Chapter 15The Lost Fang

The Lost Fang hit the stone floor with a sound like a death bell.

Rowan's hand stayed outstretched, fingers empty, as if she could still feel the weight of her mother's legacy. The obsidian altar shimmered with residual silver fire, casting long shadows across Lyra's face.

"Done," Rowan whispered. "It's done."

Lyra moved without a word. She knelt beside Darian, whose breath came in shallow, broken gasps. His wolf had gone quiet, retreating deep into whatever darkness waited for dying things. Rowan felt it through the bond—a cold, receding tide.

"You'll save him first," Rowan said. "Before you take anything from me."

"Trust is a luxury you can't afford, little heir." Lyra's hands pressed against Darian's chest, where the silver fire still licked at his wound. "But I keep my word. Watch."

She drew a blade across her own palm—black iron, not silver—and let the blood drip onto Darian's lips. The silver fire hissed, recoiling. Darian convulsed once, twice, and then his chest rose in a full breath.

Rowan's knees buckled. "Darian—"

"Not yet." Lyra's voice sharpened. "The bond is dying. If I don't anchor it, he'll slip away within the hour."

The ritual was ugly. Lyra chanted in a language Rowan didn't know, her hands leaving bloody prints on Darian's skin. The air grew thick, heavy with the scent of copper and char. Rowan felt the Emberbond twist inside her chest, writhing like a living thing.

Then it snapped.

Not the way she'd imagined—not with fire and ash and the consuming end of everything. It just *shifted*, like a thread pulled from a tapestry, re-woven into a different pattern. The silver thread that had tied her to Darian unraveled and re-knotted around something else.

Lyra.

The bond flared once, hot and bright, and Rowan felt Lyra's presence crash into her mind—decades of grief, ambition, and a love so sharp it had drawn blood. She saw a woman with Rowan's mother's face, laughing in a sun-drenched field. She saw the same woman, weeping over a pyre.

Lyra's eyes opened. They glowed with borrowed silver fire.

"You were her lover," Rowan breathed.

"I was her everything." Lyra's voice cracked. "And Aldric took her from me. The same way he took your father. The same way he would have taken you, if I hadn't hidden you among humans."

The locket around Lyra's neck had fallen open. Inside, a woman with Rowan's eyes smiled out from a faded photograph. Rowan's mother. Young, unburdened, alive.

"The bond was meant for her," Lyra continued. "The Emberbond chooses, but it can be *guided*. I spent ten years weaving the threads, preparing the ritual. Your mother was supposed to bond with me, not your father. But Aldric's blade found her before the words were spoken."

Rowan's hand went to her chest, where the new bond pulsed like a second heartbeat. "You trapped me."

"I *saved* you. Your mother's bloodline carries the Emberbond's true power. Without a bonded vessel, the curse would have consumed you in six days. Darian was dying. I was the only option left." Lyra's voice softened. "I don't want to be your enemy, Rowan. I loved your mother. I spent fifteen years keeping you safe. But I will not let her legacy die."

"By taking it for yourself."

"By *preserving* it." Lyra's eyes hardened. "The hunters are here. Aldric's spy leads them. If they find you, the bond transfers to him, and your mother's power becomes Aldric's weapon."

Boots scraped against stone. Voices echoed through the tunnel, sharp and ordered.

Lyra rose, blood still dripping from her palm. She turned toward the entrance, her wolf surfacing in the set of her shoulders. "Go. There's a passage beyond the altar—it leads to the old Ashen tunnels. They don't know them like I do."

"You're coming with us."

"I'm buying you time." Lyra glanced back, and for a moment, Rowan saw the woman her mother had loved—fierce, broken, and burning with purpose. "Six days, Rowan. When the curse reaches its end, meet me at the Ashen border. We'll finish this."

The first hunter rounded the corner, crossbow raised. Lyra moved before Rowan could blink, her claws finding the man's throat in a spray of red. A second hunter fell, then a third.

The spy stepped through the chaos—a woman with gray-streaked hair and Aldric's brand on her forearm. She smiled when she saw Lyra.

"The Beta of the Ashen Pack. Aldric will be pleased."

Lyra's response was silence and silver fire.

Rowan grabbed Darian's arm, hauling him toward the altar. The passage behind it was narrow, barely wide enough for one person, but it led into darkness. She pulled him forward, his feet dragging, his breath hot against her neck.

Behind them, Lyra screamed—not in pain, but in fury. The cave shook.

Darian's hand found Rowan's. Weak, but alive.

"We can't leave her," he rasped.

"She gave us a choice." Rowan's voice broke. "I won't waste it."

They ran as the passage swallowed the light. The sounds of battle faded, replaced by the drip of water and the rush of their own breath. Rowan's new bond pulsed with every step, a constant reminder of the price Lyra had paid.

And around Lyra's neck, Rowan had seen the locket.

Her mother's face, trapped in silver.

Her mother's lover, bleeding for a throne.

The passage ended at a dead wall, but a faint glow seeped through a crack in the stone. Rowan pressed her palm against it, and the Emberbond flared.

The wall crumbled.

Beyond it, a city of ruins spread beneath a starlit sky. Towers of black stone rose like broken fingers, and the wind carried the scent of ash and old blood.

The Ashen Pack's former capital.

Lyra's true prize.

Rowan's curse pulsed, counting down.