The Whispering Glade was not a place of peace; it was a graveyard of trees that refused to die. Silver-barked oaks stood like skeletal sentinels, their leaves permanently gray. As the small war party crossed the border, the mental static Elara had learned to manage suddenly spiked.
"They're watching us," Elara whispered, pulling her horse closer to Lyraki's massive black stallion.
Lyraki didn't look at her, but his hand moved to the hilt of his obsidian blade. "How many?"
"I don't know," she admitted, wincing. "Their thoughts aren't like the Lycans. They're... fragmented. Cold. Like silver."
Suddenly, a whistle pierced the air. A volley of silver-tipped arrows hissed through the trees. Lyraki's warriors shifted mid-air, their clothes shredding as they transformed into massive, shadow-furred wolves to knock the projectiles aside.
"Get down!" Lyraki roared, leaping from his horse. He didn't shift. Instead, he grabbed Elara around the waist and hauled her behind a fallen log.
A figure stepped from the mist. He wasn't a wolf, but he wasn't entirely human either. His hair was the color of winter frost, and his eyes were a piercing, unnatural blue.
"The Alpha King in the Glade," the stranger mocked, his voice like ice cracking. "And he brings the girl with the violet eyes. My employer will be pleased."
"Who is your employer, Silver-Slayer?" Lyraki snarled, his eyes bleeding into that terrifying crimson.
"Someone who remembers what your bloodline stole," the man replied, drawing two curved blades. "I am Kaelen, and I've come for the Heart."
The battle was a blur of silver and shadow. Kaelen's mercenaries moved with a grace that countered the Lycans' brute strength. Elara watched as Lyraki fought like a god of war, his obsidian blade slicing through silver armor as if it were parchment.
But Kaelen wasn't targeting Lyraki. He was targeting her.
He moved through the chaos like a ghost, appearing inches away from Elara. She tried to scramble away, but his hand—cold as death—clamped over her mouth.
Don't scream, little echo, his voice rang inside her head, bypassing her ears entirely. I'm the only one who can tell you why your mother really left the Redwood Pack.
Elara froze. The violet light in her eyes flared, and she did something she had never dared before. She didn't just read his mind; she pushed back. She flooded Kaelen's brain with the screams of the Pit of Whispers she had endured.
Kaelen shrieked, dropping his blades and clutching his head.
"Elara!" Lyraki's voice cut through the fog. He reached her in two strides, his claws dripping with enemy blood. He saw the glowing aura around her and the downed assassin. "What did you do?"
"He knew my mother," Elara gasped, her nose beginning to bleed from the effort of the psychic attack. "He said... he said the King stole something."
Lyraki's face went pale a rare sight for the indestructible King. Before he could respond, the ground beneath them began to vibrate. The first shard was reacting to their presence.
In the center of the Glade, an altar of white stone rose from the earth. Embedded in the center was a shard of the Moonstone, glowing with a sickly, pulsating green light. This wasn't like the purple shard in the fortress; this one felt poisoned.
"The Shard of Envy," Lyraki whispered, his voice thick with dread. "It feeds on the darkest desires of those near it."
As they approached, the air grew heavy. Elara felt a wave of sudden, irrational hatred for Lyraki. He's just using you, a voice whispered in her mind. He'll discard you the moment the moon is whole.
She looked at Lyraki and saw him struggling, too. His eyes were fixed on her neck, his claws extending. The shard was amplifying his primal urge to claim and dominate, stripping away his reason.
"Lyraki, stop!" she cried, but he was lost to the bloodlust. He lunged, pinning her against the altar. His teeth grazed her throat, his growl vibrating through her chest.
"Mine," he hissed, the word no longer a romantic promise, but a terrifying command. "I will have the power. I will have the girl."
Elara realized she couldn't fight him physically. She placed her hands on his temples, her violet light meeting his crimson darkness.
"Look at me!" she commanded, her voice echoing with the power of the Chosen One. "I am not your property. I am your mate!"
The word acted like a bucket of ice water. Lyraki flinched, his eyes clearing for a fraction of a second. In that moment of clarity, he grabbed her hand and slammed it onto the green shard.
"Mend it!" he screamed. "Before I lose myself!"