Chapter 45Selene
Chapter
Forty-Five
SELENE
T he world around me rushes back in a blur of chaos—shadows screeching, the warlocks battling ferociously, and the air thick with the tension of the Blood Moon rising above us. My heart pounds as the vivid images of burning witches and the grim prophecy of the altar still sear my mind. The witches’ warning rings in my ears: Only by binding myself to the warlocks can the curse be lifted. But it would destroy them.
I swallow hard, forcing myself to push that thought aside. I can’t— won’t —allow them to meet the same fate as the witches, even if that’s what the witches desire. There must be another way.
The altar pulses beneath my fingertips, its energy ebbing and flowing like the beat of my own heart. I know I need to act, and fast. The shadows are relentless, and the warlocks are starting to falter. I watch as they fight off the waves of lesser warlocks and the dark creatures, but their strength is fading.
No matter how much power they have, they're struggling against the overwhelming force of the shadows and the curse.
I let the memory of his words wash over me, pushing back the fear that threatens to consume me. Harness it. Don’t fight it. The power is too strong to hold back, and trying to control it is futile—I have to move with it, flow with it, as Lucien said.
Taking a deep breath, I stop resisting and instead surrender to the surge of energy within me. It thrums, vibrating under my skin like a living thing, untamable and fierce. I let it guide me, like Lucien taught, letting go of the need to control and simply allowing the magic to flow.
I move my hands, feeling the current build, drawing from the chaotic force within. It grows stronger, wild but somehow fluid, and with one sharp exhale, I release it, letting it rush through me like water breaking through a dam.
The magic bursts out from me, surging from the altar with raw, untethered power. The shockwave ripples through the clearing, and I can feel it—not a precise strike, but a force of nature, a wave of energy that I’ve learned to ride. The shadows and lesser warlocks recoil, pulled back by the sheer magnitude of the magic that moves through me. For a brief moment, they scatter, giving the others room to breathe.
I stand there, breathless but steady. Not in control—but in harmony with the power flowing through me.
They turn to me, shock evident on their faces, but there’s something else there too—a mixture of awe and fear.
“What the hell was that?” Lucien pants, his chest heaving as he leans on his sword for support.
I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “I had a vision,” I begin, my voice shaking slightly, “and I know what we need to do.”
Adrian steps forward, eyes narrowing as he studies me. “What kind of vision?” he asks, his voice low and cautious.
I hesitate, not wanting to reveal everything I saw—the burning witches, their screams, the fury in their eyes as they called for vengeance. “It was... about the altar. The witches. The curse. If we want to break the Order’s hold, we have to bind ourselves together. Here. Now.”
Lucien scoffs, wiping blood from his lip. “Are you out of your mind? We're fighting for our lives here, and now you want us to go through some ritual?”
I shake my head, frustrated. “This isn’t just about escaping. If we don’t break the curse, it’s never going to end! The Order will grow stronger and you'll never be truly free.”
“I’ve known that for a while,” Damien says quietly, his eyes meeting mine. “But how do we know we can trust this... vision?”
I look at him, my heart pounding in my chest. His face is etched with skepticism, but there’s something softer in his gaze. Vulnerability. “I don’t know if you can trust the vision,” I admit, my voice low, “but you have to trust me.”
Silence falls over the clearing, tension thick between us.
“And what exactly is this plan?” Lucien asks, his tone mocking. “We all just hold hands and hope for the best?”
I glare at him, forcing myself to keep my composure. “No. It’s not about hoping. We need to bind our powers together. The Blood Moon will give us the strength to challenge the Order.”
Lucien shakes his head. “And you think binding ourselves to you will fix this? You think we can just... fight them off with this—” He gestures around us at the flickering light from the altar, “—stone slab?”
I feel my frustration building, but I hold it in. “No,” I say slowly. “The witches power is imbued into this stone. They are bound to it. I can tap into that. They're cursed in much the same way as the Order is. If we don't try, the Order will continue to control you. This is the only way to fight back.”
“Witches?” Adrian’s brow furrows. “You spoke with them?”
My stomach twists, but I force myself to explain. “Yes. The Order—your ancestors—hunted them, burned them alive, trying to harness their power. They want me to do the same to you. To harness your power and destroy you with it.”
The tension thickens. Lucien looks incredulous, while Adrian remains silent, his eyes glinting with a mixture of curiosity and something darker.
Lucien’s jaw tightens, and I see the doubt written on his face. “So, why would we agree to this? You've been told to kill us."
