Chapter 47 Blood Moon

Chapter 47 Blood Moon
Lyra

The night presses in heavy, and colder than it should be for late fall. I pace along the edge of the clearing, boots grinding the dirt, every nerve straining for a sound or a trace of him. Bram should have been back hours ago. He was only supposed to sweep the perimeter; nothing that should have kept him gone past nightfall. But the moon has climbed to its peak, bright and full above the tree line, and still, there’s no sign of him.

Each time the wind changes direction, I lift my head, desperate for his scent. Still, nothing. The silence feels wrong, dangerous, and my chest tightens until it’s hard to breathe. Maybe he got hurt in the storm… I shudder at the thought.

The crack of twigs snaps my head around. Figures emerge from the tree line moving quickly across the clearing. Jorin leads, his shoulders squared, his face carved with exhaustion, and seven Song warriors trail after him. 

“You’re back.” My voice comes out sharper than I mean, but the fear twisting inside my belly won’t soften.

Jorin shakes his head. “Blue Raven was fortified. Their walls were bristling with sentries, wards etched into stone. We found a way to slip in, in spite of the heavily guarded fortress, stayed for hours, searching for any trace of Kaelen. We caught no scent of him and no sight of the silver she-wolf. There was nothing, Lyra. It was oddly and suspiciously quiet.”

Jorin’s words land like stones in my stomach. I wanted answers. I can’t handle this emptiness, this void, right now. 

“They were careful,” one of the warriors mutters. “Too careful. Like they knew we were there and weren’t allowed to even gossip about the situation.” 

Jorin’s grim gaze finds mine. “If Kaelen was inside, he stayed buried. Alpha Leoric could be hiding him. We turned every alley, and there was nothing to see.”

I swallow hard, my throat raw. “Bram is missing.” 

The words rip from me before I can stop them. They sound more desperate than I want Jorin to hear, but I can’t hold my terror back. I’ve been pacing this territory for hours, replaying the moment Bram left. 

Jorin frowns. “Bram? What do you mean he’s missing?”

“He went on a perimeter sweep,” I say, forcing the words past the knot in my chest. “He should’ve been back long before you. I can’t reach him through the mind-link. It’s like—” I bite down on the rest. 

It’s like he’s gone.

A heavy silence falls. The warriors exchange uneasy glances, and I feel dizzy. 

Jorin steps closer. “Then we’ll find him. Don’t worry, Lyra. We’ll search until we bring him home.”

The warriors nod, their voices a low rumble of agreement, their loyalty grounding me even as my insides feel like breaking glass. I force myself to take a deep breath. I can’t fall apart now. 

“I need Serena here,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “When the warriors from Running River return, someone has to commend them. Serena will know what to do, and she’ll take care of any wounds they might have or anything else they’ll need upon returning. If they were to return with refugees, they’re going to need food, water, and shelter. Maybe even clothes.”

Jorin inclines his head. “Agreed. Serena can hold the line here. You should come with us.”

I nod. “Then it’s settled. We’ll go find Bram.”

After reaching Serena in the mind-link, and telling her the plan, I stride toward the yellow house with Jorin at my side, pulling new, freshly stocked  packs from the shelves and handing them out. The warriors move with purpose, unbuckling cloaks and checking gear. Waterskins. Dried meat. Herbs for wounds, just in case. Every little preparation feels like armor against the panic gnawing at me. 

“Restock light,” Jorin reminds us. “We need to run fast.”

In silence we shoulder our packs and walk out into the clearing again, the moon silvering the treetops. A storm swept through only hours ago, and the forest still drips, every leaf heavy with water, every path muddied.

We shift. Fur bristles down my back as I drop to four paws, my senses opening even wider, making every sensation sharper. The forest surges into focus. I shake out my coat and bound forward beside Jorin’s dark form, the other seven warriors fanning out around us.

We run.

The woods are thick, but we know these trails, leaping roots and weaving between dripping branches. My paws pound into the softened earth, every breath pulling air deep into my lungs, scenting for Bram. I receive only an endless storm-washed emptiness.

Morning draws closer as the miles slip by, the forest hushed and watchful. We slow at intervals, sniffing along the brush, searching for any shred of trail, but each time, the rain has scoured the earth clean.

Frustration burns low in my gut. My mate has to be out here. He has to be.

Finally, faint as fog, a thread of scent brushes my senses. I stop dead in my tracks. ears pricked, nostrils flaring. Bram. My heart lurches so hard it hurts.

