Chains of Fire
Lana's POV —
The chains rattled every time I moved, their clink echoing off the damp dungeon walls like a cruel reminder of my fall. My wrists were raw where the iron bit into them, the scent of my own blood mixing with the mildew and smoke. Once, this dungeon had been a place of whispered horror stories told to frighten pups into obedience. Now it was my reality; cold, damp, suffocating, and reeking of despair.
And yet, the most suffocating thing here was not the air. It was the two men before me.
Dominic, Alpha of the Crescent Dominion, stood taut as a bowstring, golden eyes simmering with restrained fury. His posture was perfect, unyielding, carved of duty itself; yet I saw the shadow of something else behind those eyes. Regret. Doubt.
Cyril, leaning casually against the bars as if this were a tavern and not a cell, was his opposite. His steel-gray eyes glinted with mischief and hunger. He looked carved from temptation itself, a wolf who thrived on chaos, on bending weakness into weaponry. And he had fixed that gaze entirely on me.
I was the battlefield they had chosen.
Dominic's growl cut through the silence, low and commanding. "I said leave." His voice carried the Alpha's weight, sharp enough to make weaker wolves bow without thought.
But Cyril was no weaker wolf. He only smirked, tilting his head as if he found amusement in Dominic's fury. "Careful, brother. The more you bark, the more desperate you sound." His eyes flicked toward me, and I hated how he made it sound like a secret shared only between us. "And she can smell desperation. Can't you, Lana?"
My lips parted, but I caught the words before they escaped. Desperation was everywhere; the dungeon stank of it. Dominic's regret, Cyril's hunger, my own silent plea for air beyond these stone walls.
Dominic's jaw clenched. "If you lay a hand on her…"
"Oh, but I already have." Cyril's grin widened, wolfish. "Back in the courtyard. Did you not see? In front of the entire dominion, I kissed the hand you threw away. The bond may be broken, Dominic, but the scandal is alive. They're already whispering. They wonder who she belongs to now."
A fresh ache pierced my chest. I belonged to no one. Not anymore.
I lifted my chin, the chains clattering as I did. "Stop speaking about me like I'm some prize to be won. Neither of you own me." My voice cracked, but I forced it stronger, layering steel over splintering bone.
For a breath, the dungeon held its silence. Even the torches seemed to lean closer.
Dominic's golden gaze cut to me, hot and unreadable. "You are not spoils, Lana. You are…" His throat worked as though the words hurt him. "…more than they deserve to call you."
Cyril snorted. "Bold words, coming from the man who cast her aside like carrion."
Their hatred pressed into me, suffocating. The air thickened until every breath felt stolen. I wanted to scream at them both, to tear free of these chains and let them destroy each other if that was what they wanted.
But then…
It came again.
The cry.
At first, soft, a thin wail threading through the stones. My heart jolted. I whipped my head toward the shadows. "Do you hear that?"
Dominic frowned. "Hear what?"
Cyril's smirk faltered, the first crack in his mask. His eyes narrowed. "She hears it."
The sound rose, high and piercing, echoing in places where no child could possibly be. It seemed to crawl inside my skull, wrapping icy fingers around my mind. My skin burned, the rejection scar at my wrist glowing faintly.
The torches flared as if feeding off my pulse.
"It's the prophecy," Cyril whispered, reverence lacing his voice. "The heir calls her."
Dominic's growl shook the air. "Enough of your poison…"
But my scream cut him short.
Agony lanced through me, so sharp I thought my bones might splinter. My chains seared, glowing with silver fire. The rejection scar split anew, bleeding light instead of blood. I arched against the stone wall, every nerve alight with unbearable force.
"Lana!" Dominic lunged, pressing his hands to my shoulders to hold me down. His grip was firm but trembling, as if he feared what I had become.
"No," Cyril snarled, stepping forward. "Let her unleash it. Let them all see what the cursed bride can do."
The dungeon quaked as if the walls themselves feared what was happening. Dust rained from the ceiling. My vision blurred; silver light flooding my sight until the dungeon was nothing but blinding white.
The phantom cry grew louder. Not a child now, but a chorus. Dozens. Hundreds. A thousand unborn heirs screaming through my skull.
I clutched my stomach, terror clawing me apart. Was something alive within me? Or was I only a vessel for prophecy's cruelty?
Dominic swore under his breath, trying to anchor me, but his voice was distant. Cyril's whispers slithered closer instead, wrapping around my ear.
"Let it burn, dove. Let it tear down the dominion. They fear you because they know; you are the end they cannot escape."
I wanted to reject his words, but the power roaring through my veins almost believed him.
The dungeon doors burst open before I could answer.
Guards flooded in, armored and armed, their weapons gleaming with silver edges meant to subdue wolves who disobeyed. Their boots thundered against stone, their snarls sharp with fear as much as duty.
And then, among them moved one who did not belong.