I take a deep breath, steadying myself. “The witches wanted revenge. But, I don't. I want to destroy the Order, but I'm not going to kill all warlocks to do it.”
The warlocks exchange glances, their skepticism evident.
"Which is why I think there is another way. Just as your ancestors found another way to harvest souls. I think it's the key to destroying the Order without sacrificing," I gulp, "well, everyone."
“And you have this ‘other way’ figured out?” Damien asks.
“I think...” I swallow hard. “I think it has something to do with pleasure. Desire. That’s how warlocks have always been able to take power, right? By feeding off the souls of others in moments of ecstasy? Maybe... if we channel that energy together, we can become strong enough to defeat the Order without anyone dying.”
A stunned silence falls over the clearing as the weight of my words sinks in. It’s a dangerous gamble, but it’s the only alternative I can think of.
“And you expect us to just... go along with that?” Lucien’s voice is hard, disbelieving.
“I don’t expect anything,” I say, feeling the vulnerability in my voice. “But if you trust me—if you believe in what I’m saying—then we can do this.”
The warlocks stare at me, their expressions unreadable. I can feel their hesitation, their fear. But there’s something else too—a glimmer of hope.
Damien steps forward, his voice soft. “I trust you.”
Adrian follows, nodding slowly. “So do I.”
Lucien hesitates, his eyes narrowing, but after a moment, he sighs. “Fine. But this better not be a mistake.”
Ronan turns back toward the edge of the clearing, his gaze focused on the shadows just beyond the protective circle, as if he's weighing his options. I feel the weight of his eyes on me, even as he stands apart from the rest of us. The tension is palpable, and I can’t help but feel a chill race down my spine at the thought of his unpredictable nature. His power. His ability to betray .
Adrian steps forward, his tone clipped. “He’s watching us closely.”
Lucien crosses his arms, glancing at Ronan with open suspicion. "What of him?" Lucien asks, his voice edged with a mixture of distrust and curiosity.
I shake my head, my heart pounding in my chest. “I don’t know yet. Maybe we won’t need him.”
Adrian’s gaze sharpens, and I can see the doubt flicker in his eyes. “Something tells me that we will,” he says, his voice laced with both caution and understanding.
I swallow hard, trying to suppress the gnawing sense of uncertainty creeping through me. I don’t know what Ronan will do when the moment comes, but something deep down tells me that Adrian is right—we may not be able to avoid his involvement. Not if we want to end this.
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, though I know I’m lying to myself. It does matter. Everything matters. But right now, I need to focus. On the ritual. On the power coursing through me.
The wind around the clearing seems to die down as I move toward the altar, my heart pounding in my chest with each step. I reach the stone and place my hand on its cool surface, feeling a pulse of energy surge through my fingertips. The altar hums with ancient magic, a power older than any of us, waiting to be unlocked.
I climb onto the altar, the air growing still, heavy with anticipation. My breath comes in shallow bursts as the stone beneath me pulses again, this time more insistent, as if calling out to me.
Adrian, Lucien, and Damien move closer, circling around the altar like silent sentinels, their eyes dark with intent. The weight of what’s about to happen presses down on all of us, thickening the air with a mix of anticipation and desire. Their power swirls around me, amplifying the hum of magic that fills the clearing. My pulse quickens, and the pull between us intensifies, as if the ritual is already beginning.
I can feel it—the connection between me and them, a bond not just of power, but of something deeper. Something primal. The three warlocks are focused entirely on me, their eyes gleaming with a mixture of hunger and restraint.
Adrian’s gaze locks onto mine, his voice a whisper. "Are you ready for this?"
I nod, though my body trembles slightly, not just from fear, but from the overwhelming desire that thrums through me. “Yes,” I say, my voice quiet but firm. I look at each of them—Adrian, Lucien, Damien—and I can feel the weight of their presence, their power gathering around me like a storm.
Lucien is the first to break the silence, stepping forward, his hands brushing over my skin, sending a wave of warmth through me. “You know once this starts, there’s no going back. ”
“I know,” I whisper, the truth settling in my bones. I feel like I’ve been hurtling toward this moment since the Hunt began.
Damien steps closer, his gaze intense as he looks at me, his hand reaching out to trace a line along my jaw. “This will change everything, Selene. For all of us.”
The energy from the altar grows stronger, the inscriptions glowing faintly under my hands. I can feel the ancient power stirring beneath me, as if the magic itself is waiting for the ritual to begin.
“I’m ready,” I whisper, the words almost lost in the charged air between us.