The whisper coiled around Aria's ears like smoke, leaving a trail of ice in its wake.
"Careful, little wolf. Some bonds were never meant to be found."
Then — darkness.
A rough hand covered her mouth, yanking her backward. Her scream was lost in the pine-scented air as the forest blurred past in a tangle of trees, shadows, and fear.
She struggled — kicking, thrashing — but her attacker was fast. Strong. No scent. No heartbeat she could hear. A creature cloaked in magic. Her vision flickered, the bloodstone in her pocket pulsing like a second heartbeat.
And then everything stopped.
She was dropped, thrown like a sack onto the mossy ground in a clearing surrounded by stone totems — ancient, crumbling, whispering with forgotten language. The figure hovered above her, hooded, faceless.
Aria scrambled back, claws half-formed, her wolf pushing forward, snarling inside her mind.
"Who are you?" she growled, rising.
"You shouldn't be here," the figure said — a voice male, but layered with something inhuman. "That stone you carry doesn't belong in this world anymore."
She reached into her jacket and pulled it out. "This? I didn't ask for it."
The figure's voice dropped lower. "And yet it found you. That makes you dangerous."
"To who?"
The forest wind paused, as if holding its breath.
"To everyone."
Before she could shift, before she could run, pain exploded in her chest. The figure had vanished — no sound, no trace — but the stone burned against her skin. It was glowing. Red. Alive.
A scream ripped from her lips, and the clearing disappeared.
She woke up in her room at the packhouse, soaked in sweat, lungs heaving, hands clutching sheets like lifelines. A nightmare?
No — not a dream.
The bloodstone lay beside her pillow, still warm.
Footsteps pounded up the stairs.
Ash burst in, shirtless, eyes blazing. "You're awake."
Aria stared at him. "I— What happened?"
"We found you unconscious in the woods," he said, moving closer. "No scent trail. No wounds. But you were ice cold. What the hell happened?"
She swallowed. "Someone took me. A man — cloaked in magic. He knew about the stone. Said I was dangerous. Said… some bonds weren't meant to be found."
Ash stiffened. "What did he look like?"
"I didn't see his face. But he wasn't human. He wasn't just a wolf."
He sat on the edge of her bed, tension radiating from him. "You shouldn't have gone into the woods alone."
"I didn't know I was being followed," she snapped. "Why does this keep happening to me?"
His jaw clenched. "Because something bigger is moving, and you're at the center of it."
Aria stared at the stone, which now pulsed with a slow, steady rhythm.
That evening, a meeting was called in the Alpha's war room. Ash stood beside Aria, arms folded, his Beta Kellan and Elder Mira in attendance.
"This isn't just some rogue attack," Mira said, eyes on the stone. "The bloodstone hasn't awakened in over a century. Not since the last Shadowborn war."
Aria blinked. "Shadowborn?"
"Wolves who drank from the corrupted moon," Mira explained. "They were banished — thought extinct."
Ash looked at Aria. "And now one just kidnapped you."
"I didn't sense evil in him," Aria whispered. "Not at first. Just… warning. But that stone — it hurts. It burns."
Mira's gaze turned grim. "Then it's bonding to you. Bloodstones only react to those with Shadowborn blood."
The room fell silent.
Aria's breath caught. "You think I'm one of them?"
"No," Ash said sharply. "I would know."
But Mira didn't look so sure. "Maybe not one. But connected."
Over the next few days, Aria was watched — protected. She trained harder, tested her limits, and kept the stone hidden from others. Its power grew stronger with each passing night. Visions began — flickers of fire, of war, of two wolves standing on opposite cliffs.
One always wore Ash's eyes.
The other wore none.
Her connection with Ash deepened, not through words but silence — through watching each other in battle drills, in full moon runs. His presence soothed something inside her, something wild and uncertain.
But one night, the whispers returned.
"They lied to you, Aria. He lies to you."
She sat bolt upright in her bed.
The stone hovered in midair — hovered.
She reached out — and it flew into her hand like it had waited for her.
The next day, she confronted Ash.
"Why didn't you tell me about the Shadowborn war?" she asked him in the courtyard as he sharpened his blade.
He didn't look up. "Because it was buried history. I didn't think it mattered."
"It does now."
He nodded slowly. "I was afraid."
"Of what?"
"That I'd find my mate, and she'd be cursed by it."
She stared at him. "I'm not cursed."
"No," he said. "You're chosen."
Later that night, unable to sleep, Aria followed the pull of the bloodstone to the ruins beyond the western border — where the old temples of the Moon Goddess lay in shattered stone and ivy.
She shouldn't have gone alone.
Fog curled around her feet like claws. The sky above her was moonless.
Then — a voice behind her.
"You weren't supposed to come."
She turned slowly.
It was him. The cloaked man. Real this time.
"I need answers," she said, heart pounding.
He stepped forward, pulling down his hood.
Her blood ran cold.
He looked like Ash.
But pale. Eyes glowing black. A mirror image twisted by shadow.
"You carry his mark," he said. "But you belong to me."
TO BE CONTINUED…