Chapter 35
Sylas
Sylas woke with Elsa curled against his chest and the Blood Moon already pulling at his bones.
The sensation crept through him like frost spreading across fiber glass—subtle at first, then impossible to ignore.
His instincts had been sharpening since midnight, honing themselves against the edges of his control.
Now, with dawn’s pale light filtering through the chamber windows, he felt the beast inside him stir and stretch, testing its chains.
Tonight.
He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe too deeply.
Elsa lay against him with her golden hair tangled across his arm, her breath slow and even, her heartbeat a steady rhythm that had become more necessary to him than his own.
Through the bond, he sensed the soft blur of her dreams—warmth and movement and fragments of color that made no sense to his waking mind.
Let her rest. She would need every scrap of strength the day could give her.
Sylas tilted his head back against the furs and stared at the ceiling.
The stone was ancient, carved with Lux Tear veins that pulsed in lazy patterns, their glow muted by the morning light.
He’d been born in this fortress. Had taken his first steps in these halls, learned to hunt and fight and kill within its walls.
Had watched his father lose himself to the madness of corrupted Moon Tears and had put him down like the feral beast he’d become.
This place was his. Every stone, every shadow, every bitter memory etched into its bones.
And tonight, he would hunt through it like a predator, tracking the human female who had somehow become the center of everything.
Elsa shifted in her sleep, pressing closer. Her hand found the thick fur of his chest and curled there, unconscious and trusting. The gesture sent something sharp through him—a crack in the careful control he’d spent a lifetime building.
Dangerous. This was dangerous.
The Blood Moon amplified everything—rage, hunger, the feral instincts that lurked beneath the veneer of civilization.
Kings had lost themselves on nights like these.
Had claimed mates and then torn them apart when the hunt’s bloodlust refused to fade.
The histories were full of cautionary tales, whispered warnings passed from generation to generation.
Control yourself, or the moon will control you.
Sylas had never worried about it before. He’d never had anything worth losing control over.
Now he did.
His gaze drifted back to Elsa’s sleeping form.
In the pale blue light, she looked impossibly fragile—all soft skin and golden hair and delicate bones not built for his world.
His claws could shred her without effort.
His teeth could snap her in half. And yet here she lay, trusting him to hold her through the night, trusting him to keep the beast at bay.
What right did he have to that trust?
None. The answer came swift and certain. He had taken her as property, used her as a weapon, let his obsession grow until it consumed every rational thought. He’d told himself it was for the realm, for stability, for the careful balance of power that kept his people alive.
Lies. Comfortable lies that let him pretend he was anything other than what she’d called him the first night: a monster.
But monsters could love. Could worship. Could protect with the same ferocity they used to destroy.
Tonight would prove which one he truly was.
He slipped from the furs without waking her, moving with a hunter’s silence that came as naturally as breathing.
Let them watch.
He crossed to the window and looked out over his territory.
The sun hung low and pale above the frost-covered peaks, its light thin and watery—nothing compared to the crimson that would flood the sky tonight.
Beyond the fortress walls, the snow-laden forest stretched toward the horizon, dark pines standing like sentinels against the white expanse.
Somewhere in those woods, he would catch her.
The thought sent a low growl rumbling through his chest before he could stop it.
“Sylas?”
Elsa’s voice, thick with sleep, pulled him back. He turned to find her sitting up in the furs, hair disheveled, the thin shift she wore slipping off one shoulder. Morning light caught her face and turned her eyes to ice and sky.
Beautiful. Fragile. His.
“The Lux Sabers will come for you soon.” His voice came out rougher than intended. “To prepare you in the Luna room.”
She was quiet for a moment, processing the information. Through the bond, he felt her pulse quicken—nerves rather than fear. Good. Fear would slow her down tonight, and he needed her fast.
“What happens there?”
“You’ll be anointed with ceremonial oils.
Scented with Frosted Tears.” He crossed back to her, lowering himself to one knee beside the sleeping platform so their eyes were level.
“The Luna Ceremony room is sacred. Only those chosen for the hunt may enter. The preparations bind you to Lux’s blessing and ensure I can track you through any terrain, any distance. ”
“So you can find me.”
