Luna of the Royal Blood Curse

Elora

Spring spreads through Nightwing territory. New leaves push through in uneven shades of green, still light at the edges, while sunlight cuts through the canopy in shifting bands as the wind moves the branches. Pale blossoms loosen and fall when the trees stir, scattering across the forest floor without pattern or purpose. 

The air carries the scent of wet earth, crushed grass, and the last cold pockets of snow tucked into shade where the sun hasn’t reached yet. It’s a beautiful place, coming back to life and becoming green again.

Unfortunately, today I am on patrol with Alex.

“Stop wandering off,” she says through the mind-link.

I flick an ear. “I told you. I smell something strange.”

“It smells like trouble,” she sends back. 

“Which is precisely why we’re out here. We’re supposed to investigate trouble.”

Several wolves snicker through the link.

Alex’s irritation is obvious. “One day you're going to get yourself killed, Elora.”

We continue with our patrol beneath flowering branches and ancient trees draped in moss. Somewhere nearby, the silver stream sings over smooth stones. A pair of rabbits dart through the undergrowth, but when the wind changes, I catch the scent again, so briefly I almost miss it.

I slow down, and the scent returns, so I stop completely.

“What now?” Alex asks.

I draw another breath. “You really don’t smell that? It smells like black magic, pastries, and death.”

The scent lingers at the edge of perception, as elusive as a dream upon waking. Something sweet hides within it, but the sweetness is spoiled. It reminds me of flowers left too long upon a grave. Unease curls through me.

“I do smell it,” Alex says, “but it doesn’t seem like a small patrol type of problem. What if we get ambushed?” 

The wolves around me sniff the air. One by one, their amusement disappears.

“Yes, something is off. I don't like it,” Toni says.

“Neither do I,” I reply. 

The scent drifts deeper into the forest, threading between the trees like an invisible ribbon.

“We're heading back,” Alex decides.

I stare toward the shadows beyond the trail.

“We're investigating it,” I demand. 

“No. We're reporting it when we get back, but in the meantime, we are getting out of here,” Alex insists. 

“How are we supposed to report it if we don't know what it is?” I ask. 

“That's not our job.”

“It’s our entire job!”

Alex growls. “Elora, don’t make me leave these woods without you.”

The scent beckons again, and I run toward it. 

“Elora!” Alex yells through the link. 

The others begin running toward the castle as I slip deeper into the woods. The forest swallows me quickly. Branches arch overhead like the ceiling of an enchanted cathedral. Sunlight fractures across patches of moss. White petals drift lazily through the air.

After several minutes, I realize I can no longer hear the patrol, and the scent has become much clearer now—much closer.

A faint chill moves under my fur as I step through the trees, and for a moment, I can’t place what’s wrong because everything looks the same as it always does—wet earth soft underfoot, new growth pressing through the ground, and the return of life after winter. 

But my attention keeps snagging on small details that don’t quite settle right until the smell cuts through it all and I recognize the scent of Nightwing wolves nearby, shifted into human form, which immediately eases the tension in my chest because they aren’t strangers or threats, but berry gatherers, likely working somewhere close. 

I follow the trail through the trees until it opens into a small clearing. Baskets are set on the ground in rows, overflowing with freshly picked berries. Wildflowers bloom in clusters of blue and violet. Their petals drift across the grass like scattered jewels.

As I move farther into the clearing, the scene looks almost enchanted, but then I see the bodies. There are six of them, and they seem to be teenagers and young adults from my pack. I scream through the link as they lie motionless among the flowers.

My heart stops. Their berries are scattered, baskets are overturned, and not one of them moves.

And hanging over the clearing, woven through the scent of spring blossoms and crushed fruit, is that same evil smell.

This was supposed to be a berry gathering group, and now it’s a murder scene. My friend Leah said they were going out with others this morning, and she was taking her younger sister Rebecca with her. That thought stays with me as I look across the clearing and see bodies scattered through the grass. 

Nothing about this looks like a fight—there is no blood and no sign of struggle at all, just stillness. It appears as though they were picking berries and simply toppled over.

When I force myself closer, I go straight to the nearest one—a teenage boy—and drop my head to his chest first, checking for any sign of life or injury. When I press in close, I realize he’s breathing, slow and steady, and relief hits hard because at least he isn’t dead. 

My relief doesn’t last because none of them are responding when I try to wake them. I push at them harder, nudge sharply with my muzzle and shoulder, and brace into them just enough to jolt their body against the ground, trying to get any reaction at all, any sign they can hear me. 

Nothing changes. 

I move to the next person immediately because breathing means they are still here and still reachable. I keep going from one to another, increasing the force of each attempt as I try to wake them, but none of them respond in any way at all, even though they are still alive.

I reach for them through the link, and it goes out clean, nothing coming back through it, so I push again harder. When that still doesn’t work, I throw my head back and howl, loud and raw, trying to cut through whatever is wrong and get any kind of response from them. 

It disappears into the air without echo or answer, no reaction from any of them. 

I start to search for Leah and Rebecca, realizing I haven’t seen them yet. I move from body to body more carefully now, scanning each face properly as I go, forcing myself to slow down and look, hoping the explanation for their absence is that they simply didn’t come with this group because I can’t bring myself to think that whatever did this cruel and vile thing took my friends. 

