Chapter 14The Blood Pact

Rissa ran through the twisting tunnels, boots slipping on wet stone, guided by a hum that vibrated through her bones like a second heartbeat.

The corruption whispered constantly now. *Left. No, right. You're circling back. You'll die down here.*

She pressed her palm against the wall, feeling for the vibration. The hum came from ahead and below, a frequency that made her teeth ache. Dorian's screams had faded to silence. Either he'd escaped, or—

*Don't think about that.*

She followed the sound. The tunnel narrowed until she had to turn sideways, scraping through a crack in the rock. On the other side, the walls opened into a chamber carved with symbols she recognized from the Moonstone's surface.

A hidden door stood before her, its surface covered in the same blue-veined stone. The humming came from behind it.

Rissa pushed. The door groaned but didn't move. She threw her shoulder against it, once, twice, and on the third try it ground open, exhaling a breath of cold air that smelled of iron and old blood.

The chamber beyond was circular, domed, its walls covered in carvings that told a story she'd never been taught. She stepped inside, and the corruption in her chest quieted, as if the room itself demanded respect.

In the center stood a stone pedestal. On it rested a leather-bound journal.

Rissa approached slowly, her eyes tracing the carvings as she moved. They showed a meteorite falling from the sky, a blaze of fire that struck the mountain. Then figures—wolves on two legs—approaching it. One figure, larger than the rest, stood before the stone with his arms raised.

The founder.

The next panel showed him cutting his palm, blood dripping onto the meteorite. The stone cracked open, revealing a glowing core. The pack gathered around it, their forms shifting, eyes blazing with power.

But the panel after that showed something else. The land around them withering. Wolves clawing at their own faces. Bodies on the ground.

And the founder, still standing before the stone, his expression one of horror.

Rissa's hand trembled as she touched the journal. The leather was cracked, the pages yellowed. She opened it to the first entry.

*Year of the Pact, Third Moon*

*The stone speaks to me now. Not in words, but in hunger. It wants blood. It always wants blood. But the power it gives... I cannot deny what it has done for our pack. We are stronger, faster, longer-lived. The humans fear us as they should.*

*But at what cost?*

She flipped forward, scanning entries that grew increasingly frantic.

*Fifth Moon*

*The madness is spreading. Two of our own attacked their mates last night. We put them down, but I see the hunger in the others' eyes. The stone feeds on fury, and fury is all we have left.*

*Tenth Moon*

*I've discovered something. The stone cannot claim those who were not born to the pack. The turned ones, the bitten, they carry something within them that resists. Their human souls, perhaps. They can stand before the stone without hearing its voice.*

*This is our only hope.*

Rissa's breath caught. She read the passage again, her heart pounding.

*If we can find a turned wolf strong enough to approach the stone alone, they could shatter it. But the frequency required—the blood of the pack, offered willingly, sung in the old tongue—it would destroy the stone and all it has touched.*

*The cost is the wolf itself. The turned one would lose what the stone gave them. They would become human again.*

*Is that a mercy or a curse?*

Rissa closed the journal, her hands shaking. She knew now. She was the one. Her immunity wasn't a flaw—it was the key.

The humming grew louder, vibrating through the floor. The carvings seemed to pulse, the figures twisting in the torchlight.

She tucked the journal into her jacket and turned toward the door.

Lorna stood in the entrance.

Her eyes glowed blue, veins of corruption crawling up her neck. Behind her, two enforcers waited, their faces blank, their claws extended.

Rissa's hand went to the blade at her belt. "Lorna."

"I'm sorry." Lorna's voice wavered, but the words came out flat, rehearsed. "He has my grandchildren. Would you sacrifice them for your freedom?"

"I would sacrifice myself to save them all." Rissa took a step forward. "You don't have to do this. We can find another way."

"There is no other way." Lorna's voice cracked. "He knows everything. The journal, the frequency, your immunity. He's been watching you since you entered the tunnels. He let you find this place."

The corruption in Rissa's chest surged, and she realized—the quiet in this chamber wasn't peace. It was anticipation. The stone had wanted her to find this knowledge. It had led her here.

*Because it knows I'm the only one who can destroy it.*

"And now?" Rissa asked, her voice steady despite the fear coiling in her gut.

Lorna's claws extended, her eyes glowing brighter. "Now he wants me to bring you to him. Alive."

"Then I can't let you do that."

Rissa drew her blade. The enforcers moved, but Lorna held up a hand, stopping them.

"Don't make this harder than it has to be," Lorna said, and for a moment, her voice was almost kind. "I've watched you fight. You're good. But you're exhausted, wounded, and running on nothing but hope. Hope won't save you here."

"Maybe not." Rissa settled into a defensive stance, the journal pressed against her ribs. "But it's all I have left."

Lorna's face twisted—grief, anger, something Rissa couldn't name—and then she lunged.