Cloaked in black, his face hidden, his steps too quiet for any soldier. He carried no banner, bore no crest. But the blade in his hand gleamed green under the torchlight.
Wolfsbane.
The blade came down.
The green gleam of wolfsbane seared the air like a streak of death. My lungs seized, my chains rattling as I twisted, but I could not move far enough. Not bound like this. Not trapped.
Dominic lunged first. His body was a blur of muscle and fury, golden eyes flashing as he intercepted the assassin. Metal clashed against claws. Sparks burst. The wolfsbane blade scraped across Dominic's forearm, sizzling against his skin. He snarled, the sound more beast than man, but he held the assassin back with brute force.
"Guards!" his voice thundered. "Take him alive!"
But Cyril; Cyril moved differently.
He didn't rush. He didn't roar. He stalked forward, calm and precise, eyes fixed on the assassin like a wolf choosing which part of the prey to bite first. And when Dominic grappled with the attacker, Cyril slipped behind them, his hand shooting out like lightning.
He caught the assassin's wrist mid-strike, twisting until bone cracked. The blade clattered to the floor, its wolfsbane sheen hissing as it struck stone.
The dungeon reeked of burned flesh and blood.
The assassin screamed, but Cyril only smiled, his grip unyielding. "Who sent you?" His voice was velvet over steel, dangerous in its calm.
The man spat blood. "The cursed bride dies tonight."
My stomach turned to ice. His gaze, his hatred, was not for Dominic, not for Cyril. Only for me.
Dominic slammed him into the wall, claws digging into his shoulder. "Who sent you?" he demanded.
The assassin's lips curled into a bloody grin. "The one who fears her most."
And then—before either of them could stop him, he bit down hard on something hidden between his teeth. Foam frothed at his lips. His body convulsed once, twice, before going limp.
Poison.
Cyril cursed, releasing the corpse as it slid to the ground. "Clever dog. Dead men tell no tales."
Dominic's eyes snapped to me. His arm bled, but he didn't seem to care. His gaze burned with questions, with fury, with regret. "They came for you," he growled. "Not me. Not the dominion. You."
My chains rattled as I forced myself upright, though every muscle trembled. "Because of the prophecy," I whispered. My voice sounded foreign, trembling with something I could not contain. "Because I am ruined."
"No." Dominic's voice cracked like a whip, firm, denying, but his eyes betrayed him. He believed it.
Cyril chuckled darkly, wiping the assassin's blood from his hands onto his black cloak. "No, dove. Not ruin. Power. Enough power that even your Alpha fears you. Enough to make someone pay an assassin to silence you before you learn to wield it."
I wanted to tell him he was wrong. That I wasn't power, I wasn't ruined, I wasn't anything more than a broken girl chained to a wall.
But then…
The cry came again.
Louder. Clearer. Piercing through the dungeon like a blade through flesh.
Every torch flared, flames leaping higher, casting shadows like writhing beasts. The chains around my wrists glowed white-hot. My scar split open, spilling silver light instead of blood.
"No," I gasped, trying to fight it. "Not again."
The ground shook. Dust rained from the ceiling. The guards staggered back, some shifting into wolves in blind panic.
Dominic barked orders, his Alpha voice rolling like thunder. "Contain her! Hold the cell!"
But no one could hold me. Not even myself.
Silver fire burst from my skin, an explosion of raw power that shattered the chains at my wrists. The iron links flew across the dungeon like shrapnel, embedding into stone; and into flesh. A guard screamed as metal pierced his chest. Another fell clutching his face, blood streaming through his fingers.
I stood, trembling, no longer bound. My eyes reflected silver fire in the torchlight. My heartbeat was a drum summoning storms.
Dominic froze, watching me like one might watch lightning strike the earth; beautiful, deadly, uncontrollable.
Cyril, on the other hand, smiled. "Magnificent."
The phantom cry rose higher, joined by whispers now; ancient, echoing, words I could not understand but felt in my bones.
"Make it stop!" I screamed, clutching my head, but the power only surged, lashing outward. Stone cracked. The corpse of the assassin burst into flames, his poison-foamed mouth twisted into a final scream.
Dominic stepped toward me, his arm outstretched, his golden eyes raw. "Lana. Listen to me. You can control it. Focus on me. On my voice."
"No, no, no," Cyril countered, sliding closer like a serpent. "Don't bind yourself again. Don't cage yourself for him. This is who you are. This is freedom."
My heart twisted. One voice pulling me to control, the other urging me to release. Both chains in different skins.
The whispers inside me grew deafening. The dungeon swam. And then…
Through the haze, I saw the assassin's dagger still lying on the floor. The wolfsbane blade, glowing faintly green in the firelight.
And I saw; Dominic, bleeding, his chest heaving. Cyril, watching me like prey he would devour piece by piece.
The whispers surged into words I could finally understand.
"Choose."
My knees buckled. My vision blurred. The last thing I felt was the cold weight of the prophecy pressing down on me as darkness dragged me under.