[Trigger Warning: This dark fantasy romance contains mature themes.]
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SYNOPSIS:

•A WOLRD BUILT ON SECRETS•
Long ago, humans lived unaware of the supernatural beings hidden among them—werewolves with their primal instincts, witches whispering spells in the dark, and elves with their ancient, watchful eyes. For centuries, they coexisted in fragile silence.  

Then, everything shattered.  

Near the shadow-drenced woods of the Shadow pack kingdom, human traveler stumbled upon a gruesome scene: an old woman’s lifeless body, her skin ashen, her wounds gaping like accusations. A few paces away lay a dead werewolf, its throat ripped open, its muzzle still flecked with blood. The truth was undeniable—monsters walked among them.  

Fear ignited war.  

The humans, armed with fire and steel, hunted the werewolves. The conflict dragged witches and elves into the slaughter, their homes burned, their people slaughtered. Years of bloodshed stained the earth until human King Alfred V of the Amethyst Kingdom stood before the four werewolf rulers—the Silverhowl, Crimsonheart, Shadow, and Wildfire Kings—and demanded an end.  

His proposal was a silk-wrapped blade: every twenty years, each human family would sacrifice a daughter to the werewolves to ensure the peace of their kind.

The werewolves agreed.  

The war ceased. The witches and elves retreated, their hatred for the werewolves festering like an unhealed wound. But the so-called "peace" was a lie. The world remained fractured, its people bound by fear and resentment. The cycle of violence merely wore a different mask.  

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•THE PROPHECY OF FIRE•  

In the hidden Blaze Tribe, where crimson eyes burned like embers, the seer Prophetia foresaw annihilation.  

"Our people will fall," she rasped, her voice trembling. "But from the ashes, a girl will rise—the one who will bring true peace… and the one they will slaughter for it."

The tribe made a desperate pact. They would cast a spell—a curse of forgotten memory—erasing their existence from the world’s mind. Their souls would be the price, but their legacy would live on in Ovelia, the child of prophecy.  

The night the Blaze Tribe fell, Ovelia’s parents hid her in the whispering forest, their hands shaking as they sealed a goddess—Firera—inside her infant body. Then, they turned to face their doom.  

[Author: Okay, Firera, stop glaring. You’re not the villain here.]
[Firera: "Then why does it sound like I am?!"]

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•FATE’S CRUEL WHISPER•

Ace Draven, the half-werewolf, half-witch prince of Silverhowl, had never believed in fate—until he found a crying infant beneath the gnarled roots of an ancient tree.  

His wolf, Fenrir, howled in recognition.  

A crimson thread shimmered between them—mates.  

But Firera, watching from within Ovelia’s soul, snarled. "She’s a child. This is too soon." With a flick of her wrist and spell, she tore the memory from Ace’s mind, leaving only an empty ache in his chest.  

[Firera: "I regret nothing."]
[Author: "You’re making this difficult."]

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•TWENTY YEARS LATER: A SACRIFICE AND A RECKONING•

Ovelia, now a woman with fire in her veins and scars on her spirit, has been raised as a slave by the mayor of Timberline Village—a man who would sooner sacrifice her to the werewolves than let his own daughter suffer.  

The night of the sacrifice, the air reeks of damp earth and iron. Torches flicker as the werewolves emerge from the shadows. And then—Ace Draven steps forward.  

Their eyes meet.  

Fenrir *howls*.  

Ace’s claws unsheathe, his breath ragged. "You…" He doesn’t understand why his wolf is clawing at his ribs, why his pulse hammers at the sight of this stranger. But the thread between them burns brighter than ever.  

Ovelia doesn’t know him.  

He doesn’t remember her.

And yet, the bond is undeniable.

Author's Note:The following scene contains elements of torture and may be discomforting to some readers. Please proceed with caution.


My attention snapped to Aldrin. His jaw was clenched so tight the tendons in his neck stood out like cords, his breaths shallow and uneven. A sheen of sweat coated his forehead, and his eyes—glassy, unfocused—flickered with pain. Broken ribs, most likely. When our eyes met, his pupils contracted like a cornered animal's - the glassy sheen of pain couldn't mask the fear underneath.


Kilo's voice cut through the room, rough and defiant. "You pieces of shit!" He jerked against the black magic chains binding him to the chair, the metal links clinking like a death knell. "What the hell are you planning to do with us?" 


Chapter 52 - Chapter 52: Blood Price (+18)