Chapter 3 Blood and Ashes

Seraphine's POV

Damien's other hand caught Lyralei's throat and slammed her against the wall. His face was empty, mechanical, like he'd shut off everything human inside. "Capture Seraphine," he said, voice flat and emotionless. "Kill everyone else. Father's orders."

No. No, no, no—not Lyra—

I ran toward them, blade raised. Didn't matter that Damien was twice my size or that I'd probably die. They were my family. A Ravencrest warrior tackled me from the side. We went down hard. His fist caught my face once, twice. Blood filled my mouth.

Get up. Get up. They need you—

"Got her!" he yelled.

The warrior hauled me up, started dragging me toward where Damien held Lyralei. I could see my sister struggling, her face turning red as his grip tightened. Still fighting. Even at seventeen, still fighting.

Lyra. Please. Hold on—

Behind us, Dad's voice rose—pain and rage mixed together. "Conrad! You son of a bitch! Why?!"

Conrad's laugh made my skin crawl. "Because I'm done watching you destroy Silverwood for a daughter who can never lead! Malachar promised—the strong will rule again, and I'll be Alpha. A real Alpha, not a desperate father clinging to impossible dreams."

That's what this is about? Me? All of this because I was born wrong?

The sounds of fighting erupted—metal on metal, the scrape of steel. Dad's roar split the air with pure Alpha fury, a sound I'd heard a thousand times during training. But never like this. Never desperate. Never filled with the kind of fear that made my blood run cold.

"Over my dead body—"

"That's the idea," Conrad replied with chilling finality.

No. Dad. Please—

A wet, tearing sound. Dad's scream—raw, agonized, the sound of a man who knew he was dying. My whole body went cold.

I know that sound. I know what that means—

I twisted in the warrior's grip, desperate to see. Dad was on his knees in a spreading pool of blood. So much blood. Conrad stood behind him, blade raised for the killing blow.

He's dying. Oh god, he's dying and I can't—I can't—

Then Dad moved with impossible speed for a man bleeding out. His blade flashed upward. Conrad's eyes went wide as the steel found its mark, driving under his ribs straight into his heart. He made a choked sound and fell forward, dead before his body hit the stone.

He killed him. Dad killed Conrad even while dying—

Dad collapsed beside Conrad's corpse. His eyes found mine across the hall, still blazing that fierce gold. Even dying, he was still trying to protect me. His lips moved without sound, but I could read the word clearly.

Run.

I can't. I can't leave you—

"Matthias!" Mom's scream tore through me like a physical thing, sharp and desperate.

Dad's final act made everyone freeze for a heartbeat—even Damien. Conrad was dead. The Beta who'd promised them victory lay bleeding out on ancient stones. In that single moment of shocked hesitation, Mom moved. She grabbed a fallen blade and drove it toward Damien's side. He twisted away, releasing Lyralei to defend himself.

My sister collapsed to her knees, gasping and coughing. But Malachar was already moving, his attention shifting to us—to me and Lyralei.

No. Not my sister. She's only seventeen—

Mom threw herself between us and Malachar without hesitation. The fight was fast, brutal. I caught only flashes—Mom's blade finding flesh, drawing blood. Malachar's strikes hitting harder, each one taking more from her. Mom gasping but never stopping. Always fighting. Always buying us time.

She's buying us time. She knows she can't win. She's dying to give us seconds—

Something cracked—Mom's wrist. She screamed but didn't stop. Her good hand grabbed a pottery shard from the shattered decorations and drove it into Malachar's face. His howl shook the hall as it sank into his eye.

She got him. She actually—

Malachar's blade flashed. Mom fell.

No.

The word wouldn't come out. Everything inside me just stopped.

She's not dead. She can't be dead. Mom doesn't die—

"MOM!" Lyralei's scream broke through my shock, raw and broken.

Mom was crawling toward us, throat torn open, blood pouring down her chest. Still trying to reach us even as her life bled out.

No. No, no—this isn't real—

"Seraphine—" Mom's voice was wet, choking. "Take your sister. Run. Survive. Promise me—"

I can't leave you—

"I promise." My voice worked somehow, steady like it belonged to someone else.

Mom's eyes shifted to Lyralei. "My brave girl. Don't let them break you—"

"Mom, please—" Lyralei was sobbing, crawling toward her.

I grabbed my sister, held her back even as she fought me. Seventeen years old and strong enough to almost break my grip.

"Let me go! That's our mother—"

"And she's dying so we can live!" The words came out harsh but true.

She's dying. Dad's dead. Everyone's dead and I have to keep Lyralei alive. That's all that matters.

Behind us, Malachar recovered, one eye ruined but the other fixed on us with pure hatred. "Kill them," he snarled. "Kill them both. Slowly."

Focus. Move. Survive.

"Lyra, hold onto me. Now." My voice was cold, commanding.

"But Mom—"

"NOW!"

Don't think. Don't feel. Just move.

The shift came fast—years of practice condensed into desperate seconds. Pain barely registered through shock and adrenaline. Just the rush of power, heightened senses, every instinct screaming to run, protect, survive. I twisted my massive wolf head, nudging Lyralei urgently. She understood instantly, scrambling onto my back as my bones finished reforming. Her weight settled on me, trembling. I could feel her sobs shaking through us, each one like a knife, but I couldn't stop.

I bolted toward the exit. Damien moved to block me. I hit him low, caught him in the knees. He went down cursing. A guard rushed the doors, blade raised. I didn't slow. The impact sent him flying into the wall with a sickening crack. The ancient doors splintered under my weight and we were through—into the night with cold air hitting my face.

Behind us, Malachar's roar: "AFTER THEM!"

Run. Don't stop. Can't stop.

Wolf howls split the night as warriors transformed. The hunt was on.

They're coming. They'll kill us like they killed—

No. Focus. Use everything Dad taught you.

Lyralei's sobs shook against my back. I could feel her tears soaking into my fur.

I'm sorry. I should have fought harder. Should have been faster—

Too late. Always too late.

I ran until my legs burned, until Lyralei's sobs quieted, until the howls faded. Hours passed in a blur of movement and terror. Finally, when I couldn't run anymore, I stopped and transformed back. My body ached everywhere. Blood covered me—mine, theirs, didn't matter.

Lyralei slid off and crumpled to the ground, face streaked with tears. "We should go back," she said, voice hoarse but steady. "We should fight them."

She sounds like Mom. That same stubborn determination.

"We'd die," I said, grabbing her shoulders. "They'd kill us in seconds."

"But they died for us—"

"So we survive." I shook her. "We get strong. We prepare. Then we come back and make them pay."

Her jaw set, fire kindling in her eyes. "Promise me. Promise me we'll kill them all."

"I promise."

I swear it. On Mom's blood. On Dad's sacrifice. I swear we'll make them pay.