Page 39

CHAPTER 39

POV: Briar

I wake to a world drowning in crimson.

The moon hangs bloated and impossible above the sacred grove, its light no longer the silver-white of ordinary nights but a deep, pulsing red that penetrates to the marrow of my bones. Every white flower surrounding me has transformed into a blood-red sentinel, standing silent watch as my body burns from the inside out.

My skin feels too tight, as if something beneath it struggles for release. The wounds across my back no longer burn with ordinary pain but pulse in rhythm with the crimson moonlight, each throb sending waves of heat and awareness through my transforming body.

The claiming bond stretches between Cadeyrn and me, vibrating like an overtightened string about to snap. Through it, I sense his distant awareness, his growing alarm as he feels my condition deteriorating. Part of me—the part that remembers the documents bearing his elegant signature, the graves filled with murdered omegas and their unborn children—wants to sever this connection completely. But my body knows better, recognizes on some primal level that separation during a crimson moon is its own kind of torture.

"Awake at last," a familiar voice observes from the edge of my vision. "For a while, I wondered if you'd sleep through the entire blood moon."

I turn my head slowly, muscles protesting even this small movement. The Hound kneels just outside the sacred grove's boundary, his unusual eyes reflecting the crimson light with that animal-like quality that marks his mixed heritage. Since our brief meeting days ago when he provided that birthing charm and compass, he looks more weathered, as if the forest itself has left its mark on him.

"The Hound." My voice emerges as a rasp, throat parched from unconsciousness. "How did you find me?"

"I follow paths others can't see," he replies, the same answer he gave when we first met. "Though in your case, tracking was hardly necessary. Your magic leaves... impressions."

He gestures to the clearing around us, and I realize what he means. The white flowers—now blood-red in the crimson light—form a perfect circle around my prone form. Beyond them, intricate patterns identical to those covering my skin glisten on the surrounding trees, as if my unconscious body has been marking territory in Cadeyrn's absence.

"You've been busy while I slept," I observe, nodding toward a small fire burning beyond the grove's edge and what appears to be a makeshift poultice drying on stones nearby.

"Healing salve," he explains, following my gaze. "For your back. As I mentioned before, Autumn Court magic lingers in those wounds."

With effort, I push myself to a sitting position, the world spinning momentarily before settling into blood-tinted focus. "Why help me? Last time you warned about the courts uniting against us. Now you're treating my wounds?"

The Hound's expression turns sardonic. "Perhaps I'm not as calculating as pure fae." His eyes shift again, that disconcerting change between fae beauty and animal awareness. "Or perhaps, like I told you before, I recognize echoes of my own unusual birth in what's happening here."

He gestures to a water skin resting at the grove's edge. I drag myself toward it, each movement sending fresh waves of pain and heat through my body. The crimson moonlight intensifies as clouds part above, bathing the clearing in red light that seems to sink into my skin, warming me from within while stoking my omega biology to dangerous levels.

"Your heat symptoms are intensifying," The Hound observes clinically, maintaining his position outside the grove. "The crimson moon affects all omegas, but it's especially potent for those with awakening Wild Magic."

I gulp water greedily, trying to cool the fire building inside me. "And you're not affected? As an alpha?"

"Half-alpha," he corrects, his controlled posture suggesting it's not as easy as he makes it appear. "My mixed blood grants certain... resistances. Though I wouldn't test them too severely."

He turns his attention to the poultice, carefully removing it from the heated stones with a stick rather than touching it directly. The salve glistens with an opalescent sheen in the crimson light, herbs and something else—something wild and ancient—combining to create medicine unlike anything village healers could produce.

"The courts have fully united against you," he says as he works, voice deliberately casual. "All four seasonal powers, setting aside centuries of rivalry to eliminate what you and your Winter Prince represent."

"He's not my prince," I snap, the denial automatic though increasingly hollow. The claiming bond pulses at the reference, sending a wave of sensation through my body that makes me shudder.

The Hound's smile is knowing. "Perhaps not. But your bodies and magic tell a different story."

Another surge of heat crashes through me, so intense I cry out. My skin feels aflame, too sensitive for even the light fabric covering me. The silver threads in my hair catch the crimson light, creating a halo effect I glimpse in a nearby puddle's reflection. The pointed tips of my ears have grown more pronounced, undeniably fae in their appearance.

"What's happening to me?" I gasp, wrapping my arms around myself as if physical pressure might contain the transformation.

"The blood moon accelerates everything," The Hound explains, offering the prepared salve by placing it at the grove's threshold. "It's when human omegas can carry fae children to term, when the veil between realms thins, when magic flows most freely between worlds." He pauses, watching me with those unsettling eyes. "And when Wild Magic awakens most powerfully in those with the right bloodlines."

