Then he turns and walks away.
Strange.
I watch him go, jaw tight, thoughts turning. Why would he sound relieved Amira won’t be Luna?
“Did you hear that?” I ask, not bothering to turn around. Because of course she didn’t listen and stay put.
“No, what’d he say?” Kassira asks, coming to stand beside me.
“It was the way he said it,” I mutter. “Like he was… grateful. Like he didn’t want his sister to be Luna.”
She shrugs. “Could be sibling rivalry.”
“Maybe,” I say, frowning as I stare after him. I’ll keep an eye on Levi.
Suddenly, a jolt of warmth and sparks shoots up my arm.
I look down to find Kassira’s hand in mine.
She tugs. “Come on, Your Majesty. We’ve got work to do. And I’m starving.”
I blink. She's touching me. Willingly.
And just like that, a ridiculous smile breaks all over my face.
Chapter 8
Kassira
Excerpt from the diary of the High Priestess Marilla DeVohn - 300 years old manuscript
"It is commonly taught — in schools and village firesides alike — that modern lycans descend directly from the ancient ones. Towering beasts of shadow and fury, primal ancestors whose blood birthed the packs of today. This, however, is a carefully constructed lie.
In truth, there were never such things as 'ancient lycans.' The creatures referenced in myth were never lycans at all. They were something else entirely.
They were called Hellhounds. Monsters with wings of smoke and talons carved from flame.
Not bound to the Moon. Not blessed by the gods. Not tied even to the lord of the Underworld. These were entities outside of the natural order, born not of wombs or stars, but of hellfireand death. Demigods in their own right. There were seven in total, walking the Earth more than two thousand years ago. Indestructible. Without mercy.
They sought only one thing, the only thing they were missing: a soul. A Spark. That elusive glimmer of purpose the gods gave freely to lesser beings. They wanted to bring light to the dark, hollow void inside them. They wanted the Mate Spark — the soul’s twin flame. And they were willing to tear the heavens apart to get it.
The gods tried to stop them. With weapons. With strategy. With prophecy. But nothing worked. You cannot strategize against chaos. You cannot outmaneuver something that has no rules.
So the Hellhounds, through relentless destruction, arrived at the steps of the heavens and won the war. They made the gods bow to them. The Moon Goddess was the first to accept their victory. But she also understood their pain. In the end, she was the only god who accepted their request and when they finally gained their Sparks — when they met the mates tethered to their own souls — they quieted. They retreated. They became protectors, not destroyers.
It is said that each bonded pair tamed the storm within the other. And together, they created the first packs of lycans and dragons. The original seven. As gratitude toward the Moon for her gift, they also took her wolves under their protection.
Since then, only a diluted drop of their blood has lingered in certain shifter lines. Harmless and dormant.
The High Priestesses of the Moon have protected this knowledge for millennia at the request of our goddess. The rest of the gods weaved the legends of the ancient lycans and, intheir stories, stripped the Hellhounds of their wings and their talons and the scales under their fur. Because they didn’t want the world to remember the only time in history when they had to kneel.
The resurgence of a true Hellhound — full-blooded and awakened — is an omen we all need to fear. It will either come to destroy the world or save it. But the world won’t know until the last moment.
A final note of warning: the bond of a Hellhound cannot be truly severed. Not by magic. Not by will. It is not like any other bond. It can be cloaked, buried behind a wall of one’s own making. But it will always remain — howling in the dark."
End of excerpt
I slam the book shut so hard that dust explodes off the spine. My hands are shaking.
