Chapter 16 The Curse of Blood and Ash

Kael’s

The night was silent. Too silent.

From the top of Bloodmoon’s tower, I stood alone, watching the ancient forest stretch endlessly beneath the moonlight. The wind whispered against the stone walls, but it did nothing to calm the storm inside me. My hands trembled as the silver light rose higher, full and merciless.

I knew what was coming.

The curse never let me forget.

The first sting crawled across my skin, like old wounds reopening. My breath hitched. Then came the fire, the agony of claws raking through my flesh from the inside out. I staggered back, clutching the window ledge as the past clawed its way into the present.

And then, the voices.

Screams. The Silverfangs. Women, children, warriors. Their cries filled my ears, sharper than any blade. My head throbbed, blood trickling from my ears, soaking the collar of my shirt. I pressed my palms to my skull, but it didn’t matter. Their voices lived there now, carved into my bones.

“Only the blood that remains can free you…” The words hissed in the air, the voice of that wretched guardian spirit. A curse etched into me the night I burned their pack to ash.

I squeezed my eyes shut, but the fire returned anyway.

Flames. Blood. My own shadow, merciless, cutting through flesh. I saw her—Elara—not the woman she is now, but a girl, her face pale with grief, eyes wide with terror. She shouldn’t have survived, but she did. And every night since, her ghost haunted me.

“No,” I growled, shaking my head. “You’re not real. You’re not...”

But the harder I fought, the clearer she became. Her eyes, the betrayal in them. The unspoken question, Why?

I slammed my fist against the stone wall until my knuckles split. Pain grounded me, but not enough. Never enough.

I hated this weakness. I had crushed Alphas, torn down packs, broken every law of the wolves to prove my dominance. And yet, here I was—brought to my knees by memories, by one girl’s face.

Elara.

The curse bound me to her. Only she could end this torment. And yet she loathed me. She had every right to. I had destroyed her world. What cruel irony, that the only salvation left to me was in the hands of the one who would rather see me dead.

Maybe that was justice. Maybe I deserved it.

“Am I seeking her for salvation?” I whispered to the darkness. My voice cracked, harsh and hollow. “Or because I cannot bear to let her go?”

My chest constricted, the curse digging deeper, burning through veins and marrow. I sank to the cold floor, vision blurring, sweat dripping from my brow. The tower walls spun, shadows writhing like phantoms.

Every breath felt stolen. Every heartbeat, a punishment.

And still, her name slipped past my lips, torn raw by the curse and something deeper, something I refused to name.

“Elara…”

My eyes flickered with dim light, the glow of a wolf on the brink of breaking. I pressed my forehead against the stone, shuddering.

“If you never forgive me,” I rasped, “then I will die with your name on my lips.”

The tower swallowed my words. And for a moment in years, I felt the weight of inevitability pressing down. Death, or Elara’s mercy.

••

The silence after the curse always felt heavier than the storm itself.

I woke sprawled across the cold stone floor, chest heaving, the copper taste of blood still fresh in my mouth. My ears rang with phantom cries, women, children, Silverfangs long dead until I pressed my palms against them as if I could shut it all out. But the voices lingered, clinging to me like smoke.

When I finally pushed myself up, my reflection in the fractured mirror caught my eye. My skin was marred with the same wounds I had inflicted years ago, only to fade and return with every cursed moon. They were reminders carved into flesh, punishments I could never escape.

The silver chains coiled around my wrist burned hot, leaving my skin blistered where they touched. I had worn them once as a symbol of dominance, trophies from conquered packs. Now they mocked me. Shackles, not ornaments.

The curse was worsening. Stronger. Closer.

And the words came back to me, as they always did. The voice of the guardian spirit I had ignored that night, its judgment echoing,

“Only the last blood can free you.”

Elara.

Her face filled my mind, not as the frightened girl watching her world burn, but as the woman she had become, unyielding, fierce, fire in her eyes even as she looked at me with hatred.

Hatred I had earned.

A growl tore from my throat as I slammed my fist against the stone wall, the crack reverberating through the chamber. I could raze kingdoms, silence Alphas with a glance, yet one name, one face, one memory unraveled me like prey caught in its own trap.

Would she save me if she knew? Or would she watch me crawl into the abyss, savoring every moment of my torment?

The truth I refused to admit pressed harder against my chest. I wanted her forgiveness. I wanted her more than I wanted my throne, more than I wanted breath in my lungs.

And yet, I knew the danger of it. To draw near would mean binding her fate to mine, letting the curse sink its claws into her too. Perhaps I should stay away. Perhaps suffering was what I deserved.

But the whispers would not let me.

Soon. She is the key. Without her, you are nothing. Without her, you are ash.

I staggered toward the balcony, every step heavy with both defiance and desperation. The night air hit me sharp and cold, carrying the scent of the ancient forest where she walked. Somewhere in that darkness, Elara lived, breathed, hated me.

My hands gripped the stone railing until cracks formed beneath my fingers. The Bloodmoon glared down, a merciless witness to my ruin.

“Elara,” I whispered, the sound breaking like glass in my throat. “Your hatred may kill me… but your forgiveness is the only thing that can save me.”

The wind carried my words into the void. And I wondered if she could feel the weight of my torment, even from miles away.