Chapter 17 - The Blood Moon Prophecy
1106 Words
Celina’s POV
LUCIEN’S HAND was warm beneath mine, but it trembled ever so slightly as I helped him out of the infirmary. His pride would never let him admit how weak he still was, but I felt it. The subtle drag of his steps. The way his shoulders didn’t square as sharply as they used to. Even the quiet hiss of breath when the bandages across his ribs pulled too tight.
“You don’t have to hold me like I’m going to collapse,” he muttered, though his arm stayed firmly linked with mine.
“You nearly bled out in front of half the pack three nights ago,” I shot back softly. “Forgive me for being cautious.”
A faint smirk tugged at his mouth, arrogant even in his frailty. “Cautious doesn’t suit you, little wolf. You’re the one who leapt into the ring like a storm. That’s what suits you.”
My chest tightened at the memory—the roar of the crowd, the spray of blood, the way my scream had torn free when Kael’s blade slid too close to Lucien’s throat. He was alive, but barely. Even now, I could smell the sharp tang of herbs clinging to his bandages.
Behind us, Rhys shadowed our steps like a silent sentinel. His eyes scanned every corner, every shadow, as though Kael might spring from the stone walls of the fortress and finish what he started.
But it wasn’t Kael waiting for us.
The moment we crossed the threshold into the great hall, the air changed. The Council was gathered. Elders in their ceremonial cloaks lined the chamber, their faces carved from stone and suspicion. Torches flickered against ancient banners, each bearing the sigil of a pack fractured by old rivalries. The tension was a living thing, coiled tight and ready to strike.
At the center of it all stood the Seer.
Her hair was silver, cascading like moonlight down her shoulders. Her eyes were clouded with a milky film, yet I felt them pierce me as if she could strip away flesh and bone and stare straight at the secrets beneath my skin.
Lucien stiffened beside me, his jaw tightening. “This had better be worth dragging me from a healer’s bed,” he said, his voice sharp despite the rasp of exhaustion.
The Seer lifted a trembling hand, and silence fell. Even the torches seemed to dim, shadows lengthening across the stone floor.
“I have seen what the moon revealed,” she intoned, her voice echoing as though the walls themselves were listening. “I have seen the mark. The child she carries”—her eyes bore into me—“is the Lunar Heir.”
A cold shiver raced through me.
The hall erupted. Voices clashed like steel, overlapping, rising.
“That’s impossible—”
“After all these years?”
“The Lunar Heir means war!”
“No—unity!”
“Unity? Or domination?”
I staggered under the weight of it, one hand instinctively clutching my belly. My child. My secret that had only just begun to feel real—and now, with one proclamation, it was no longer mine.
Lucien’s hand shot out, steadying me. His face was pale, carved in granite. “Explain,” he demanded, voice low, dangerous.
The Seer’s lips curled into a faint, eerie smile. “Once in a generation, the moon marks a child. Born of fire and blood, destined to unite the fractured packs under one banner—or to destroy them all. Your heir, Alpha Thorne… carries that mark.”
The weight of her words settled over me like chains. My heart thundered, each beat echoing in my ears. Unite or destroy. Empire or ash.
“This is madness,” Elder Marcellus spat, his thin frame trembling with fury. “Such power cannot be left unchecked. The child must be taken into the Council’s care, raised without bias—”
“No.” The word was a blade in Lucien’s mouth.
Marcellus’s nostrils flared. “You would risk everything for sentiment?”
“It’s not sentiment.” Lucien straightened, towering despite his weakness. “It’s sovereignty. My heir. My mate. My pack. No Council will touch what belongs to me.”
My throat tightened. He said it so easily, so fiercely, as if it were a fact carved into stone—that I belonged to him. That our child did.
But the Council wasn’t done.
Another voice rang out, colder, sharper. “The prophecy has never been wrong. If this child is indeed the Lunar Heir, it is not a matter of if but when the power manifests. Better to control it before it controls us.”
“And if control fails?” a different Elder countered. “If the child is too dangerous?”
“Then we end it before it’s born.”
The words sliced through me, leaving me breathless.
“No!” My voice rang out, raw, fierce. My hand cradled my belly as though I could shield it from their gaze, their hunger, their fear. “This is my child. You don’t get to decide its fate. You don’t get to decide mine.”
The room went still for a moment. Then all at once, arguments surged again, clashing like thunder.
Rhys stepped forward, his body a wall of defiance. “Touch her, and you’ll have to go through me first.”
Whispers rippled through the hall. The loyalty in his voice was unmistakable, but the Elders twisted it instantly.
“See? Even the Beta is compromised.”
“His loyalty clouds his reason.”
“He cannot be trusted.”
Lucien’s gaze flicked to Rhys, then to me, then back to the Council. He was weak, pale, still healing—but the force of his authority was undeniable when he spoke.
“Compromised or not, Rhys is right. If you think of taking her or my heir, you’ll find out exactly how much fight I have left. And I promise you, it’s enough.”
The growl in his voice sent a shiver through me. He meant it. Every syllable. Even half-dead, Lucien Thorne would burn this hall to the ground before letting anyone touch me.
The Seer’s voice sliced through the chaos, silencing the Council once more.
“There is more.”
Her eyes—those milky, ancient eyes—locked on me. My breath caught.
“The prophecy warns: If the child is born under the wrong moon… the mother will not survive.”
The silence was absolute. Not even a torch crackled.
My blood turned to ice.
- Writer
