Chapter 7 Blood And Oaths

By morning, the Inquisitor’s body was gone. Not buried. Not burned. Just… vanished. Aria stood in the ruins of her room—scorch marks blackening the floor, the window blown inward by force or magic—and shivered. Mira stood beside her, arms folded. “Council agents never stay dead. They return to the dirt they came from. And when they do… they tell.” Aria turned slowly. “They’ll know what I did.” Mira nodded grimly. “And they’ll come for you.” “For Dominic.” “For both of you.” Aria’s hands trembled. She tried to steady herself on the windowsill, but the burn on her side flared. She hissed through her teeth. “You should run,” Mira said quietly. “Leave this place. Disappear before the Council sends a Hunter.” “I’m not leaving.” Aria’s voice was low but fierce. “Not until I get answers. Not until I look Dominic in the eyes and hear the truth from him.” Mira hesitated. “You want the truth?” Aria nodded once. “Then there’s something you need to see.” --- The tunnel was narrow, carved beneath the manor generations ago. Mira lit a lantern with trembling fingers, her face lined with shadows and secrets. “This passage leads to the war room,” she whispered. “Dominic’s private vault. Where he keeps what even the Council doesn’t know about.” Aria felt the tension in the air thicken as they descended. The stairs creaked with age. The walls closed in. And then they reached the door. Steel-reinforced. Runes etched into every corner. Mira pressed her palm against a symbol, whispered something in the Old Tongue. The door groaned open. And Aria stepped into a chamber that smelled of dust, blood… and power. Books lined the walls—ancient volumes with cracked spines and no titles. Weapons hung from racks—many she didn’t recognize. But what caught her breath was the object in the center of the room: A black pedestal. And on it, a crystal orb glowing silver-blue. The moment Aria stepped forward, it pulsed—alive. “What is this?” she asked. Mira didn’t answer. Because the orb spoke first. --- Visions slammed into her. A forest, burning red. Wolves howling as stars fell from the sky. A woman with Aria’s eyes, blood on her lips, holding a baby wrapped in silk embroidered with moons. And Dominic—much younger, kneeling before a council of elders, a binding chain around his throat, swearing an oath: > “I claim her. She is mine. By blood. By fate. I will protect her. Even if it breaks every law.” Aria stumbled back, gasping. The orb dimmed. She clutched her chest. “He knew.” Mira’s voice was soft. “He knew before you were born.” Aria turned slowly. “What am I?” Mira looked at her with sorrow. “The Moon’s weapon.” --- Hours later, Aria stood in the training yard behind the manor, wrapped in silence. She stared at the worn blades and sparring dummies. Once, she had been afraid to touch a sword. Now, her blood craved steel. Dominic had marked her. But not out of lust. Out of duty. She wasn’t just his mate. She was his charge. His curse. And if he thought that gave him the right to control her—he’d soon learn otherwise. --- Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, Dominic Blackthorne stood before the High Council, eyes dark, jaw clenched. The chamber was cold, built of stone and bone. The Elders sat in a crescent, watching him like vultures waiting for meat to rot. “You were warned,” the High Elder rasped. “The Moon Blessed girl was not to be touched.” “I claimed her to protect her,” Dominic said, voice low. “To protect yourself,” the Elder spat. “To bind her power to your house. To weaponize her.” “She’s not a weapon.” “She’s a threat! And because of your arrogance, the Inquisitor is dead!” Dominic's eyes flickered. He didn’t deny it. Because deep down, he felt the truth. Aria was becoming something even he couldn’t control. And he… had never wanted to. The High Elder stood. “The punishment is clear. For violating the sacred law, your Alpha title is hereby suspended.” A collective gasp echoed through the chamber. “You have one moon cycle to return the girl. Or we will come for both of you.” --- Back at the manor, a hooded figure watched Aria from the woods. Eyes glowing. Hands twitching. And on their wrist, a brand burned red: The Mark of the Hunter. ---