Chapter 17 #2
She turned, her face lighting up. And just like that, she stepped away. Kareon’s arms fell empty, the absence brutal.
He stood frozen, watching her leave. His fingers twitched, aching to pull her back into the gravity they had just found again, but he did not move.
Kaelioth’s laugh rumbled through the space between them as he pulled her into a fierce, fatherly embrace. “Moonlight,” the old shaman murmured, voice thick with awe. “We thought we lost you.”
Eris exhaled, folding into him without hesitation. She pressed her forehead to his shoulder. “I know,” she whispered. “I am sorry.”
Kaelioth shook his head as he gently lowered her. “You are here now,” he said. “That is all that matters.”
She smiled into his chest, tired but at peace.
Kareon exhaled slowly, relief raw in his chest. Then his gaze shifted past her and sharpened instantly, his entire posture changing as what had been relaxed became predatory.
The vampire.
Cassiel stood silent at Eris’s side, arms crossed, radiating simmering discomfort. The pack, who had only moments ago cheered for her return, now turned their attention to him. Joy curdled into suspicion, into teeth.
Kareon’s gaze swept slowly over Cassiel like a blade, unblinking, then flicked back to Eris. “And him?”
Cassiel tensed. Eris stepped beside him, the corner of her mouth lifting. “This is Cassiel,” she said sweetly. “My new shadow. Since most of Goznoth currently wants me dead, my loving family has appointed a bodyguard.”
Kareon scoffed. “A bodyguard?” He looked Cassiel up and down with open disdain. “You don’t need him here. You’re safer with us. Safer than with your own, clearly—since we would’ve never let you be taken in the first place.”
Cassiel let out a sharp breath: half laugh, half insult. “Excuse me?”
Kareon didn’t blink. “Your people failed. We wouldn’t have.”
Cassiel’s eyes flashed. “You arrogant son of a—”
Eris stepped between them, pressing a hand to each of their chests with theatrical annoyance.
"All right," she sighed. "Enough." Then her lips curved into a wicked grin. “Instead of fighting, how about we celebrate the fact that I am alive?”
Kareon’s brow lifted. Then he smirked. “You want a celebration?”
Eris tilted her head. “Lycan-style.”
His grin spread, wicked.
“You heard her,” Kaelioth called out, his voice cutting through the tension like a flame. “Let us feast!”
The Den erupted in cheers, and for the first time since her return, Eris let herself breathe.
The Den pulsed with life: drums like heartbeats, laughter curling into smoke, the scent of meat mingling with moss and fire. The celebration surged, but Eris stood still. Kareon stood beside her, silent. Their eyes met. Something heavy and unspoken passed between them.
“Let’s talk,” she said.
Kaelioth inclined his head and turned toward his tent without a word. Eris glanced over her shoulder. Cassiel stood just behind them, arms crossed, gaze sweeping the reveling Lycans like a soldier assessing a kill zone—outnumbered, uneasy, coiled like a blade.
She softened her tone. “Wait here.”
Cassiel did not flinch. “That is debatable.”
Eris smirked and turned to Kareon. “He will be fine, will he not?”
Kareon’s golden eyes sparked with amusement. “That depends.” His smile curved sharply. “If he stands too close to the fire pits, the younglings might mistake him for fresh meat.”
Cassiel stiffened. “I knew it.”
Kaelioth laughed, pushing aside the tent flap. “Relax, bloodsucker. You will live.” He paused, grin widening. “No promises about keeping all your limbs intact, though.”
Cassiel muttered something unprintable. Eris chuckled and stepped into the dark behind the canvas.
The moment she did, the air shifted—thicker now, laced with cedarwood, dried herbs, and something older. Light bled through the tent seams, casting gold across layered furs, scattered runes, feathers, and talismans. The air hummed with unseen energy. Eris sank onto the woven rugs.
Kaelioth folded his limbs with the stillness of stone, incense curling around him like memory.
Beside her, Kareon leaned back slightly, fingers drumming against his leg, watching.
His gaze lingered, just a breath too long, on the bare skin of her shoulder.
His wolf stirred beneath the surface, restless and barely contained.
This was not the time, or the place. But moon above, she made it hard to think. He exhaled sharply and looked away.
“That’s it,” Eris said, voice cutting through the silence. “The time has come for things to change.”
