For the first time since the Blood Crescent night,
Lysandra didn't feel fear.
She felt fire.
A sharp, wild, breath-stealing fire that clawed inside her chest and made her pulse roar like a rising storm.
Evander was taken.
Her Evander.
The boy who ran into a cursed forest for her,
who worried about her trembling hands,
who said he liked her even when she tried so hard to push him away.
He was in danger because of her.
Her wolf paced furiously inside her mind.
We find him. We find him now.
Rip through anyone who stands in our way.
Lysandra didn't argue.
Not this time.
The Shadow Heir watched her silently—arms crossed, eyes glowing violet, expression unreadable. He had seen her shift half-formed, seen the moonfire under her skin, seen the desperate terror in her eyes…
But this—
this was something else.
Her power wasn't shaking anymore.
It was focused.
Controlled by one thought, sharp as a blade:
Evander.
"That look," the Heir murmured, stepping closer,
"is the beginning of power."
Lysandra turned on him with a snarl.
"If you ever use Evander to manipulate me—"
"I didn't," he cut in calmly.
"The Guardians took him because they fear you."
Her breath quivered.
"They shouldn't punish him for it."
"They're not punishing him," the Heir said softly.
"They're protecting themselves."
Lysandra froze.
"…from what?"
He stepped close enough that their shadows touched.
"You."
Her heart stuttered.
"They saw your mark," the Heir whispered.
"They smelled shadow on your skin.
They sensed your emotions tangled with a mortal's."
"I never meant for them to sense—"
He smirked.
"Moonblood emotions are loud, Lysandra. You trembled when he held your hand. You panicked when he knocked on your door. Your wolf rose when you looked at him."
Lysandra's cheeks burned.
"I don't— I didn't—"
He held up a hand.
"You don't have to explain.
They believe he knows too much.
So they took him."
Her stomach dropped.
"What… what will they do to him?"
"That depends," the Heir murmured,
"on what you do next."
Her breath caught.
"You're trying to use him to force me into your plans."
His eyes flickered with annoyance.
"If I wanted to force you, I would have done it already.
But you—"
he stepped even closer,
"—are much more fascinating when you choose."
Lysandra took a shaky step back.
"Just tell me where he is."
"In the Moon Temple," the Heir answered without hesitation.
"Deep within the Silver Realm. Guarded by those who believe mortals are too fragile to be near Moonblood."
Her chest twisted.
"But he didn't do anything wrong."
"No," the Heir said quietly.
"That's why you care."
Lysandra's heartbeat quickened.
"Take me to him."
"Ah," the Heir whispered, "there it is."
"There what?"
"The fire I've been waiting to see."
She glared at him.
"I'm not going with you because of you."
"I know," he said simply.
"You're going because of him."
The words made her heart pulse painfully.
Her wolf growled protectively.
The Heir watched the emotions flood her face—fear, fury, longing, panic—and something softened in his eyes for just a breath.
"You don't even realize," he whispered,
"how loudly your soul screams his name."
She swallowed.
"Just open whatever portal you use and take me to the Moon Realm."
He didn't move.
She frowned.
"What now?"
"You can't walk into the Moon Realm without protection," the Heir said.
"They will sense my mark on you."
"Remove it."
"No."
Her eyes widened with fury.
"Then hide it!"
He studied her.
"That," he said, "I can do."
She exhaled shakily.
"Good."
"But it comes with a price."
She stiffened.
"Of course it does."
"Don't look at me like that," he scowled.
"You want power. I'm offering it."
"I never said I want your power."
"You need it if you're going to save him."
Lysandra froze.
Because he wasn't lying.
The Heir took a step toward her—slow, deliberate—and extended his hand to her wrist.
"Let me drown the mark in shadow," he murmured.
"It will hide your scent. Cover your aura.
And keep Caelum from sensing your thoughts."
She hesitated.
"Will it hurt?"
He smirked faintly.
"Everything worth power hurts."
Her wolf bristled.
Don't let him mark us again.
Don't let him in.
Don't—
But Lysandra lifted her wrist.
The Heir's eyes darkened.
"You trust me," he whispered.
"No," she whispered back.
"I trust Evander needs me."
A shadow flickered through his expression—jealous, possessive, sharp—but he concealed it quickly.
He lifted her wrist gently, almost reverently.
And then—
Darkness flowed from his fingers.
It wrapped around the crescent mark like cool smoke, swallowing the silver glow, pressing into her skin in a way that made her gasp softly.
Not pain—
not pleasure—
Something in between.
Her wolf whimpered, confused.
The Heir's breath brushed her ear.
"This will hide you from the moon," he murmured.
"But not from me."
She yanked her hand back.
"Good. I don't want to hide from you. I want to defeat you."
His lips curved.
"One day," he said,
"you'll learn those are the same thing."
Her cheeks flushed.
"I'm done talking. Take me to Evander."
A slow smile spread across his face.
"As you wish, Moonblood."
The shadows behind him twisted—
forming a swirling portal of violet and silver.
Lysandra clenched her fists.
Her heart thundered.
Evander.
Evander.
Evander.
She would rip the Moon Temple apart if she had to.
But then—
as she stepped toward the portal—
the Heir's hand caught her shoulder gently.
She froze.
"What?"
His voice dropped to a low, dangerous murmur.
"When you enter the Moon Realm with shadow on your skin…"
he brushed her collarbone lightly,
"they will sense a monster."
"I don't care."
"You should."
"Why?"
His eyes darkened.
"Because the first monster they will try to kill…
is you."
Lysandra swallowed hard.
"Let them try."
And with that,
she stepped into the portal.
The Heir followed.
Their shadows vanished into the dark swirl as the entire realm trembled—
because a Moon Wolf with fire in her veins
and a Shadow Heir at her back
was walking into the Silver Temple.
For the first time,
Lysandra wasn't running from her fate.
She was running toward it.