The forest pulsed with an eerie stillness as they moved deeper into the cursed lands. The trees grew blackened and twisted, like they were clawing at the sky. The air was thick with tension. Something was coming.
Aria's heartbeat quickened. Her mark—the one the alpha had placed on her the night she entered the Shadowlands—was glowing faintly on her shoulder, pulsing like it had a heartbeat of its own.
"What is that?" she whispered, clutching her arm.
The alpha turned sharply. His eyes narrowed when he saw the glow. "The bond is responding to the magic here. The Bloodstone… it's close."
They followed the pull until they came upon a clearing—at its center stood an ancient stone pedestal, covered in Lunaris runes.
But they weren't alone.
Figures stepped from the shadows—rogue wolves, their eyes wild with hunger and magic. Their leader, a scarred man with crimson tattoos across his neck, sneered at them.
"Well, well," he rasped. "The little lost heir. We've been waiting."
The alpha stepped in front of Aria, voice a deadly growl. "You'll never touch her."
The scarred man laughed. "We don't need to. She'll come willingly—once the Bloodstone calls to her."
Then chaos erupted.
The rogue wolves charged, fangs bared, magic sizzling through the air. The alpha transformed mid-leap, his massive black wolf slamming into their leader. Kane and the others fought with fury, but Aria—Aria couldn't move.
Her blood burned.
She stepped toward the pedestal. Her hand rose like it wasn't hers.
The runes glowed.
"Aria!" the alpha shouted, but it was too late.
The moment her hand touched the stone, a surge of silver fire exploded from her chest, throwing back every wolf—friend and foe alike.
The ground cracked beneath her. Her eyes turned pure white. The mark on her shoulder morphed, twisting into something ancient—something forbidden.
Then she heard a voice, deep and otherworldly:
"You are not meant to be saved. You are meant to reign."