“I will always find you.”
Her hand lifted to his jaw, her fingers tracing the line of his muzzle with a gentleness that made something ache behind his ribs. “And what will you be doing while they prepare me?”
“Waiting.” The word tasted like restraint.
“Tradition requires I enter the Luna room only after your preparations are complete. I take in your essence—your scent amplified by the oils—and it locks into my instincts. From that moment until I catch you, nothing else exists. No politics. No duties. No distractions.” His paw covered hers, pressing her palm flat against his face. “Only you.”
Something flickered in her expression. Not quite fear. Not quite desire. Something between.
“That sounds...”
“Intense.” He finished the thought for her.
“It is. The Blood Moon sharpens everything. Including me.” He held her gaze without flinching.
“I need you to understand, Elsa. Tonight, I will not be fully myself. The predator you’ve glimpsed—the one that wants to hunt, to chase, to claim—it will be closer to the surface than I’ve ever allowed you to see. ”
She didn’t pull away. Didn’t recoil. Just studied him with those winter-sky eyes that saw too much.
“Are you warning me?”
“I’m preparing you.” He pressed his lips to her palm, a gesture that felt more like worship than he’d intended. “There’s a difference.”
The Lux Sabers came as the sun crested the eastern peaks.
Sylas watched from the doorway as Elsa was led away, her golden hair catching the light, her white ceremonial outfit marking her against the dark stone. She glanced back once—just once—and the look in her eyes landed in his chest like a psyblade.
Trust. After everything, she still looked at him with trust.
He didn’t deserve it. Might never deserve it. But he would kill to keep it.
The morning stretched long, each hour dragging against his skin like sandpaper.
He met with Ryxin to review the hunt’s boundaries—the territory marked for the chase, the emergency protocols if anything went wrong, the Lux Knights positioned at intervals to ensure no challengers interfered.
His brother’s concern was written in the stiff set of his shoulders, the way his cyan eyes kept flicking to Sylas’s face, as if checking for cracks.
“You’re sure about this.” Not a question.
“I’ve never been more certain of anything.”
Ryxin’s mouth twitched. “The court will expect brutality. A show of dominance. They’ll want to see you drag her back by the throat.”
Sylas felt his hackles rise. “The court can choke on their expectations. What happens between me and my mate is no one’s concern.”
“Spoken like a male already lost.” But Ryxin’s tone held no mockery. Only recognition. “Ari looked at me like that once. Before she understood what I was.”
“And now?”
“Now she looks at me like she knows exactly what I am.” His brother’s expression shifted into something almost soft. “And stays anyway.”
The words settled into Sylas’s bones. He thought of Elsa’s hands on his face this morning, her eyes clear and unflinching. She’d seen him kill. Seen him rage. Seen the worst of his nature laid bare and bleeding.
She stayed anyway.
Ryxin left him at the threshold of his chambers with a grip on his shoulder that said more than words could. Sylas watched his brother’s dark form disappear down the corridor, then turned back to the empty room.
The hours crawled.
He paced. Couldn’t help it—the restless energy demanded movement, demanded action, demanded something other than this interminable waiting.
The bond thrummed with Elsa’s distant presence, her emotions muted but constant.
Nervous anticipation. Determination. The faint echo of fear that she refused to let consume her.
He felt it all, and it only sharpened the need clawing at his insides.
Through the window, he watched the sun track its slow arc across the winter sky.
Each degree it dropped toward the horizon tightened the tension coiling in his muscles.
The Blood Moon wouldn’t rise until full dark, but he could already feel its pull—that ancient, primal call that turned kings into beasts and hunters into something worse.
His father had warned him about nights like these. In the lucid moments before the corruption claimed him completely, when he could still recognize his own son, he’d gripped Sylas’s arm with trembling claws and whispered words that haunted him still.
The Blood Moon shows you what you really are, boy. Not what you pretend to be. Not what the crown demands. What lives in your marrow when the control breaks.
Tonight, he would find out if that truth was worth fearing.