Chapter 1
Sera Hudson smoothed her powdered cheeks in the glazed reflection of the apothecary’s front window. The scent of lavender salve and cured hides drifted from inside Fenris Keep’s makeshift pharmacy, mingling with torch smoke. She tucked stray auburn strands under a blood-spattered hood, adjusted her physician’s satchel, and stepped across the threshold.
“Late again, Sister Mira?” rasped Old Bram, one of the field surgeons. He didn’t look up from a rack of bandages. “The Alpha’s banquet won’t wait for your healing hands.”
She nodded, forcing a polite smile. “Apologies. The northern rains slowed my courier. Show me the wounded, and I’ll be quick.”
He sneered but waved her past. As she passed battered soldiers cradling dull steel gashes, her heartbeat stuttered. Beneath her white coat lay a hollow-handled scalpel—its edge laced with wolfsbane—and a carefully concealed vial strapped inside her boot.
The main hall beyond the pharmacy doors glittered with warriors in wolf-hide cloaks, nobles in embroidered silks, and a long table of silver chalices. Mithril-banded banners bore the crimson moon sigil of Alpha Cain Elvis. He sat at the head, silent and tall, a golden-eyed colossus in ivory armor. The assembled murmurs hushed when he spoke.
“By dawn, the border fort falls,” Cain’s voice rippled. “I want no survivors to speak of our approach.”
A grizzled general growled, “Their walls stand high, my lord. A head-on assault will cost—”
“Cost life,” Cain finished, voice flat. “But glory demands risk. Sera, is our supply of catapults ready?”
She stepped forward, swallowing bile. Under cover of her soothing tone she answered, “Ten trebuchets stand by Daybreak Ridge. Ballista crews rest here; I recommend rotating them at midnight to catch their sentries off-guard.”
Silence pressed. Cain’s golden gaze flicked to her face. “Excellent. Continue.” He raised a jeweled goblet. “To victory.”
Glasses chimed. She let relief bloom—but only briefly. Her scalpel must strike soon.
A harpist’s tremolo signaled dessert. Servants glided past in ivory masks, raising platters of spiced boar and guild-baked bread. Sera stifled a shiver as she set her satchel on a side table, waiting for her moment.
Nearby, Baroness Kendra whispered to her daughter. “That Cat’s-Eye doctor has suspiciously quick reflexes.”
“Quiet, Mother,” the girl hissed, eyeing Sera. “She’s the one who patched Cain’s shoulder.”
“Careful what you say. The Alpha pays well for discretion.”
Sera’s pulse thundered. One slip. One comment and her entire mission would unravel.
Minutes passed like centuries. Cain’s voice droned on treaties and taxes. She feigned dizziness, palms pressing a cool vial of wine heaped with fruit.
“I… I feel faint,” she breathed, swaying. Guards tensed.
Cain’s expression didn’t change, but his loaf-shouldered captain, Brom, crossed to steady her. “You all right?”
She whispered, “Thirst… please.” Her words hitched as she collapsed, wine goblet flying. Liquid splashed on polished marble, beads glimmering like rubies.
Gasps. Brom caught her under the arms. “By the All-Mother, she’s poisoned!”
At the foot of the long table, Cain rose, cloak swirling like a shadow. He extended a clawed gauntlet, steadying her chin. “Show me your hand.”
She tried to pull away, but the wolfsbane bit into her skin. Her vision blurred. He lifted her wrist and found the scalpel. Shock flickered in his golden eyes.
“You’re not a healer,” he observed, voice low. Around them, musicians froze, a harp string snapping.
She spat, “Alpha Elvis—your slaughter ends tonight.”
He tsked. “So bold,” he murmured. “So naive.” He pressed a finger to her throat. “But not fatal.”
The gauntlet’s jade-inlaid claws brushed her pulse. She felt it slow—then vanish. Her head hit the stone floor.
The hall erupted. Noble ladies screamed. Sentries crouched for the signal. But Cain held up a jeweled fist.
“Don’t kill her,” he commanded. His voice cracked the chaos like ice. “Prepare the Vow-Blood chamber.”
Sera’s eyelids fluttered. The last thing she saw was Cain’s gauntlet gleaming beneath torches before she slipped into darkness.
---
She woke to silver-threaded bindings coiling her wrists. Pale dawn filtered through arrow-slits in the Crimson Tower. Her throat throbbed. Across from her, Cain knelt beside an obsidian basin, dripping amber antidote into a porcelain cup.
“You’ll survive,” he said without looking up. “This cure is rare. You should be grateful.”
“Spares the courtesy,” she rasped, mouth dry. “What is this place?”
“The Vow-Blood chamber,” he replied. He straightened, studying her face. “Your knife was clever—wolfsbane aboard a hollow handle. Yet you miss when it matters.”
Her jaw clenched. “Missed death, not my aim.”
He lifted the cup. “Drink.”
She stared, then swallowed. The bitter poison stung her tongue.
“Better?” Cain asked.
“Alive,” she said, voice weak.
He studied her, brows knitting. At his hip hung a charred sigil—blackened tendrils curling into lupine shapes. “Most poisons kill me. But I carry a curse older than your kingdom.”
She blinked. “A curse?”
He nodded. “The Vow-Blood Rite binds life and blood. Tomorrow, you and I will share more than venom.”
Her pulse tremored. “What are you planning?”
Cain’s gaze sharpened. “By dawn, a partial soul-link. Every pain you feel, I will taste. Every triumph echoes through your mind. You carry the blade—now you carry me.”
She spat on the floor. “You’ll regret this.”
He gestured. Two guards entered, masks molded into snarling wolves. They seized her feet. She kicked, but her bonds tightened—silver threads pulsed in time with her heartbeat.
“Enough,” Cain said. “Take her.”
As they dragged her into darkness, his golden eyes bore into hers. “We begin at first light. Rest, assassin. You’ll need your strength.”
---
In the silent corridor beyond, soldiers whispered rumors like arrows. “The Alpha’s marrying an assassin.”
“She’ll be his strategist, they say.”
“Or his prisoner.”
Sera’s blurred vision sharpened as she was locked in a stone cell. Ravens cawed from the ramparts. Torchlight danced on damp walls. She pressed her forehead to the cool surface, breathing shallow.
*They’ll try to break me at dawn,* she thought, fingertips brushing the scalpel’s hidden handle. *But I will drown him in poison yet.*
Somewhere far above, Cain Elvis sat on his war-worn throne, tasting the last pearl of dusk. The crimson moon rose behind him, a silent witness to the bargain of blood about to be struck—a bargain that would chain two sworn enemies in ways neither could foresee.