Chapter 1 The Beginning

Today marked another Blood Moon Festival without Giselle being found. She knew now that either the witches had caught a glimpse of what she carried in her belly, or the pack leaders would discover she was the traitor king’s daughter. Either outcome would place her in danger. There was no rescue waiting for her. Giselle had refused to tell her husband about the one who appeared last night and the message it brought. Giselle, Luna of the Shadow Fang Pack, was a witch with the power of ice. The Moon Goddess had prophesied that her child would bear the Threefold Gift. But such a gift was tied to the dynasties flowing through her veins. Her lineage came from the ancient royal family of the Werewolves, once called the Wolf Men. Her mother was a witch. But where did the Lycan blood come from? How could one child carry the three most powerful bloodlines and still survive in this cruel world? Centuries ago, the pack leaders conspired with the Ancient one to invade the Lycan kingdom and wipe out every beast in the bloodline. The Lycans had been stronger than the Werewolves, and that strength made them targets. In the betrayal, the royal family was slaughtered—including her father. They had called him a traitor for siding with the beasts. No one knew he had left behind a daughter, born of a witch. That secret had been hers alone, shared only with her mate, Alaric. But if she gave birth to this child, everything would be exposed. The witches would see the prophecy as soon as the child took its first breath. Alpha Alaric burst into his chambers, the door slamming shut behind him. Within, his mate stood by the arched window, her gaze fixed upon the heavens. The full moon hung heavy in the sky, soon to be cloaked in red. One hand rested gently upon her swelling belly, the other tracing slow, soothing circles as if to calm the life stirring within her. “Gather your things,” Alaric said, voice low but urgent. “You must leave at once.” Giselle turned sharply. Her breath caught in her throat. “Leave? Why? What has happened?” “They have uncovered your secret,” Alaric said grimly. Giselle went rigid. “That is not possible. No one knew.” “There is no time for protest,” he snapped, already seizing a woolen shawl from the foot of the bed. With fierce urgency, he swept her few possessions into it, hands moving like a man chased by fate itself. “No.” She rushed to him, grasping his arm. “We leave together. I shall not flee without you.” Alaric stilled, his gaze locking with hers. His jaw tightened and for a fleeting moment, a softness flickered in his eyes, but it was quickly extinguished beneath the cold mask of an Alpha. “You must go,”His voice was ironbound and unyielding. “Not without you,” she cried, voice trembling, torn from the depths of her soul. “We can still escape if we leave now. Before they—” “Giselle.” The single word stopped her cold. It was not a plea, but a command. A summons forged from his alpha tone. It rooted her to the stone floor and stole the breath from her lungs. “Please,” she whispered. Her voice broke as tears welled in her eyes. Alaric reached for her, cradling her face in both hands, calloused thumbs brushing the tears from her cheeks. “I will find you,” he murmured. “By the moon above, I swear it. But if they find you here, they will not spare you. Nor the child you carry.” Before she could answer, the door flew open with a crash. A maid, young Miriam, burst inside, eyes wide with terror, her breath coming in gasps. “The ritual has begun. The pack leaders are gathering by the fire.” Alaric’s head snapped toward her. “Take this,” he said swiftly, thrusting the bundled shawl into the maid’s arms without hesitation. Then he turned back to Giselle. His hands trembled as they cupped her face, his touch achingly gentle, his eyes burning with the weight of all he dared not say. “I will find you,” he said again, his voice hoarse. “On my soul, I vow it.” He kissed her then, desperate. The kind of kiss that clung like a memory. Giselle sobbed, holding him as if she could stop this from happening. “Go,” Alaric whispered, his lips lingering against hers, his voice breaking. “Please.” Miriam stepped forward and tugged lightly at Giselle’s arm. No sooner had they set foot in the garden than Giselle doubled over. A sharp cry tore from her lips as pain lanced through her abdomen. “Luna, by the gods,” Miriam cried, darting to her side to steady her faltering frame. “The child... it comes,” Giselle gasped, clutching her belly as her breath came in ragged bursts. “Breathe, my lady. Breathe,” Miriam urged, voice tight with fear. “Hold fast. We are near the cave.” With a firm grip on her mistress’s arm, she half-dragged, half-guided her across the gravel path and into the waiting darkness beyond. Through a veil of agony and blurred vision, Giselle allowed herself to be led down the narrow passage. The scent of damp earth filled her lungs. The walls pressed close. At the passage’s end, Miriam