Chapter 97

Chapter 97
Skylar’s POV

The rain lashed against the windshield like a warning. Skylar gripped the steering wheel tighter, her knuckles white as she maneuvered the SUV down the winding forest road. The triplets were safely with her mother, and her phone—buzzing nonstop with messages from the Council—was tossed onto the passenger seat. She needed silence. She needed clarity. But the storm outside mirrored the one raging within.

Damon hadn’t called.

Not since the explosion at the outpost. Not since she had felt his pain slice through the bond like a knife to her chest. Skylar had barely slept in the last forty-eight hours. Every dream was filled with blood. Every shadow reminded her of his voice screaming her name.

She refused to believe he was dead.

He couldn’t be.

The moonlight broke through the dense clouds for a fleeting moment, illuminating the path ahead. The entrance to the Ashwood Ruins loomed in the distance, nearly hidden by wild overgrowth. It was an old stronghold—abandoned, cursed, and whispered about in the darker corners of the pack’s history.

But Skylar felt it in her bones. He was here. Or… someone was.

She parked and stepped out, the cold wind instantly slicing through her coat. Every sense was on high alert. The trees were unnaturally still, like the forest itself was holding its breath. She moved with quiet precision, drawing her dagger as she approached the crumbling stone archway.

Inside, it was worse.

Rot and decay clung to the walls, thick with mold and dust. Her footsteps echoed, though she tried to tread lightly. Symbols were etched into the stones—old magic. Forbidden spells. Skylar traced one with her fingertips and felt a pulse of heat burn her skin.

Warding spells.

Someone didn’t want her here.

She pressed forward.

A low growl rumbled behind her. She turned fast—dagger raised—just in time to see a flash of red eyes before the creature lunged. She rolled, slashing upward, her blade cutting through something solid. The beast yowled and fell back, its form shifting erratically in the dim light. Not fully wolf. Not fully human.

Not natural.

Skylar’s breath caught. “Hybrids,” she whispered.

More came—two, then four, snarling, teeth bared, eyes glowing like coals in the dark. She ran deeper into the ruins, dodging crumbling pillars and broken chains, her heartbeat a war drum in her ears. They chased her, their claws scraping the stone. She ducked into a chamber and slammed the rusted gate shut behind her.

They snarled from the other side but didn’t enter.

Skylar turned—and gasped.

In the center of the chamber was a stone slab… and Damon lay upon it.

His shirt was torn, blood soaking the fabric. Shackles bound his wrists and ankles, laced with silver and runes. His face was pale, lips cracked, eyes shut tight like he was battling something even in sleep.

Skylar ran to him. “Damon—”

He stirred. Barely. His eyes fluttered open, and for a brief second, the bond surged between them—like a sun breaking through clouds.

“Sky…lar?” he rasped.

She touched his cheek. “I’m here. I’m going to get you out—”

A screeching sound echoed above them. Skylar looked up just as a sigil flared to life on the ceiling. The chamber trembled. Shadows poured from the walls, taking form—tall, robed figures with hollow eyes.

The Ritual Keepers.

Skylar stood protectively over Damon, dagger ready. “Back off!”

One of them raised a hand, and she was thrown across the room. Pain exploded through her back as she hit the wall. The dagger clattered away.

The lead Keeper stepped forward, voice a whisper of death. “He must be completed.”

“Completed?” Skylar spat, crawling back to her feet. “He’s not some experiment.”

“He is the key,” the Keeper said. “The union of Alpha blood and ancient power. His death will open the seal.”

“No!” she screamed.

Damon stirred again, groaning. His eyes began to glow—flickering between gold and obsidian. He was fighting. Skylar could feel it through their bond.

She lunged for the dagger.

Too slow.

The Keeper raised a blade, curved and ancient, and brought it down toward Damon’s heart—

Skylar screamed—

—and a blast of raw, golden energy exploded from Damon’s chest.

The Keeper was thrown across the chamber, smashing into a wall with a sickening crack. The others shrieked, some vaporizing in the blast. Skylar shielded her face, heart pounding.

And when the light faded, Damon was free.

His chains were melted. His eyes were pure gold.

But something was wrong.

His gaze was hollow. Cold. As if someone—or something—else was staring through him.

“Damon?” Skylar whispered.

He tilted his head slowly. “Skylar… run.”

She froze.

Then he roared—a sound not of man or wolf, but something deeper. Older.

The shadows returned, swarming him. His body convulsed. Symbols flared on his skin, ancient and pulsing. The ground cracked beneath him.

Skylar backed away, heart breaking. “Fight it, Damon! You’re stronger than this!”

He screamed.

The walls shook.

And then—silence.

He looked up.

And smiled.

But it wasn’t his smile.

Skylar took a trembling step back. “What… what did they do to you?”

He moved toward her, slowly, like a predator.

“They awakened the Alpha King.”

Her breath caught. “No…”

“Yes,” he whispered, voice layered with something dark and inhuman. “And now, there’s no going back.”

Before she could run, the chamber doors slammed shut behind her.