Chapter 22
Chapter twenty-two
Luna
Judged? But I was sorely lacking in so many areas.
I didn’t even own a can opener.
Why that was the first failing I thought of, I had no idea.
The Wolf Queen’s spectral form hovered above her sarcophagus, her translucent features shifting between human and wolf with each ripple of blue energy. The temperature in the cavern dropped sharply, my breath forming visible clouds in the suddenly frigid air.
“Speak your purpose, intruders,” she commanded, her voice reverberating through the chamber like distant thunder. “Truth only. Falsehoods wither in my presence.”
I glanced at Damien, finding his face tense with concentration. The Wolf Queen’s magic clearly affected him more strongly here in her inner sanctum, the blue light seeming to set his pale skin aglow with an otherworldly pallor.
“Um, well, Your Highness,” I began, “we’re trying to find the Shadow Fang to heal those we care about.”
Her luminous gaze fixed on me, the intensity of her attention like a physical weight. “Half truth, wolf-daughter. Your intentions are divided.”
I opened my mouth to argue but then thought better of it. But how was that a half truth? It was the full truth. One hundred percent truth.
She turned her focus to Damien. “And you, night-son? What compels a blood-drinker to enter the sanctuary of his enemy?”
Damien met her gaze, his voice steady despite the visible strain. “I seek the Shadow Fang to cure my maker of the Wasting disease.”
A sound like distant laughter echoed through the cavern. “Truth, yet incomplete. Your maker’s salvation is but one thread in your purpose.”
Ah. I suspected as much. Sure wished one of them would elaborate on that.
The specter descended from above her sarcophagus, her feet never quite touching the stone platform as she circled us. Unlike most apparitions I’d encountered during tomb raids, she seemed conscious and present, not a mere echo of past existence but an active guardian with agency and intent.
“Curious,” she continued, studying us with unsettling intensity.
“You share blood-knowledge, yet understand nothing of what you’ve begun.
” She reached toward me, her translucent fingers stopping just short of touching my face.
“The mixing of wolf and vampire essence awakens old magic. Dangerous magic.”
I suppressed a shiver. “We didn’t intend—“
“Intention matters not to power unleashed,” she interrupted. “What flows between you now cannot be undone.” Her gaze dipped to my engagement ring. “Twice over, it would seem.”
“What exactly flows between us?” Damien asked, his tone neutral.
The Queen’s form shimmered, her features momentarily becoming more lupine before settling back into her regal human form. “That remains for you to discover. Now you must prove yourselves worthy of my gift.”
She glided back to the center of the platform, raising her arms in a commanding gesture. The blue light intensified around us, forming distinct pathways leading away from the central chamber into previously invisible corridors.
“The Shadow Fang was created to transform essence, to unmake what was made and remake what was unmade. Such power requires understanding beyond mere knowledge.” Her gaze swept between us.
“You will each face trials designed to test this understanding. Success grants passage to my treasure. Failure ensures you join my eternal court.”
Yeah, I was smart enough to recognize a death threat when I heard one, however elegantly phrased.
“And if we decline your trials?” Damien asked.
The Queen’s smile was all predator. “There is no decline, night-son. You crossed my threshold willingly, with the blood offering that binds you to my judgment. The trial has already begun.”
As if on cue, the stone beneath our feet trembled, and the platform began to separate—splitting down the middle to create a widening gap between Damien and me. I stumbled backward as my section of floor rotated, aligning with one of the glowing blue pathways.
“Luna!” Damien called, his voice already distorted by the distance growing between us.
“Don’t fail!” I shouted back as his section of platform aligned with a different corridor. “You probably have a can opener, so you’ll be fine!”
His reply was lost as the walls sealed behind me, leaving me alone in a narrow passageway illuminated only by the pulsing blue fungus. The air here felt different, heavier with moisture and carrying unfamiliar scents.
Taking a deep breath, I examined my surroundings with help from my headlamp.
The corridor ahead descended at a gentle angle, its walls carved with more of the ancient shifter runes.
Unlike the historical narratives in the entrance chambers, these markings appeared to be spells or invocations—protective magic woven into the very structure of the crypt.
I moved forward cautiously, testing each step before committing my weight.