came to a jarring halt. There stood Lydia Voss. Her best friend. Giselle’s heart surged. “Lydia,” she breathed, a flicker of hope piercing the haze of pain. She took a trembling step forward, then stopped. Something was amiss. Lydia did not move. Her eyes, once warm with friendship, were now distant and glacial. She stared without warmth or recognition. From the gloom behind her, wolves emerged. Silent, watchful, their eyes gleamed with menace. A cold dread curled in her stomach. “Lydia?” she whispered. The woman she had once called sister tilted her head ever so slightly. The gesture was more predator than friend. “Please... you need not do this,” Giselle said, her voice trembling. “Think of the child.” Lydia’s lips parted into a smile. It was bitter and devoid of warmth. “If you wish to avoid harm, or ensure the child survives, you shall come with us,” she said coolly, as though delivering a decree rather than a betrayal. Giselle stared, disbelieving. This could not be the same woman who had once stood beside her at her crowning, who had sworn fealty under moon and oath. Then, from Giselle’s side, Miriam stepped forward. Her voice cut like a blade through the tension. “How dare you bar the Luna’s path?” she cried. “Stand aside, traitor.” Lydia laughed. “After tonight,” she said, her voice like ice, “she shall be no such thing.” Giselle’s chest constricted. “Why?” she breathed. “Why are you doing this? We were friends. You...” “Hold, Giselle. You are mistaken.” Lydia's smile twisted cruelly, “I was never your friend.” The words struck like a blade to the heart. Swift, precise, and without mercy. Giselle staggered back, her breath catching. “That cannot be,” she whispered, eyes shining with disbelief. “Tell me this is a falsehood. Tell me there is still a scrap of truth between us.” But Lydia’s eyes glinted like steel beneath the moonlight. “In our world, my dear,” Lydia started, “we do not wait for fate to favor us. We seize it. I was promised to Alaric. He was mine by every right, until you came and beguiled him.” Giselle’s lips parted, but no sound came. “So,” Lydia continued, stepping forward, “I forged a swifter path to the future I was denied. By offering you to the pack leaders, I have ensured my place in the new order. Through you, my destiny shall be fulfilled.” A hush fell, heavy and terrible. “Now,” Lydia said, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, “do not make this more difficult than it must be. Comply, or bleed here where you stand.” The world tilted beneath Giselle’s feet. Her knees buckled as another contraction seized her, but she clenched her jaw and held fast, summoning what strength she could muster. She had known. Lydia had known everything. And now, nothing would stay her hand. Lydia stepped forward. Giselle recoiled, nearly stumbling upon the uneven stone. “Keep back,” she said, her voice low, trembling. Lydia’s eyes gleamed with cruel amusement. “Do not resist, dear sister,” she murmured. “It shall go the harder for you if you do.” Before Giselle could speak again, Miriam placed herself between them, her small frame taut with defiance. “You shall not touch her,” she said coldly. “Not while I draw breath.” Lydia’s smile twisted, feral. “As you wish.” With a flick of her wrist, her fingers morphed nails lengthening into curved talons gleaming in the cave’s dim light. There was scarcely time to gasp. Lydia struck her. Miriam’s cry was cut short as claws hit her chest, the blow casting her against the cavern wall with sickening force. She collapsed without a sound. “No!” Giselle’s screamed. Lydia turned to her once more. With a silent gesture, she summoned the wolves. But her powers stirred within Giselle, a force as old as frost on stone. Her power, born of winter’s breath, surged forth, cold. With a cry that tore from the depths of her soul, she flung her arms wide. A blast of frigid air exploded from her, laced with shards of ice and rimed with frost. The wolves were cast aside like rag dolls, crashing against the cave walls with howls of pain. The ground trembled, and frost spidered across the stones, reaching like fingers splattered on the wall. Dust fell. The air turned brittle. Yet Lydia stood untouched amid the storm. Her smile did not falter. From the folds of her skirt, she withdrew a crystal, pulsing faintly with a cold, alien light. “Do not squander what little strength remains, sweet Giselle,” she murmured. “It shall end soon enough.” The crystal flared, white and sharp. Giselle screamed as the searing light pierced her mind. The cold within her was ripped away, not gently but by force, as if every thread of her being were unravelled and torn. Her body gave way. She collapsed to her knees, her breath shallow. Her limbs numbed. The frost that had once obeyed her now fled. Darkness gathered at the edges of her sight. The last thing she beheld was Miriam’s broken form, lying motionless, and Lydia’s smile....triumphant, merciless. Then all faded into silence.