The Luna’s Comb
The moon was just beginning to hung high that night—pale and watchful, cloaked in a halo of mist. Dam-Nighade estate was still bubbling with the evening activities, while tjose who had finished their work early were preparing to retire for the night except those from the kitchen quarter since Alpha Theo hasn't eaten his evening meal. The estate is shining under moon light, silent except for the faint rustling of the trees and the distant howl of wolves echoing through the hills.
After timing the servants, Samantha moved like a shadow between the corridors, her bare feet silent against the stone floor. Every step was measured, every breath drawn with care. The guards stationed outside the Alpha’s quarters had changed shifts just moments ago—she had timed it perfectly.
The key she held wasn’t hers. She had stolen it earlier that day from one of the older maids, the one tasked with keeping Rina’s old chamber in order since her death. The poor aging woman was too kind, too trusting—just a little wine in her tea, and Samantha had the time she needed to sneak the key away.
Now, she stood before the heavy wooden door of Rina’s old room. It was Rina’s room before she her Luna’s crowning ceremony. Theo had moved things to the new chamber after she became luna.
Her heart thudded—not from fear, but from something she couldn’t quite name. The air here felt different. Cold. Heavy.
Slowly, she inserted the key. The lock clicked softly.
The door creaked open, and a faint whiff of lavender and sandalwood drifted out—Rina’s scent.
Samantha stepped in.
The room looked exactly as it had the night Rina died. The silken drapes, pale and soft, still framed the window. A few wilted flowers sat by the bedside. The moonlight spilled over the bed where Rina once slept, illuminating the empty space like a ghostly hand.
Samantha’s throat tightened, but she quickly pushed the feeling away. “You’re gone,” she whispered to the emptiness, her voice low. “And now everything that was yours will belong to me.”
She moved to the vanity. The comb lay there—smooth wood with silver vines curling across its handle, just as Menar had predicted. Rina’s long dark strands were still tangled between its teeth. How easy it is for her! No wonder her mother had warned her when she was still a child never to leave traces if her hair on her comb. Now she understands why... It's dangerous.
Samantha reached out, but her fingers trembled before she could touch it. A cold draft brushed against her skin, and for a moment she froze, eyes darting toward the mirror.
Behind her, the reflection flickered.
Just for an instant, she thought she saw Rina standing there—smiling faintly, her eyes soft but accusing.
Samantha gasped and spun around. Nothing. The room was empty, still and quiet.
Her heart pounded wildly. “No,” she whispered to herself. “You’re dead. You can’t stop me.”
This time, she snatched the comb without hesitation and wrapped it in a cloth before tucking it beneath her robe.
But as she turned to leave, something small fell from the vanity—a pendant, silver and worn. It bore the mark of Theo’s family crest. She seen it before when she was dating Theo then. She hesitated, then picked it up. It must have been Rina’s favorite.
Samantha stared at it for a long moment, her reflection shimmering faintly in its surface. Then she dropped it back onto the table. “You can keep that,” she murmured coldly. “I’ll take what matters.”
When she slipped out of the room, the faint scent of lavender lingered behind her, and the candle on the bedside flickered once—then went out.
\---
By the time Samantha reached Menar’s house, it was getting more late now. The small home glowed faintly from within, and the smell of herbs and smoke hung heavy in the air.
Menar opened the door before Samantha could knock. Her eyes were wild, her face drawn with exhaustion—but a smile crept to her lips when she saw the wrapped bundle in Samantha’s hand.
“You got it,” she said, voice hushed.
“Yes,” Samantha replied breathlessly. “Her comb, just like you said. Now tell me what comes next.”
Menar took it carefully, unwrapping it as if handling something sacred. “We’ll need to mix her essence into the potion. The witch’s instructions were clear.”
She moved to the table, where the green liquid still pulsed faintly within its glass vial. With trembling hands, Menar plucked one of Rina’s strands from the comb and dropped it into the potion.
The liquid hissed. The color shifted from green to deep crimson, swirling like living blood.
Samantha stepped back, eyes wide. “What’s happening?”
“The bond is being forged,” Menar whispered. “From her to you.”
A faint wisp of red mist rose from the vial, curling in the air like smoke before drifting toward Samantha. It coiled around her wrist, it then vanished into her skin.
Samantha gasped softly. Her pulse quickened, her breath shaky. “It feels… strange.”
“It’s the magic recognizing you,” Menar explained. “Tonight, you’ll give him the drink. But only three drops. Too much, and it might kill him.”
Samantha’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure he drinks it all.”
Menar watched her, uneasy. Something in Samantha’s tone made her blood run cold. “Remember what I told you—magic like this leaves traces. There’s always a price.”
Samantha’s eyes glimmered darkly. “Then I’ll pay it. Whatever it takes.”
Menar almost spoke again, but the words caught in her throat. She could feel something stirring in the air—something ancient and wrong, as if the potion itself had awakened something best left buried.
When Samantha left the house that night, clutching the vial close to her chest, the moon was already sinking below the hills.
And for the first time in a long while, the wolves of Dam-Nighade Pack howled not in mourning, but in warning.