convulsed once, twice—then went utterly still.
Ryan's wolf howled in his chest, a sound only he could hear.Then—her breath caught.Her eyes fluttered open, glowing faintly silver.
The plague was gone.
Aftermath
The Court erupted in shouts and gasps, but Ryan heard none of it. He knelt beside her, trembling. Her heartbeat was steady. Her skin warm again.
"Isabella," he whispered.
Her gaze met his—soft, dazed, alive.
Something inside him snapped. The bond surged, electric and wild, flooding him with the scent and sound of her heartbeat. His wolf stirred, growling low in awe and hunger.
Lucien's voice broke the moment. "Well, that worked."
Kael added with a grin, "I told you, brother—nothing like a little shared blood to spice up a marriage."
Ryan ignored them.He could feel it now—the pull, stronger than ever. Every breath she took dragged against his control. Every heartbeat echoed through his own.
The cure had worked.But as Ryan rose to his feet, his gaze lingering on Isabella like flame to shadow, he realized the witches had not lied.
The bond had changed.And he would never see her the same again.