Chapter 1: The Burning
The air reeked of smoke and death.
Selene ran.
The forest was ablaze behind her, the crackling flames licking up the night sky like a demon's tongue. Her bare feet tore through the underbrush, bleeding and bruised, but she didn't stop. Couldn't stop. Not when they were so close.
Howls echoed through the darkness. Not the kind that stirred the heart but the ones that curdled blood.
They were coming.
Her white ceremonial gown clung to her like a shroud, soaked in blood some of it hers, most of it not. Her lungs burned as fiercely as the inferno behind her, but the fear pumping through her veins was stronger.
She was supposed to be safe. This was supposed to be sacred ground. The Mating Ceremony had been held in the Temple of Moira for over a thousand years without bloodshed.
Until tonight.
Until they came.
Until he betrayed her.
Selene stumbled on a root, crashed to her knees. Pain exploded in her ankle. She cried out, biting her lip to muffle it. She turned, chest heaving.
The sky was lit in crimson fire, silhouetting the towers of Moira's temple as it collapsed into ash. Bodies lay twisted and unmoving. Elders. Warriors. Her sisters. Her betrothed
No. Not betrothed. Deceiver.
Lucian Blackthorn had turned her over like a traitor. The same male who had whispered fate-sweet nothings into her ear now stood with the Crimson Fang the wolves sworn to destroy her bloodline.
He had knelt before her that morning, kissing her palm as he promised eternal loyalty.
And hours later, he had led the slaughter.
Selene gritted her teeth and rose, limping forward, clutching the charm at her neck. It pulsed faintly, its ruby surface glowing hotter with each beat of her heart. Moira's Flame, passed down from mother to daughter.
It had never burned like this before.
She crested a ridge and found herself at the edge of the Moonstone Pool a sacred spring with waters so still they mirrored the stars. For a heartbeat, she hesitated, staring at her reflection.
She barely recognized herself. Blood streaked her cheeks. Her golden hair was matted. Her silver eyes were wild, hollowed by betrayal and grief.
A twig snapped behind her.
She whirled around.
A wolf burst through the trees ahead of her, massive and black, eyes glowing a furious red. Fangs bared, it snarled.
Selene didn't scream.
She closed her eyes. "Goddess, if I am to die let me burn bright."
She raised the charm to her lips.
The wolf lunged.
And fire exploded from her.
Blinding. Consuming. Beautiful.
The blast incinerated the trees in a ten-foot radius, turning the wolf into ash mid-air. Heat seared her skin, but she did not burn. She stood in the center of the inferno, a figure of flame and fury.
But even fire couldn't stop death.
A silver dart pierced her chest.
She gasped, stumbling back. The charm fell from her fingers into the sacred pool. Steam hissed.
She looked up and saw Lucian.
His silver eyes were unreadable. Cold. Haunted.
He stepped from the shadows, shirtless, blood staining his jaw. He had shifted back. His chest rose with exertion, but his hand was steady as he aimed a second dart.
"Why?" she whispered, her voice breaking.
He hesitated.
"It wasn't supposed to be this way," he said hoarsely. "You weren't supposed to wake the Flame."
He threw the second dart.
Darkness took her.
Somewhere between life and death, she floated. Warm hands held her. A voice whispered through the blackness.
"She must rise again… In flame, and fury, and love unbroken."
"She will forget…"
"But she will burn brighter…"
Then silence.
Seventeen years later…
Aria Winters jolted upright in her bed, drenched in sweat, her heart racing. The dream again. The same nightmare that had plagued her since she was twelve.
She clutched her chest, expecting pain. There was none. Only the echo of fire.
The small attic room was silent. Moonlight filtered in through the open window, casting pale shadows across her dusty bookshelf and the cracked mirror. The scent of old paper and lavender clung to the air.
Just a dream. Just a dream.
Except it never felt like one.
She threw off the sheets and swung her legs over the edge. Her toes curled on the cold wooden floor. In the mirror, her reflection looked like a ghost long auburn curls damp, pale skin flushed, eyes glowing faintly silver in the moonlight.
She blinked.
The glow was gone.
Downstairs, her foster mother called out. "Aria! It's almost dawn! You'll be late for the farm."
Aria sighed, brushing hair out of her face. "Coming."
But as she turned to get dressed, she didn't notice the faint red pulse coming from the old pendant hanging on the mirror frame—the one she'd been found with as a baby, wrapped in burnt silk.
Moira's Flame… waiting.
And far across the land, in a fortress made of obsidian and iron, a pair of silver eyes snapped open.
Lucian Blackthorn sat up in bed, chest heaving.
His mark was burning.
"She's returned…" he whispered.
He stood, completely bare in the cold darkness of his stone chamber, his powerful body etched with ancient runes that glowed faintly in response.
He crossed to a wall of glass that overlooked the ravaged mountains below. The moon hung full and red in the sky a blood moon.
He reached up and touched the brand on his chest a phoenix wreathed in flame.
A brand that had not pulsed in seventeen years.
His Beta, Corvin, appeared behind him, silent as a ghost.
"She's awakened," Lucian said. "The soul has returned."
"Do we move now?" Corvin asked.
Lucian's jaw clenched.
"No," he murmured. "Not yet. Let her remember… Let her come into her power."
"And then?"
Lucian's eyes burned silver. "Then I will claim what was always mine."