Traditional tombs often included physical traps, but a sanctuary protected by active magic presented different challenges.
The danger might not be an arrow shooting from the wall or a collapsing floor, but something far more insidious.
After several minutes of careful progress, the corridor opened into a small circular room with three identical doorways. No obvious markings distinguished them, and the blue glow permeated all three paths equally. A classic choice test—pick wrong, and face the consequences.
I examined the threshold of each doorway, looking for hidden indicators or clues. Finding none, I knelt and studied the floor, noticing subtle wear patterns in the stone. The center path showed slightly more erosion, which suggested more frequent use.
As I considered my options, a familiar scent reached me, faint but unmistakable. Pine needles, summer rain, and woodsmoke. The distinctive smell of the Northern Territories pack gathering place.
My home. Before everything changed.
The scent came from the leftmost doorway, triggering a wave of conflicting emotions—longing, bitterness, nostalgia.
I knew it couldn’t actually be my pack’s scent, not here in this ancient crypt thousands of miles from pack territory.
It had to be part of the test—magic designed to evoke an emotional response.
Which meant it was likely a trap.
I turned toward the center doorway, the most logical choice based on physical evidence rather than emotional manipulation.
“Running away again, daughter?”
The voice froze me in place. My father’s voice, exactly as I remembered it from the day he cast me out. Deep, authoritative, tinged with disappointment that cut more deeply than rage ever could.
I turned to find a figure standing in the leftmost doorway—not truly my father, but a convincing illusion. He wore the ceremonial attire of the pack Alpha, his silver-streaked hair pulled back to reveal the features I inherited.
“You’re not real,” I said, though my racing heart betrayed my doubts in that statement.
The apparition’s mouth curved in the familiar half smile that had once meant approval but eventually came to signal condescension. “I’m real enough to see your continued weakness, Luna. Always choosing the easy path over the right one.”
“The easy path?“ I couldn’t help the bitter laugh that escaped me. “There was nothing easy about being cast out with a newborn and building a life from nothing while you and the pack turned your backs on us.”
“You chose a rival’s bed over your pack’s honor.” His voice carried the same unyielding judgment it had over three years ago. “Then you chose human society over our wolf ways. You’re always running toward comfort rather than embracing the hard traditions that forged our strength.”
I knew engaging with the illusion was what the test intended, yet I found myself unable to simply walk away—just as I’d never been able to walk away from my dad’s criticism in real life. Some wounds remained raw despite the passage of time.
“Our ‘hard traditions’ would have required me to terminate my pregnancy or give up my child,” I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. “What kind of strength demands that kind of choice?”
The apparition’s expression remained impassive, but the doorway behind him began to glow more intensely, the blue light taking on a hypnotic quality.
“The pack’s strength comes from unity, from bloodlines carefully maintained through generations of sacrifice.
Individual desires must yield to collective survival. ”
“Yeah, I’ve heard this speech before,” I said, turning my back on the illusion. “It wasn’t convincing then, either.”
I took a determined step toward the center doorway, only to find my path blocked by another familiar figure. Ryder, Aria’s dad, my first and only lover. His crafty brown eyes reflected the same judgment as my dad’s.
“You didn’t fight hard enough for us,” Ryder spat. “You just left and never gave us a chance.”
The unfairness of the accusation stung with fresh pain.
“You chose your pack over me, over our child,“ I hissed. “After Aria and I were cast out from my pack, you shunned us from yours to keep us both a secret. And you didn’t even come to see Aria after she was born, so don’t even think you can be an asshole about it now.”
Consciously, I knew this argument was pointless, but here I was, having it anyway, real or not.
“You ran away,” he countered. “If you’d stayed near pack territory, fought to change traditions from within—“
“Shut up. Just stop.“ I closed my eyes, trying to center myself. “This isn’t real. You’re not Ryder, just as that wasn’t my dad. You’re designed to manipulate me.”
When I opened my eyes, both apparitions remained, now joined by a third. Jade, looking as she had before falling into her magical coma, her expression uncharacteristically harsh.
“You led us into danger,” she said, voicing my deepest guilt. “Your recklessness infected Aria and me. Now you abandon us again, chasing a hoax of a cure with a fucking vampire rather than staying by our sides.”