Not crimson — not silver — but a viscous shade between both, as though it could not decide which allegiance I now belonged to. The thick fluid welled from the carved veins, trickling down the root’s petrified bark to pool around my bare feet.
The scent of it made my wolf uneasy.
Blackfang elders ringed the ritual chamber, their faces shadowed beneath hoods of obsidian fur. Their howls hummed low in their throats, vibrating against the stone walls like a heartbeat not my own.
Nicero stood opposite me, stripped of his jacket, the intricate scar-lines of his past battles etched across his arms and collarbone like runic script written in flesh.
“You still have time,” he said quietly. “Once the bond seals, even the Moon Goddess will no longer recognize your former pack.”
“I lost her blessing the night my child was stolen,” I replied. “This is not about permission. It’s about survival.”
His eyes softened for a fleeting moment — then hardened again. “So be it.”
The eldest of the elders raised his staff. “Let the contract be spoken.”
The runes around the Moon-root ignited, silver-black light spiraling upward in violent ribbons. I felt the mountain breathe beneath me — ancient, massive, alive.