Unfortunately, his trail is weak, broken, half-swallowed by mud and rain, and yet, I can tell he wasn’t alone.

The others fan out, noses to the ground. Growls ripple low through the pack as more scents emerge. 

“There were male shifters here–more than one. And one female.” I say through the mind-link, first to Jorin, and then to the Song warriors. I bare my teeth, my chest burning with rage. “He wasn’t alone. He was taken.”

Jorin turns toward me, golden eyes glinting in the moonlight. “No. He was hunted.”

The braided scents lead us deeper into the forest. We twist through thickets and narrow deer paths. It’s always faint, always on the verge of vanishing. We run hard, noses low, ears tuned to every sound. Anything could be a clue. The trail is six hours old at best, but it’s Bram’s. I’d know his musk, tangled with pine and storm, anywhere.

Each time I catch it, hope flares sharp in my chest, only to wither when it fades again. But I push harder, teeth gritted, lungs burning. I will not lose him.

We climb ridges, cross deep streams still overflowing with rain, our paws slipping on the pebbled covered banks. The night stretches on, hours blurring together in a rhythm of running, halting, sniffing, and running again. 

Jorin and the seven warriors hold tight around me, their focus sharpening as the scents grow stronger. We catch scents of shifters we don’t recognize, their musk heavier, sharper, tinged with wood and smoke.

At last, the trees thin, and the land opens. Ahead, the ground rises into a vast, jagged wall of black stone: a mountain range, monstrous and dark against the horizon.

Bloodfang Peaks.

The name echoes through me like a warning. I have heard all the stories. A massive pack lives there, and they’re ruthless, ancient, and dangerous. Their territory is forbidden, avoided even by the bravest scouts. No one trespasses and lives to tell about it.

Jorin slows, his body taut, hackles bristling. “The trail leads straight into Blood Moon Pack.” 

A growl rumbles from behind us. Taren, broad-shouldered and always quick to voice his thoughts, pulls up short. “No. We can’t go in there. I won’t go into the Peaks. Everyone knows what happens to outsiders who try.”

Beside him, Dalen and Orric exchange looks, both uneasy, both with their ears pinned back. Orric finally speaks, his voice low. “We don’t know Bram like you do. He’s a stranger to us, and if his scent runs into Blood Moon territory… forgive me, Lyra, but this might be where his story ends.”

The words hit like claws to my chest. My lips peel back in a snarl, but I catch myself before I lunge.

“Choose your path,” I say. “You don’t have to, but I’ll follow Bram anywhere.” 

“Then this is where I leave you.” Taren glances at Orric and Dalen

“We’ll return to Song Pack,” Dalen says, avoiding my eyes. “We’ll tell Serena and the others what’s happened. We’ll tell her you went into Blood Moon territory after Bram.”

Cowards. My blood seethes hot, but I bite my tongue against spitting the word aloud. They’re not bound to Bram the way I am. They don’t love him. 

“Go,” I say, my voice clipped.

The three of them vanish into the trees, paws drumming against the wet earth until the sound fades.

That leaves five of us.

Jorin, Rain, Mack, and Fenric, youngest of the group, quiet but fiercely loyal.
And me.

Five against the Bloodfang Mountains, and who knows what else? 

Anxiety ripples through me, but I refuse to bow. I lift my head, staring at the jagged horizon where Bram’s scent disappears into shadow.

“We follow at dawn,” I say. “Let’s rest now. We’ll need our strength.”

I step into the tree line using the privacy of dense branches to shift and dress. Once we’re all in human form, we find a hollow beneath an overhang of stone, sheltered from the dripping trees. We set our packs down, pulling what little food we carried. None of us eat much. The tension sits too heavy.

I sink against the stone, pulling my cloak tight. The others arrange themselves around me, already speaking of watch rotations. Jorin claims the first shift, and Rain the second. Fenric volunteers for the third, though his sleepy eyelids already droop. 

I try to rest, but sleep does not come easily. The moon drifts lower, the night stretching long, and I lie awake listening to the steady breathing of the others, to the distant howl of wind across the peaks.

Bram is in there. Somewhere beyond those jagged mountains, and I won’t stop, I won’t turn back, until I find him. 

I close my eyes, pressing my face into my hands, whispering a prayer to the Moon Goddess. 

Hold on, Bram. I won’t let you down. I’m coming.