I drag myself toward the salve, each movement sending fresh waves of agony through my wounded back. "Why aren't you trying to claim me? Every other alpha who's found me alone has?—"

"I told you before," he interrupts, backing away as my scent intensifies with each wave of heat. "I know what you represent. What's awakening between you and the Winter Prince." His expression grows serious. "And I know this grove's significance."

I look around at the perfect circle of blood-red flowers, at the white-barked trees forming a natural boundary, at the worn stone dais at the clearing's center where I'd collapsed. "What is this place?"

"The Grove of First Transformation." The Hound's voice drops lower, taking on the cadence of someone reciting ancient knowledge. "Where the original Wild Hunt concluded. Where alpha and omega completed their transformation together, neither dominating nor submitting, but balanced in perfect harmony."

I struggle to apply the salve to my back, the angle making it impossible. The Hound watches my efforts with sympathy but makes no move to enter the grove.

"You can't cross the threshold," I realize, remembering the strange barrier I sensed when I first arrived. "That's why you're staying out there."

"The Sacred Grove has rules even the oldest fae must obey," he confirms. "No alpha may enter without invitation from one who carries Wild Magic in their blood. Not even one of mixed heritage like myself."

The salve burns against my fingers, its wild scent making my head swim. "I don't know how to do this myself," I admit reluctantly, gesturing to my wounded back.

The Hound considers for a moment. "I can enter if invited," he says carefully. "But under crimson moonlight, with your heat intensifying..." He leaves the implication hanging.

I understand his concern. Even with his mixed heritage granting him unusual control, being close to an omega in heat under the crimson moon would test any alpha's restraint. Yet my wounds need treatment, and I can't reach them alone.

"I invite you to enter," I say finally, the words feeling strangely formal on my tongue. "Just to help with the salve."

The Hound inclines his head in acknowledgment. "I accept your invitation, with honorable intent."

As he steps across the threshold, the blood-red flowers turn toward him as one, their perfect circle seeming to assess his worthiness before allowing passage. His movements remain deliberate, maintaining maximum distance while still approaching close enough to help.

"Turn," he instructs, voice tight with the effort of control.

I comply, presenting my wounded back while holding what remains of my tattered clothing against my chest. His fingers work with clinical efficiency, applying the salve to the deep claw marks left by Blaim's attack. The medicine burns initially, then cools, numbing the pain while something in its composition seems to knit the ragged edges of torn flesh together.

"The courts understand now what you two represent," he says as he works, focusing on his task rather than my omega scent, now potent enough to affect even his mixed blood. "The revival of Wild Magic outside their control. The return of the original Hunt's purpose."

Another wave of heat crashes through me, drawing a whimper I can't suppress. The claiming bond stretches painfully between Cadeyrn and me, distance making the connection burn rather than soothe.

"Look up," The Hound suggests, backing away after finishing his treatment. "The blood moon has something to show you."

I raise my eyes, half-delirious with heat and pain. The crimson moon hangs impossibly large above the clearing, its light no longer simply illuminating but actively reaching toward me in visible tendrils of red-tinged magic.

When the first tendril touches my forehead, the world dissolves around me.

I run through an ancient forest, feet barely touching ground that feels familiar yet different. Trees tower overhead, their bark silver rather than black, leaves shimmering with inner light rather than reflecting moonlight.

I run not from terror but from joy, from the wild freedom of the chase. Behind me—not pursuing but participating—runs an alpha whose scent calls to my blood like home.

We are engaged in the oldest dance, the first dance, when omega and alpha discovered what balance truly meant.

The forest parts before us, leading to a clearing identical to the one my physical body occupies. White flowers glow with internal light, forming a perfect circle around a central stone dais worn smooth by countless transformations.

We enter together, alpha and omega, neither simply predator nor prey but equal participants in this sacred ritual. This is claiming reimagined—dominance and submission flowing between us like a tide, each taking and yielding in perfect rhythm. The alpha's growl of possession meets my challenging bite, my submission freely given and then rescinded as I pin powerful shoulders beneath me.

When we join on that ancient stone, it's with all the primal intensity of true mating—the knot swelling to bind us together, but as a shared pleasure rather than a means of control. Our bodies lock in the age-old way of alpha and omega, but our spirits remain unfettered, exchanging power as naturally as breathing.

The forest itself responds—roots surging with renewed life, flowers blooming out of season, animals emerging from hiding to witness the sacred union. The magic that flows between us belongs to neither and both, Wild Magic that recognizes no court division, no seasonal allegiance, only the perfect balance between distinct but equal powers.

And afterward, we are changed. Not omega and alpha as separate castes, but something more—vessels through which Wild Magic might flow into the world, maintaining balance between realms that were never meant to be separated.

I gasp back to awareness, the vision fading but its implications burning bright in my mind. The Hound watches me with knowing eyes, having retreated to the grove's edge once more.

"The original purpose," I whisper, understanding blooming like the white flowers around me. "The Wild Hunt wasn't about breeding or claiming or court bloodlines."

