Chapter 78 THE SECOND BLOOD
Cold stone bites into my back before my mind fully resurfaces.
A sharp inhale rips through me as instinct forces my body upright—yet chains yank my arms down with violent force. Metal clanks against metal, echoing through the stale underground chamber.
My breath stutters.
Underground.
Bound.
Caged.
The air tastes of mildew, scorched herbs and something metallic, something old. Torches line the narrow walls, but their flames burn an eerie green instead of orange. Shadows twitch as if they have pulses of their own, moving in ways that defy natural light.
Moonfire tries to rise in my chest.
Pain detonates instantly.
The cuffs squeeze tighter, runes flaring like insects biting into my skin. The surge knocks the breath from my lungs, and my jaw clamps so hard I taste blood.
Kael’s voice echoes faintly inside my mind, strained and cracking.
Selene… forgive me. I did not know. I swear I did not know.
Damien’s voice follows, deeper and ragged with fury.
Hold on. I’m coming. Hold on for me.
The door scrapes open.
My head lifts slowly, vision blurred yet sharpening enough to catch the silhouettes entering the room.
Three robed figures step inside first. Priests of the SilverMist High Temple. Their hoods hide their faces, but their silver-threaded robes gleam in the dim light.
Then she walks in.
Lyra.
She glides across the chamber with a collected elegance that curdles my stomach. Her silver gown trails over the stone like moonlight poured thin. Her expression is soft, almost affectionate, yet her eyes gleam with predatory delight.
“Well,” she says, voice smooth as polished ice, “look at you. The Moon’s little mistake.”
My pulse spikes, but I lock my voice steady. “Let me go.”
Her laughter is quiet, almost musical. “Let you go? Selene, you are the most valuable thing SilverMist has ever held.”
“I am not yours.”
“No,” she agrees, stepping closer, “but you are not Damien’s either.”
The way she says his name—taunting, sweet, venom-laced—sends heat flooding through my veins.
“You are everyone’s threat now,” she adds, eyes glinting.
Behind her, the priests begin setting out their instruments.
Silver bowls carved with runes.
Obsidian blades honed to a ritual edge.
A vial filled with shimmering black liquid that pulses like a heartbeat.
My stomach drops.
“What are you doing,” I whisper.
Lyra leans close, brushing a piece of hair from my cheek with false tenderness. “Something your Goddess began but never finished.”
The Goddess stirs sharply inside me, coiling with intensity. Her voice vibrates through my skull.
Child. Listen. If they cut you, I will rise.
“No,” I whisper under my breath. “Not like this.”
Lyra’s eyes brighten. “Speaking to her?” She tilts her head with smug curiosity. “Good. Let her hear everything.”
She nods to the priest holding the obsidian blade.
“Begin.”
“No,” I gasp, struggling as chains carve deeper into my arms. “Lyra, stop!”
She sighs. “Selene. Do not be dramatic.”
The priests begin chanting, voices low and rhythmic, weaving like insects crawling across my skin. The blade rises above me.
Panic seizes my lungs.
“Do not do this,” I choke. “The prophecy—”
“—requires your blood,” Lyra finishes softly. “Yes. I know.”
She smiles. “And watching you bleed will be the highlight of my month.”
The blade descends.
Pain explodes across my shoulder as obsidian slices through skin and muscle. A cry tears from me before I can hold it back. The cuffs react instantly, glowing brighter, tightening, punishing.
My blood spills.
Not red.
Silver.
Luminous.
Shimmering.
Alive.
The priests gasp in unison.
Lyra’s pupils dilate with greedy awe. “There it is. The power your Alpha rejected.”
Another cut.
Another burst of pain.
Another cry.
The chamber trembles as Moonfire stirs beneath my skin, straining against the cuffs.
The Goddess roars inside me, ripping through my mind like a hurricane.
Let me out.
“No,” I whisper, slamming my head back against the stone to stay conscious. “Not yet. Please.”
But the cuts keep coming.
Slash after slash.
Each one deeper.
Each drop brighter.
Each breath harder to hold.
My blood glows like molten light pooling beneath me.
The air hums with rising divine pressure.
Silver veins slither across the slab as if alive.
Lyra circles me with languid ease. “You know,” she says lightly, “when Kael rejected you, he told me you cried like a child.”
My chest tightens with rage and humiliation.
“And now look at you,” she continues, brushing a finger along a fresh wound. I jerk away, heart pounding. “Bleeding starlight. How beautifully ironic.”
“I will kill you,” I whisper, voice trembling. “I swear I will—”
“No,” she interrupts, tone almost gentle. “You will not.”
She gestures around the ritual chamber as if presenting a gift.
“Because in one minute,” she says calmly, “you will not be here at all.”
Heat ignites beneath my skin. My veins pulse as if lit from within. My heart slams so hard it feels like it might fracture.
The torches darken.
The chamber dims.
The air shifts.
Moonlight seeps through the ceiling stones, even though we are buried deep underground.
The priests falter in terror.
Lyra’s smile cracks. “What is happening.”
My body arches violently.
The cuffs glow white-hot.
Silver blood forms spiraling runes that pulse like living hearts.
The Goddess rises inside me like a storm breaking through the horizon.
Now.
My scream blends with hers until our voices become one shattering sound.
The slab beneath me cracks open.
The chains snap apart.
Light detonates outward in a violent burst, flinging the priests against the walls. Their bodies crumble into ash before they hit the ground.
Lyra slams backward, choking on fear.
The ceiling groans as cracks split across the stone.
My vision burns white.
Then I feel it.
The shift.
The tearing.
The bleeding.
Not of my body.
Of my soul.
Moonfire surges through every vein, every nerve, every breath. My body lifts above the shattered stone, hair rising around me like a halo of heat and starlight.
Lyra crawls toward the exit, shaking.
Her voice cracks. “You are a monster.”
I tilt my head, feeling the Goddess’s power roll through my voice, layering it with a soft, echoing resonance.
“No,” I say, calm and certain.
“I am becoming what I was created to be.”
Lyra screams.
The chamber collapses.
And everything disappears beneath a rush of burning, blinding light.