Chapter 3

A torchlit corridor ran beneath Fenris Keep—ancient stone walls engraved with lupine carvings, their mouths frozen in snarls. Sera’s bound wrists clicked against the floor as two silent guards led her down a spiral stair. The air smelled of damp earth and forgotten rites. At the bottom, a bronze door loomed, its surface carved with intersecting circles. One bore a sun-wolf emblem; the other mirrored it in shadow.

The guards halted. The lead guard’s gauntleted hand rapped the door in a slow, measured cadence. Inside, runic torches flickered along vaulted walls, bathing the chamber in ruby light. A semicircle of blood-stained obsidian stones formed two rings on the floor. Beyond them, a high altar draped in scarlet velvet awaited its participants.

Cain stood in the center, cloak thrown back to reveal bare chest—two charred sigils burned into his flesh like living tattoos. His golden eyes held the faintest trace of anticipation. Sera swallowed, face pale.

“Strip,” Cain ordered, voice steady.

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Remove your coat.” He gestured at the outer ring. “Join me.”

The guards peeled off her hooded cloak and surgeon’s coat. Her arms and shoulders bared, she felt the silver bonds tighten. She forced her voice level. “You could have killed me instead.”

Cain’s gaze softened, just for a heartbeat. “Then I would have lost my strategist.”

A low murmur passed among the gathered priestesses. The high priestess—her hair as black as spilled ink—stepped forward carrying a silver needle threaded with a single crimson strand.

“Stand opposite,” she intoned, gesturing to the inner circles.

Cain moved into the sun-wolf ring; Sera into the shadow ring. The priestess flicked her wrist, and two attendants sealed the circles with powdered quartz—an oath-ward that trapped each within their boundary.

“Eyes closed,” the priestess whispered. The others echoed in a soft chorus: “Eyes closed.”

Cain knelt, wrists extended. Sera knelt across from him. Between them, the priestess dipped the needle into a chalice of Sera’s fresh blood, then guided Cain’s hand to catch the first drop.

“Speak your oath,” the priestess urged.

Cain’s voice rumbled low. “I, Cain Elvis, Alpha of Fenris, vow to share breath, battle, and burden with Sera Hudson, that neither pain nor triumph stands unshared.”

Sera clenched her jaw, but her voice rang clear. “I, Sera Hudson, vow to serve Alpha Cain Elvis, sharing cures as I share blood, until my vengeance is undone or my life ends.”

The needle stitched through Cain’s palm, then through Sera’s, weaving the crimson thread in a single loop. Each stitch sent a shockwave through their veins—a tremor of cold fire. When the final knot tied, the priestess pronounced, “By Vow-Blood, you are bound.”

Immediately, Sera gasped as an echoing thrum blasted in her mind: Cain’s fractured collarbone twinged in pain. Her eyes flew open, and she saw him wince, blade-scar rising red. He gripped his palm.

“It’s real,” she whispered, voice trembling.

Cain’s gaze locked on hers. “Your turn.”

Before she could steel herself, a rush of memory crashed through: smoke choking a winter sky, wooden huts aflame, her mother’s scream as wolf-men tore through the village. Sera’s hand shot to her mouth to stifle a cry.

He reached out instinctively, as if to stay her panic, but the bronze band framing her vision glowed.

Priestess’s soft voice cut through: “Your shared bond is awake. Rise.”

They both stood, breath ragged. Courtiers and generals peered from a raised balcony, faces a mixture of awe and horror.

Cain brushed a hand across his chest. “My turn to test,” he said, eyes never leaving Sera’s. He raised his fist in a practiced fighting stance. She recognized the form from the vanguard drills—an overhead strike.

She braced herself. The next instant, her palms burned as if struck by a warhammer; her vision blazed scarlet. She staggered, catching herself on the altar’s edge.

Cain stepped forward, expression unreadable. “That was my best strike. You felt its weight.”

Sera forced herself upright, voice tight. “Yes. And it hurt.”

He nodded once, then offered his hand. “Remain—your wounds will heal. Then we begin again.”

The priestess stepped forward, humming a low chant. Tendrils of silver mist curled around their palms, weaving the blood-thread into living veins of power. With each verse, the circles glowed brighter. When the ritual concluded, she withdrew the needle and stepped back.

Cain turned to the council. “Sera Hudson will assist in all strategic matters—maps, logistics, even command decisions. Seek her counsel.”

A murmur rippled through the officers. One general bowed stiffly. “Sir, I question the wisdom—”

Cain’s golden eyes flicked to him. “Wisdom lies in victory.”

The general fell silent. Cain faced Sera. “Your quarters await. Midnight—I want preliminary routes.”

Sera sank back, heart pounding. “Quarter…?”

He glanced at her bindings. “Those will stay until trust is proven.”

She swallowed bile. “And if I refuse?”

Cain’s lips quirked, half-smile. “I would feel betrayal.”

The guards moved in. Sera allowed herself to be led away, mind reeling.

Once outside the chamber, she pressed her forehead against the cool wall. The bond hammered in her senses—Cain’s heartbeat drummed in her ears, his pain clenched her muscles, and his focus sharpened her thoughts. The shared agony and clarity were disorienting, intoxicating.

High above, Fenris Keep glowed under the full crimson moon. Sera’s breath caught in her throat. The assassin in her blood raged for freedom—but something else stirred: a reluctant fascination with the wolf-king whose life now coursed in her veins.

Tomorrow, she would chart his downfall. Tonight, she would endure the price of knowledge—organs of pain and triumph woven together in blood. And in the darkness, beneath the moon’s red glare, two sworn enemies had taken their first, irreversible step toward a destiny neither dared imagine.