The air thickened, as if the tent itself leaned in. Kaelioth nodded slowly, unreadable. But Kareon’s sharp eyes stayed locked on hers like a blade.
Eris drew a breath. “Tonight, I take the Crimson Vow. Once I do, the Firstbloods will be bound to Stephan and me by the magic in our blood. This is not just ceremony—it is an oath they cannot break. Their loyalty will no longer be in question. Once I am acknowledged as ruler, I will have a seat at the council. I will have a voice. And I will push for the change we have all fought for—a future where Firstbloods and Lycans are no longer at war.”
Kaelioth exhaled slowly and nodded. “Things are moving fast.”
Kareon held her gaze, the corner of his mouth lifting. The fire in her eyes was unshakable. That was what made her dangerous. She made him restless. She made him want.
He leaned forward, forcing himself to focus, forearms braced on his knees.
“It sounds good,” he said. “Too good.” His golden gaze swept over her. “You think they’ll let you rewrite centuries of power because of an oath? Let you speak and not scheme behind your back?”
The Crimson Vow lingered between them, too polished, too easy. For a moment, he wondered: would it shift her loyalty when it mattered? But then he looked at her, and the doubt faded. She had walked through fire and never flinched. He trusted her. The prophecy. The spirits. They hadn’t chosen wrong.
Eris did not flinch. “The Crimson Vow is not just political,” she said. “Once they drink from Stephan’s and my blood, the bond is sealed. They will be physically incapable of harming us. Betrayal will be impossible. That is the nature of the magic in Dragov blood.”
Kareon exhaled through his nose. “That doesn’t mean they will not find quieter ways to silence you.”
She tilted her head. “I am not na?ve, Kareon. This will be brutal. It will take time. There will be resistance. But my father and uncle fought the same wars. They were called radicals, heretics, fools. And still, change came. Because they did not break.” Her voice sharpened. “If I waver now, I betray that legacy.”
Kareon’s arms folded tight across his chest. “I still do not trust them.”
Kaelioth dragged a hand along his jaw. “It is complex, no doubt. But if this is the will of the Spirits, we must obey.”
Kareon’s jaw clenched, tension coiled through his shoulders as his expression darkened. “The Firstbloods are one problem.” His voice dropped, golden eyes narrowing. “Avaristo is another.”
Eris felt it then, a slow, coiling dread curling at the base of her spine.
Kareon exhaled hard. “None of this feels right. He let you go too easily, Eris. He could’ve used you as leverage. Held you hostage. Turned the war in his favor.” His fists curled. “That was not mercy. It was strategy.”
Eris shook her head. “I don’t know what he’s planning, but I do know this. He will not win. The Spirits are with us.”
Kaelioth nodded once, but his voice turned cold. “Avaristo has no faith. Only hunger. Power. Control.” His gaze darkened. “And that makes him dangerous. Faithless men kill without belief. Destroy without guilt. Scheme like consequence is a myth, because they believe in nothing but themselves.”
Eris frowned, the incense-thick air wrapping around her like a warning, but he was not finished. “That also makes him vulnerable. Because he doesn’t understand what you are, Eris. If he did, he would’ve killed you the moment he had the chance.”
Kareon stilled.
Eris’s pulse jumped. “What do you mean?”
Kaelioth’s eyes never left hers. “Avaristo sees kings and queens. Warlords and tacticians. He sees power as something you take. But you—” He looked at her, unflinching. “You are something else.”
The words struck, heavy as prophecy, sending a chill curling down her spine.
Kaelioth’s voice was soft now, but unshakable. “You are transcendental, Eris. You are a leader of both worlds. A sacred force to the vampires. A spiritual guide to us. And Avaristo… He does not see it. Not yet.”
The words pulsed through her, pressing into places she had never dared to name. It wasn’t the first time she’d been told she was meant for more—the Lycans whispered it, the Firstbloods measured it—but hearing it now, spoken with certainty and something ancient, sent a chill through her blood.
She had never wanted prophecy. Never asked for fate. Yet it lived in her veins, in the Spirits that stirred at her presence, in the way both factions watched her—not as ruler, but as symbol.
It terrified her. But it thrilled her too.
If she was meant to bind these broken lands and rewrite history, then she wasn’t a pawn in Avaristo’s game. She was the storm that would break it.
Her fingers curled into her palms, nails biting deep. Avaristo didn’t see it yet. But when he did, it would be too late.
