230

230
Dravina POV
I couldn’t hesitate any longer.
Power surged beneath my skin, shimmering like heat haze before the shift tore through me half-wolf, half-woman. Bones snapped, muscles stretched, and for the first time, I didn’t restrain it. I welcomed the pain, the rush, the violent grace of it.
Claws unsheathed, rage burning through every vein, I hurled myself into the chaos.
Steel clanged against flesh. Screams split the air.
Some fell neatly to my claws, clean kills born of precision. Others those who pressed too close when my terror spiked or fury flared simply came apart, not by blade or fang but by something raw and erupting from within me. Power I still didn’t understand.
I took no pleasure in it.
But it was simple: them or me.
And I chose me.
Through the smoke and the din, his voice cut through desperate.
“Orielle!”
Drethos.
Fighting toward me with a frenzy that felt too much like grief.
I turned, lungs scorched with smoke, hands slick with blood, claws curled and ready. My heartbeat thundered in my ears.
I wasn’t Orielle.
But now I saw it clear as moonlight. Ysolde had been right.
I was her reflection. Her echo.
And this man this uncle I had never met was staring at my mother’s face through mine.
The secret was gone.
And then Zenovia.
She struck like a storm, snarl tearing from her throat, eyes alight with hatred. Partially shifted, fangs bared, claws flexing. This wasn’t about rank anymore. This was personal.
Behind her, his voice again ragged with something I couldn’t name.
“Please don’t hurt her!”
Was he pleading with me not to harm his daughter, or with her not to kill me?
I didn’t care.
Zenovia had circled me from the beginning. Whispering. Undermining. Plotting. She’d always believed Luna was her birthright.
She was wrong.
And I was done hiding.
It was time to show her what a Luna truly was.
Smoke curled between us like black serpents, stinging my lungs, blurring the battlefield. Zenovia prowled in a jagged arc, her golden eyes glittering with venom. Blood streaked her jaw, claws twitching for the kill.
“You don’t belong here,” she hissed. “You think a man makes you Luna? That Malrikarion’s power makes you worthy?”
I didn’t answer. Breath came sharp, but my stance held weight balanced, gaze locked.
She lunged first.
Fast. Too fast.
I twisted, her claws slicing the air where my throat had been. The wind of it brushed my skin. I ducked, swept her legs, and drove a fist into her ribs. Bone cracked under my knuckles but she didn’t even flinch.
She roared, spun mid-fall, and buried her claws in my shoulder, dragging me down with her.
We hit the ground hard, a tangle of blood and snarls. Her knee slammed into my gut; my elbow cracked against her cheek. We rolled dirt, fire, blood.
And then, as if by some unspoken signal, we both shifted fully.
My body tore and elongated, white fur erupting across my skin, senses flaring to a knife’s edge. Claws gleamed like onyx under the firelight.
Zenovia’s wolf was smaller but built for speed. Silvery-gold fur flashed as she circled, foam dripping from her snarling muzzle.
She darted in, slashing my flank. Pain scorched my nerves. I whirled, caught her shoulder in my jaws, shook her like prey. She ripped free and lunged again, this time pinning me to the ground.
Her claws raked my chest, shredding flesh. My howl split the night.
Pain blinded me, but instinct drove me. I slammed my skull into hers and rolled, pinning her beneath me. Snarling, I sank my claws into her ribs. She shrieked and bucked, fangs snapping inches from my face. One caught my brow, blood flooding my eye.
Blinded, I recoiled she struck like lightning, her jaws tearing into my thigh. Muscle ripped. Rage and agony fused until they were one.
But I didn’t stay down.
I couldn’t.
Adrenaline burned away the pain. I launched at her throat.
We collided midair, slammed into a burning structure, wood exploding around us. Fire licked our fur, sparks singeing our skin, but still we fought bite, claw, slam, rip.
When we broke apart, both of us were staggering. My fur was scorched; her hind leg dragged uselessly. Blood soaked the ground.
“You’re not Luna,” she growled, voice wet with blood. “You’re just… a mistake.”
I stepped forward, rage gone cold. Focused.
“No,” I said through bared teeth, guttural. “I’m the one who survived.”
I lunged, dodged her limp strike, and slammed my claws into her side. She screamed as she flew, crashing to the ground, blood pouring from the gouges in her ribs.
She tried to rise. Collapsed. Tried again. Failed. Her mouth worked, trying to shift back, but she was too far gone. Tremors racked her body. Her eyes rolled back. Still, she crawled, stubborn to the last.
I shifted back, standing over her chest heaving, claws dripping red. One strike. That’s all it would take.
The battlefield had gone silent. Warriors, civilians, even enemies frozen. Watching.
Zenovia shifted back too, broken and bloodied, pride stripped away, fear raw in her eyes.
I raised my claw.
And paused.
She expected it. Welcomed it. Relief flickered in her gaze. She’d rather die than live defeated.
I wouldn’t give her that.
Slowly, deliberately, I withdrew my claws and stepped back.
“You live,” I said, voice steady by sheer force of will. “But you live knowing you lost. Not because I was stronger… but because I was better.”
Her face twisted rage, shame, disbelief.
“You shouldn’t spare enemies,” she spat.
“No,” I said, turning away. “But I do spare family.”
And I walked through the smoke, past stunned faces, the silence following like an aftershock.
The Luna had won.
And she had chosen mercy.