Chapter One: The Curse in Her Veins
The rocks bit into my knees as I kneeled in the dirt, the metallic taste of blood thick on my tongue. My cheek throbbed where the village elder had struck me, and my wrists burned from the tight leather thongs they hadn't even slackened after dragging me through the square like an animal.
They formed a jagged circle around me, dark and full of malice. They always stood that way when something had gone wrong—when crops died, a child grew sick, a cow was born dead. I was their fix, their scapegoat. The cursed girl. Born under a blood moon. Marked.
"The child still burns with fever," Elder Graem growled. His deformed hand was pointed at me like an accusation carved from flesh. "And you expect us to believe this is coincidence?"
I said nothing. Speaking only fed them. They didn't want truth. They wanted punishment.
"Silence is sign of guilt," a voice spat from the crowd. A voice I recognized—Kael. Always the first to throw stones, always the last to look me in the eye.
The bitter wind grabbed at the edge of my tattered shawl, lashing it like a flag above the ruins of my dignity. I flinched barely. Pain was a familiar friend now. Hunger was, also. My stomach had emptied itself long ago, clearing the way for determination.
"You should have been drowned at birth," a woman exclaimed from behind me. "A mercy, really.".
The words slid over me like knives dulled by repetition. I gazed at the earth, beyond the bloodied ground, into the cracks of rock. Somewhere, deep below it all, the world must be gentler than this.
Someone stepped forward. I felt the scrape of boots. Then the freezing splash of water struck my face.
I gasped.
"Let her be clean before the forest claims her," Elder Graem said with mock piety.
I glanced up then. The forest?
There was a rustle through the group. My heart faltered.
They weren't going to kill me themselves.
They were going to sacrifice me.
The realization crept in gradually, like frost climbing up my spine. I'd heard the stories—how the werewolves of the Moonfire Pack demanded blood tributes to stay away from human villages. An ancient superstition, spoken in drunken warnings and muted conversations. Wolves didn't negotiate. Wolves didn't bargain.
They devoured.
"No," I whispered, my voice raspy. "You can't."
She speaks now," Graem snarled. "Let the beasts judge. If she's what she claims not to be, they'll know it. And if she dies, it'll be the forest's will.".
Two men grabbed me by the arms. I fought, heels dragging on the ground, breath ripping on fear. My shoulders screamed in protest, but I did not cease. I could not. This was no longer discipline—it was a death sentence disguised as ritual.
"You bastards—"
A fist slammed into my side. The air burst out of me, and the world went fuzzy.
The scent of decay and pine. The cold air. The rasp of bark on my back. The dull chunk of blade into wood as they drove stakes into the ground to secure the iron chains around my wrists.
The men said nothing. They wouldn't look at me.
Cowards.
With the last of those chains clinking into place, they vanished into the trees. No word. No prayer.
The silence it left behind was louder than screams.
Darkness crept in, slow and thick. My dress clung to me, damp with fear and grime. Above, the blood moon rose—swollen, crimson, watching.
I was alone.
I pulled once on the chains. Futile. The iron dug into my skin, and I gave a strangled cry. Then silence again.
The forest was alive with sound. Crickets. Wind. The crunch of something too big to be a rabbit. Every shadow twisted like it had teeth.
I curled in on myself as much as the chains allowed, biting down on the sob welling in my throat. I would not cry. Not for them. Not even for myself.
But I did. Silently. Salt streaks on a bruised face. The wind scattered my tears nowhere.
A low growl split the night.
I froze.
It was from the trees—low, primal, and decidedly close.
There was another growl. Then a second, shorter and more commanding. Like a warning. Or a command.
Branches snapped.
I held my breath.
Then I saw him.
He stepped into the clearing like he owned it, like it bent around him. Tall, broad-shouldered, wrapped in black. Not a beast—a man, though there was something wild about him. Hair as dark as pitch. Eyes silver-bright, glowing faintly in the blood moon’s light. His face was chiseled, sharp, angry.
And beautiful.
He looked at me like I’d already disappointed him.
Then he spoke—voice low, rough like smoke and gravel.
They made me an offering," he said, somewhat uninterested. "But they did not say you were mine."
My heart missed a beat.
What?
He stepped closer. I flinched, chains rattling.
He tilted his head to one side, nostrils widening as if he could scent my fear. Something dark flickered in the back of his eyes—hunger, leashed but deadly.
"Human," he snarled. "But not pure. Not entirely.".
He knelt before me, eye level now. I couldn't look away. Those eyes… they burned. Silver and depthless.
"Who are you?" he whispered.
I swallowed. "Elara."
His jaw clenched. I didn't know why.
"I should kill them," he whispered. "For putting hands on what's mine."
My breath caught.
"You're wrong," I said, not much more than a whisper.
He didn't blink. "No. I'm not.".
Then, just like that, he stood. Turned. And with a snap of his fingers, the chains on my wrists swung open like they'd never been closed.
I collapsed into the dirt.
He didn't look back. "Get up."
"Why?"
"Because if you don't, something else will catch up to you before I decide whether to bring you back. "
His voice was curt, cold. But it wasn't a threat.
It was a fact.
I had no clue who he was.
I didn't know why he'd said I was his.
But one thing I did know as I forced myself to stand and stumble after him into the night—
My fate had altered.
And the night that claimed me now was more dangerous than anything I'd ever known.
But maybe—just maybe—it was also the beginning of everything I'd been deprived of.