Outside, the drums slowed, deep as thunder in her chest.
The storm had already begun.
The feast had passed in a blur of flame and flesh, of voices raised too high and wine poured too fast. Eris had moved through it, seen, acknowledged, and untouched.
Now the fire devoured the sky. It blazed before her like a living god, casting molten gold across the clearing.
Sunlight shimmered through the smoke, turning the air into a firelit haze.
The Den throbbed with drums like a second heartbeat, too loud, too deep.
Then came laughter, howls, music, movement.
Eris stood frozen, but something ancient stirred within—a slow, molten heat curling low through her core.
The rhythm pulsed not around her, but through her.
Her breath stuttered, lashes fluttering as she raised a hand to her temple.
The flames blurred, her knees weakening as the ground seemed to fall away. Then a scent rose, sharp and wild.
Kareon.
Her lips parted, her body leaning forward, as if pulled by an invisible thread. She was breathless, her pulse crashing in her throat. She blinked.
Across the fire, there he was. Golden eyes cut through the crowd—still, focused, watching her as if she were already his. A soft gasp escaped her lips as her skin flushed, and her pupils dilated. She could not breathe. Could not move. Thought splintered, sharp and useless.
He didn’t just move—he stalked, disappearing and reappearing, each time closer, like a flame flickering through bodies.
She swayed on her feet, mouth dry, fingers trembling at her sides.
Then he was gone. Vanished.
“Where…?” she whispered, the sound barely leaving her lips, just as a hand seized hers and yanked her forward. She gasped, and then she was moving, through bodies, through smoke, through heat. Her limbs obeyed without thought. The world blurred as the air thickened.
The tent flap slammed shut.
Silence. Heat. Him.
His scent hit her like a fever—raw, rich, and undeniable. It wrapped around her, dragging her under. She staggered, breath coming hard and fast, like she’d run for miles. Her knees gave. Her mouth parted, soundless, her back arching without thought.
Her scent had shifted. It had called to him, and moon above, it was driving him mad. The bond snapped like a divine whip across their souls.
He lost it.
His hands were fire, palms dragging down her spine, gripping her hips, his mouth hot and hungry at her throat. She was burning from the inside out, needing him as desperately as air. The world tilted, and suddenly, she wasn’t standing anymore—just heat, and weight, and him.
His breath seared her skin, his body trembling above hers.
She tried to speak, tried to ask something, but the words never formed. Only breathy sounds escaped her, whimpers and moans that pushed him closer to the edge. He was losing his mind.
Her limbs gripped him instinctively, back arching, thighs parting, fingers tangling in his hair. Her body knew him, knew what it needed, knew what he was. It wasn’t thought. It was hunger. A knowing buried in her bones.
He kissed her neck, her collarbone, her shoulder. Her moan was soft and aching, her hips lifting in offering. She reached for his face, breathless, barely aware of her own voice.
“Kareon… What’s happening to me?”
His mouth brushed her ear, his growl, rough and reverent. “You feel it, don’t you? That ache in your bones—your blood calling to mine. You were made for this, Eris. For me. Let me give you back what was always yours.”
Her eyes dragged open like waking from a dream she hadn’t meant to leave. The tent spun around her, her body trembling beneath his. Then a distant voice called from outside.
“Alpha?”
He ignored it, pressing harder into her.
“Alpha!”
The voice came again, sharper, more urgent.
He snarled, pain flashing across his face like lightning. With a sound that was half roar, half wound, he tore himself from her and sat up, panting like a man clawing his way out of death.
“What?” he snapped.
“The convoy’s been hit,” came the voice—clear now, cutting through everything.
The words hit like ice water. Kareon blinked, heartbeat slamming back into focus. Everything in him shifted as the Alpha instinct surged forward. The bond recoiled, demanding duty, command, focus.
He turned to her, her body limp, lips red, pupils blown. She was still panting, still flushed, still his.
He cupped her face gently, like she was something breakable, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I have to go.”
She blinked, drowsy. His voice felt distant. Her world was blurred. Pulsing.
“What…?” she whispered. But he was gone. The tent fell silent.
Eris sat upright slowly, one hand tangled in the blankets, the other pressed to her lips. Her heart stuttered, thighs aching, skin tingling where his hands had been. She looked around.
The tent smelled of him—heat, musk, and soul-deep longing. She didn’t know how she’d gotten there, only that her body remembered more than her mind did.