Chapter 2 — Shadows of Betrayal

Ryden

The tension in the air was suffocating as Ryden marched out of Moonveil Glade, his boots crunching on the frost-laden ground. Despite the cool bite of the night, his entire body burned with barely contained anger. His fingers twitched at his sides, itching for a fight, but there was no outlet for the frustration clawing at his insides. All he could feel—had been feeling since the damn ritual—was her.

Emilia’s emotions still crackled faintly across their bond, like the remnants of a storm lingering on the horizon. Anger. Defiance. And beneath it all, something else—sharp and raw, like a wound not fully closed. He didn’t want to name it for what it was. That would make it real.

The bond was a constant pressure in his mind, an unwelcome pulse that refused to be ignored. No amount of mental barriers could block her out entirely. She didn’t want this bond any more than he did, and yet here they were, chained by the moon’s will like two wolves tethered to the same leash.

The sounds of his clan dispersing behind him barely registered. Voices whispered in low, urgent tones, their words tinged with unease. He caught fragments—distrust, outrage, fear—but shoved them aside. Let them talk. He didn’t have the patience to coddle their insecurities.

“Ryden.”

The voice cut through his thoughts like a blade, sharp and demanding. He stopped, exhaling heavily through his nose, and turned to face Serin. His beta stood a few feet away, dark eyes narrowed and mouth set in a grim line.

“What?” Ryden snapped, his tone harsher than intended.

Serin didn’t flinch. If anything, his expression hardened. “The clan needs answers,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “They don’t understand what just happened, and frankly, neither do I. You need to address them before this gets out of hand.”

“Address them?” Ryden’s laugh was bitter, devoid of humor. “What do you expect me to say? That the moon decided to shackle me to an enemy? That its ‘will’ is absolute, and we have no choice but to obey?” His hands curled into fists as his voice rose. “What do you think they’ll do with that? Rejoice in some divine wisdom? No. They’ll see it for what it is—a damn noose around my neck.”

Serin stayed silent for a moment, his gaze steady and unreadable. “You don’t have to like it—none of us do—but this isn’t about your pride, Ryden. The bond is real, and the clan is scared. They want to know you’re still in control.”

“They should be scared,” Ryden growled, stepping closer to his beta. His voice dropped to a low, dangerous tone. “Because this changes everything. You think Emilia’s clan will honor this bond? You think they’ll set aside centuries of blood feuds because of some ritual? No. This isn’t a blessing, Serin—it’s a curse. And it’s going to tear us apart.”

Serin considered him carefully. “Curse or not, it’s done. If you don’t take control of this, someone else will. And you know how that ends.”

Ryden’s jaw tightened. He did know. The fragility of his leadership had been a shadow at his back since the coup that had placed him in power. There were those in his clan who whispered of rebellion, who saw his methods as too ruthless, his victories too costly. This bond would only stoke their discontent.

Before he could respond, a sharp, alien sensation rippled through his mind—a flash of anger, red-hot and searing. Not his own.

His breath caught, and his body stiffened. For a split second, he was back in the glade, staring into Emilia’s blazing amber eyes, feeling her fury as though it were his own. The bond stirred faintly in the back of his consciousness, the sensation like claws scraping against his thoughts.

Damn her. Damn this bond.

Ryden turned sharply on his heel, striding away with renewed purpose. “Fine,” he muttered, his voice low. “Gather the clan. I’ll speak to them.”

Serin hesitated, then fell into step beside him. “And what will you tell them?”

Ryden didn’t answer immediately. His mind churned with half-formed thoughts, none of them satisfactory. He couldn’t show weakness, couldn’t afford to let his people see the cracks in his resolve. Yet the vision he’d shared with Emilia during the ritual lingered at the edges of his thoughts, a blood-red moon and a shadow like jagged glass.

The moon’s will, the priest had called it. But Ryden wasn’t convinced this was the divine intervention the elders believed it to be. Whatever this bond was, it was tied to that vision—and if he couldn’t control it...

He pushed the thought aside as they entered the clearing near Shadowfang Keep. His clan had gathered, their dark forms standing in tight clusters beneath skeletal trees. The keep loomed in the background, its jagged towers casting long shadows under the moonlight. The structure looked as unyielding as ever, but Ryden couldn’t help but feel the weight of the history within those dark walls—victories and betrayals, alliances forged and broken.

The murmurs quieted as Ryden approached, his presence commanding attention. He stopped at the center of the crowd, his ice-blue gaze sweeping over the faces before him. Fear, anger, uncertainty—all of it reflected back at him.

“This changes nothing,” he began, his voice cutting through the still night. The crowd stilled, their gazes fixed on him. “The moon has made its will known, but our priorities remain the same. We protect our land. We protect our people. And we prepare for the battles ahead.”

A ripple of murmurs spread through the crowd, but Ryden raised a hand, silencing them. “I know what you’re thinking,” he continued, his tone hard. “You see this bond as a weakness. A threat. And you’re not wrong—if we allow it to be. But let me make one thing clear: I am still your alpha. This bond does not change who I am or what I stand for.”

A voice rose from the back—a woman, older, her tone sharp with doubt. “And what of her? That Lysarion girl? Do you expect us to trust her?”

Ryden’s jaw tightened, but he forced his expression to remain cold and unreadable. “I trust Emilia Lysarion as much as I trust a blade at my back,” he said sharply. “But trust is irrelevant. This bond is not a choice—it’s a tool. And like any tool, it can be used to our advantage.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with tension. Another murmur rippled through the crowd, louder this time, but no one spoke out further.

“Enough,” Ryden barked, his voice brooking no argument. “We don’t have time for fear or doubt. There are larger threats at play—threats that don’t care about our grudges or rivalries.”

He thought of the vision again, of the blood-red moon and the shadow that had loomed over it. The memory sent a chill down his spine, but he buried the emotion, locking it away behind walls of cold resolve.

“This bond is a distraction,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Our true enemies are out there, waiting for us to falter. We will not give them the chance.”

The silence that followed was tense and heavy, the weight of his words settling over the crowd like a shroud. Ryden’s gaze swept over them, daring anyone to challenge him. When no one spoke, he nodded sharply. “Return to your duties. Prepare for the full moon. Dismissed.”

As the crowd began to disperse, Serin lingered by his side. “That was... effective,” he said quietly, though his tone carried a note of doubt.

Ryden didn’t respond immediately. His gaze was fixed on the distant trees, their gnarled branches twisting against the moonlit sky. “It’s not enough,” he muttered.

Serin arched a brow. “What isn’t?”

“This bond,” Ryden said, his voice low. “It’s more than a tool. It’s a weapon. And I need to know how to wield it before it destroys me.”

Serin frowned but didn’t press further. As Ryden turned and strode toward the keep, the chill in the air seemed sharper, the shadows darker. The bond pulsed faintly in his mind, an unwelcome reminder of the connection he couldn’t sever.

He hated it. Hated her.

But deep down, beneath the layers of anger and defiance, a seed of doubt took root.

What if this bond wasn’t just a curse? What if it was the key to something far more dangerous?

And what if he wasn’t ready for it?

The thought lingered as he disappeared into the shadows of Shadowfang Keep, the weight of the moon’s will pressing heavily on his shoulders.