The sisters aren’t here. I just hope they’re back home safely in Nightwing. Leah is mated to Gawain, the king’s son, so if she isn’t here, he’ll want to know where she is.

I begin to panic as I reach for Alex through the link, but she’s too far away, and I can’t reach her, no matter how hard I try.

I turn toward the trees. My thoughts are scattered as I try to make sense of everything at once. I run with only one clear focus cutting through it all—Gia, the healer. I need to get to Gia.

The forest snaps past in blurred green and shifting light as I push through the trees. When I reach the shifting quarters, I shift the moment I’m inside my stall, bone and muscle pulling tight as fur gives way to skin, the change burning through me until I land on human feet. 

I grab my clothes and pull them on quickly. I don’t slow down. I leave the quarters and run straight for the castle.

At the gates, the guards stop me. “Halt,” one of them calls. “State your business.”

My breath is sharp, but I force it out anyway. “There’s an emergency.  I was on patrol and found a group of unconscious berry gatherers in a clearing. I need Gia.”

“Let her through,” the other guard says. 

I run inside, repeating the whole process with the guards posted outside the castle doors. Then I’m inside the castle, racing toward the infirmary. 

The corridors are too long, too bright, people turning as I pass, voices rising behind me, but I don’t stop for any of them. I don’t have time. 

Finally, I reach the infirmary and shove through the doors hard enough that the room goes still for a fraction of a second.

Gia looks up immediately, her gray curls wild around her face. “What happened?” she asks.

“I found a clearing of unconscious bodies,” I say. “The berry gathering group. They’re all down. Breathing, but unresponsive. No response through the link. No visible injuries.”

Gia’s expression sharpens instantly. She doesn’t leave her position.

“Wagons,” she calls to the room. “Now. Stretchers, blankets, full field kits.”

A healer hesitates. “Should we alert the Alpha?”

“I will,” Gia says without looking up. “Move.”

The infirmary erupts into motion. I stand there for a second too long, still running through the faces I recognized and those I didn’t, trying to account for who should have been there, but the ones I’m looking for weren’t there at all.

Gia points toward the door without stopping her work. “You’re going back with them. Show them the way, Elora.”

I don’t argue.

We reach the stables in a rush of preparation—wagons brought out, horses hitched, stretchers loaded. I climb into the lead wagon so I can point the way back. 

When we reach the clearing, everything shifts into controlled motion. People spread out through the trees. Bodies are lifted carefully from the grass and carried to the wagons, then sent back toward the castle for treatment.

I move with them, scanning every face as it passes, checking for Leah and Rebecca and forcing myself to take in every possible clue. 

What was this? Who did this? 

We get the last of them loaded into the wagons as we move back toward Nightwing. When the castle comes into view, the gates and castle doors are open. Healers are outside with stretchers lined up before we even reach the courtyard.

We roll in, and everything breaks at once.

“Bring them through—careful!” Gia calls from the infirmary doors. “Level, keep them level!”

When I follow the last of the victims into the infirmary, I see the beds are full. Healers move around checking pulses and applying herbs, compresses, and even trying the alchemist’s  techniques. 

Suddenly, the infirmary doors slam open again, and Gawain, Alpha King Leoric’s eldest son, comes in like he’s been running the entire way.

His eyes go straight to the beds.

“Leah?” he says immediately. “Where is Leah?!”

I don’t answer fast enough.

His gaze snaps to me. “Where is she?!”

The room changes with that question. Even the healers slow for half a second.

I swallow. “They weren’t there.”

His expression tightens instantly. “What do you mean they weren’t there?”

“I checked the whole group,” I say. “Leah and Rebecca weren’t in the clearing. There was no sign of them.”

For a second, he just stares at me like he doesn’t understand what I’m saying. And then he’s gone before anyone can stop him, the doors slamming behind him hard enough to rattle the frame.

I turn to Gia and ask, “What can I do to help?” 

She doesn’t look up from what she’s doing. “There’s silver root near the stream on the southern ridge.” 

I nod.

“Take a team,” she continues. “Search the banks. Get me as much silver root as you can.”

I move immediately, running toward the stables and reaching for my sister Stevie and our friends Bobbi, Toni, and Jamie in the link. “Meet me at the stables. Quick.”

Stevie answers immediately, and Toni follows right after. Bobbi and Jamie come in next. 

The stables are already in motion when I arrive. I grab reins as I move, pulling horses forward, tightening tack, and by the time they arrive, everything is set.

“I’ve got horses ready,” I say.

“What happened?” Stevie asks. “And where are we going?” 

“I’ll explain on the way,” I say, handing her the reins. 

We mount and ride, and when we reach the stream, we split up immediately and work the banks—roots, mud, shallow bends where the water slows. 

“I found a bunch over here,” Toni calls.

We gather all of the silver root from the edge of the water, stripping it from the mud and roots until none is left behind.

As we ride back to the infirmary, I let my gaze lift through the trees and offer a silent prayer to the Moon Goddess, asking her to wake the fallen and help Gawain find the lost.