"No," he agrees, as he did during our first meeting when he spoke of court politics corrupting the Hunt's purpose. "It was about balance. About transformation. About maintaining the connection between realms through matched pairs who changed together."

Another wave of heat crashes through me, drawing a cry I can't suppress. The claiming bond pulses with renewed intensity, carrying Cadeyrn's growing alarm as he senses my suffering from miles away.

"The courts corrupted it," I manage through gritted teeth. "Turned transformation into domination. Turned partnership into breeding programs."

"Yes." The Hound backs further away as my scent intensifies beyond what even his remarkable control can withstand. "And now they fear what you and the Winter Prince represent—the revival of Wild Magic they can't control, can't divide, can't suppress."

I curl into myself as pain wracks my body, the heat now burning rather than warming. Without my alpha—without Cadeyrn—the crimson moon's magic works against me rather than with me, trying to force a transformation I can't complete alone.

"I'm dying," I realize, the certainty of it strangely calming amid the agony. "The transformation needs both of us."

"Not just dying," The Hound corrects, his voice tight with restraint as my omega scent clearly affects him despite his unusual heritage. "But suffering unnecessarily. The Sacred Grove offers protection, but it can't complete what your claiming began."

Through the pain, I feel the forest's awareness surrounding me—ancient, patient, neither urging nor dissuading but simply witnessing my choice. The crimson moon continues its relentless bombardment, each pulse of light driving the heat deeper, making the claiming bond stretch painfully between Cadeyrn and me.

"He authorized atrocities," I whisper, uncertain if I speak to The Hound, the forest, or myself. "His signature on countless death warrants. His court's poisons killed my mother."

"Yes," The Hound acknowledges, offering neither excuse nor mitigation. "Seven centuries of perfect Winter Prince, never questioning court protocols." He pauses, his unusual eyes reflecting crimson light. "Until you."

Another vision bleeds through our stretched claiming bond—not sent by the blood moon but by our connection itself. I see Cadeyrn's memory of our first meeting at the Gathering Circle, how he saw through my glamour to the copper hair beneath, how something in my defiance awakened questions dormant for centuries in his perfectly controlled mind.

I see his growing horror as he connects court disposal practices to the wasting sickness in border villages. His dawning comprehension that the protocols he authorized without question caused suffering he never witnessed personally.

Most powerfully, I see his realization that claiming me hasn't diminished him as court physicians warned, but reconnected him to magic the courts have systematically suppressed—Wild Magic that responds to balance rather than dominance.

"He's changing," I whisper, the bond between us carrying emotional truth that can't be falsified.

"As are you," The Hound replies. "The question is whether you'll complete that change together or separately. The blood moon cares nothing for court politics or personal grievances. It recognizes only potential and pattern."

I drag myself to the center of the grove, each movement agony as heat and pain compete for dominance in my transforming body. The blood-red flowers part before me, creating a path to the worn stone dais I recognized from my vision.

When I collapse upon it, the stone feels cool against my overheated skin. The crimson moonlight concentrates here, forming a spotlight that bathes me in blood-red illumination. Through our bond, I feel Cadeyrn's sudden awareness of my position, his understanding of what this sacred place represents.

"What happens now?" I ask, though I'm not sure if I address The Hound, the forest, or the ancient magic pulsing through my veins.

"Now you choose," The Hound answers, backing toward the forest's edge as my scent intensifies beyond what even his remarkable control can withstand. "Complete the transformation alone—possible, but agonizing, and likely to kill you—or call to him through your bond. Invite him to the Sacred Grove where Wild Magic was first balanced between alpha and omega."

Another wave of heat crashes through me, drawing a cry I can't suppress. The claiming bond burns between us, carrying my pain to Cadeyrn in waves that match the pulsing crimson light.

"He'll come regardless," The Hound adds, now barely visible at the forest's edge. "The question is whether you'll allow him to cross the threshold. No alpha may enter the Sacred Grove without invitation from one who carries Wild Magic in their blood."

I close my eyes, feeling the forest's ancient awareness surrounding me, neither pressuring nor guiding but simply witnessing my choice. The crimson moon hangs directly overhead now, its light no longer simply illuminating but actively reshaping me with each pulsing wave.

Through our bond, I sense Cadeyrn moving toward me, drawn by instinct and concern rather than possessive rage. Whatever transformation began with our claiming continues in both of us, changing him as profoundly as it changes me.

The heat builds to unbearable levels, my body arching involuntarily as another vision crashes through me—the original Wild Hunt concluding in perfect balance, alpha and omega transformed together into something neither court politics nor human prejudice could categorize.

Something that belonged only to itself and to the Wild Magic flowing between realms.

As the crimson moon reaches its absolute zenith, casting the Sacred Grove in perfect blood-red illumination, I make my choice.