Chapter 26 The Mark Of The Moon Goddess
Aurelia
He raised both hands now, and dark light coiled around his fingers, it was thicker and blacker than anything I'd ever seen before, ready to shatter my defense.
I hadn’t thought this through. The dome flickered under my father's assault, thin, wavering, already cracking at the edges like glass under a hammer.
My father was no ordinary warlock. He was the storm that had swallowed entire covens, the shadow that made even the oldest packs whisper his name in fear.
A wizard who had turned magic into murder long before I was born.
And here I was, trying to stand against him.
The flames roared higher outside the barrier, hungry orange tongues licking the pale light.
I felt the strain tear through me. My knees buckled, and sweat stung my eyes.
Every breath came out ragged, tasting of ash and blood. The flames roared higher outside the barrier, hungry orange tongues licking the pale light.
Varrick’s wolf circled, he was deeply wounded, but relentless, snapping at the shield’s surface, his claws sparking against the magic.
Cassian raised both hands higher. Dark energy coiled tighter around his fingers, black veins of power pulsing like living rot.
I felt the strain tear through me, and my knees buckled. Sweat stung my eyes.
Could I really win against the most feared warlock alive? No.
The truth sliced through me sharper than any claw. I couldn’t beat him.
But I didn’t have to win the war tonight.
I only had to help Zhayad long enough for him to reach me.
I poured everything into the dome, every scrap of will, every memory of Zhayad’s touch, every pulse of the bond that still thrummed between us.
The shield flared brighter, pushing the flames back an inch, then two. My father's brow furrowed, the first crack in his composure.
“You’re stronger than I expected,” he said, almost approving. “But not strong enough.”
He thrust both palms forward, and the dome screamed. Cracks spiderwebbed across the surface.
Pain lanced through my whole body, and Zhayad’s roar exploded through the bond.
‘Aurelia—hold on—’
I couldn’t answer, I couldn’t even breathe. The shield buckled inward, flames licking through the fissures, searing my arms, my legs.
Varrick lunged again, his wolf jaws wide, aiming straight for the weakening barrier.
I screamed Zhayad’s name into the bond wordlessly, pouring every ounce of love, fear, and defiance I had left.
The dome shattered, and fire rushed in. But before the flames could swallow me, a white blur tore through the inferno.
Zhayad.
He slammed into Varrick mid-leap, his long claws raking, his curved fangs sinking deep into the brown wolf’s shoulder.
The impact threw them both sideways, rolling across the scorched earth in a tangle of fur and blood.
My whirled toward the new threat, ready to strike.
I lunged forward, out of instinct, not thought, throwing myself between them.
My hands shot out, and a final, desperate pulse of magic erupted from me, not a shield this time, but a raw, jagged burst of light straight at my father.
It hit him in the chest, and he staggered, only one step, but it was enough.
Zhayad used the moment. He tore free of Varrick’s thrashing form and launched himself at my father.
Claws met dark fire, and the collision shook the ground.
When I lifted my head, the world swam in smears of shadow and silver.
My vision blurred, darkening at the edges. Exhaustion crashed over me like a tide I could no longer outrun.
My body surrendered without permission, my limbs heavy, eyelids impossible to hold open.
I collapsed forward, my cheek pressed to the dirt, one arm curled uselessly beneath me.
Darkness rushed in, swift and merciful, swallowing everything. At least I tried, and Zhayad had seen that.
I woke to the sound of sharp, urgent voices. My eyes instantly snapped open.
I braced myself for blood, for fire, for my father’s dark light clashing with Zhayad’s white fury.
Instead I found softness. Silk sheets cool against my bare skin, a thick pillow cradling my head, the faint scent of cedar and lavender curling through the air.
Confusion knifed through me. I pushed up on trembling elbows.
The room tilted, and I recognised the familiar stone walls, heavy drapes, the massive four-poster bed that had once felt like a cage and now felt like a sanctuary.
I was back in Zhayad’s wings. My head throbbed, woozy and thick, as though someone had packed cotton wool behind my eyes.
I swung my legs over the edge of the mattress.
The moment my feet touched the rug, the floor rushed up to meet me.
I lurched forward, arms flailing, nearly crashing face-first into the stone. I ended up grabbing the hem of the drapes to steady myself.
The door swung open. Zhayad strode in, white shirt crisp but sleeves shoved high, black trousers hugging every hard line of his thighs, hair still damp from the border’s smoke.
He looked like he’d just left the council table and walked straight into heat.
“I need to talk to you,” I blurted.
He crossed the room in three long strides, silent, his eyes already devouring the thin nightdress that clung to my skin like wet silk.
When he stayed quiet, I pushed on.
“I didn’t go to the border alone the second time. I was—”
“How are you feeling?”
The question sliced clean through my words. He still hadn’t met my eyes. His stare was fixed lower, on the way the fabric molded to my breasts, my hips, the valley between my thighs.
I opened my mouth and closed it. He wasn’t
angry. He wasn’t suspicious. He was… calm.
“I feel better,” I answered in a small voice.
“Your injuries?”
“I haven’t checked.”
I glanced down at the childish scrap of silk.
It barely covered anything, my nipples were stiff against the sheer material, the hem riding high on my thighs.
“Then we check.”
He vaulted onto the bed, knees bracketing my hips, his body heat slamming into me like a wave.
He caged me without touching, yet every inch of my skin ignited.
“Strip, Aurelia.” His voice dropped to a low, rough whisper. “I need to confirm you don't have serious injuries or bruises.”
My pulse spiked.
“I can check myself. There’s no—”
He seized my wrists, tugged me forward until our chests brushed. The straps slipped down my shoulders, silk pooling at my waist.
My breasts spilled free, my nipples tightening to sharp peaks under his stare. He sucked in a harsh breath, but it wasn't out of lust. Shock.
I looked down. Silver vines and crescent moons had bloomed across my chest, swirling in hypnotic patterns around the full curves of my breasts, then tightening into delicate spirals that circled each nipple like teasing fingers.
The vines rose to weave a perfect heart just above the cleft, every line shimmering as though lit from inside my skin.
Zhayad cupped both breasts, his thumbs brushing the sensitive undersides where the silver curled.
I bit my lip, confusion crashing against sudden, liquid heat.
“When did this happen?” His voice rasped, half growl, half worship.
“I don’t know.”
My own fingers hovered, trembling. The mark felt warm, alive.
It pulsed brighter when his thumbs grazed the spiraled rings around my nipples.
“You’ve been marked by the Moon Goddess herself,” he said, his eyes now a dark forest green.
My breath snagged.
“Marked?”