CHAPTER 107: THE CLASH IN THE SANCTUARY.

Angela Rivers stumbled back, her heel catching on the blood-stained altar as Maren’s form lunged, a blur of fur, claws, and glowing silver eyes. The air in the Sanctuary crackled, the symbols on the stone circle flaring green, casting an unearthly glow across the clearing. The ground trembled beneath her, the low growl in her bones now a deafening roar, as if the forest itself was tearing open to reveal the spirit realm Marcus had warned her about.

Angela’s heart slammed against her ribs, her fingers clutching the pocketknife and Carla’s journal, pathetic defenses against a werewolf, but it was all she had. Grief and fear warred within her, but the thought of Bella kept her from collapsing. She wouldn’t fail her niece, ever again.

"Angela, run!" Marcus shouted again, his voice cutting through the chaos. He stood at the edge of the clearing, his weathered face taut with urgency, his gray eyes sharp and gleaming fearlessly. Behind him, three figures emerged from the shadows, they were all tall, lean, with eyes that glinted silver like Maren’s but softer, less cruel. Moonbloods, Angela realized, her mind reeling. Survivors, like Marcus, here to fight.

Maren snarled, her transformation complete. She was no longer human but a towering creature, fur black as midnight, claws like curved daggers, her snout curled in a snarl that revealed teeth gleaming in the green glow. The air around her shimmered, distorting like heat rising from pavement, as if the spirit realm was bleeding into the physical world. Angela’s breath caught, her body frozen by the sight. This was real, werewolves, monsters, the nightmare her sister had lived and died in.

Marcus moved first, his body blurring as he transformed mid-stride, his jacket shredding as fur sprouted, his hands elongating into claws. He collided with Maren in a crash of snarls and snapping jaws, their forms a whirlwind of violence. The other Moonbloods followed, two women and a man, their transformations slower but no less terrifying, muscles rippling, faces elongating, eyes blazing with silver fire. The clearing erupted into chaos, the air thick with growls, the scent of blood, and that metallic tang Angela now recognized as the stench of the supernatural.

She scrambled behind the altar, her hands shaking as she gripped the journal and knife. The stones pulsed hotter, their symbols burning her eyes, and the air felt like it was pressing against her skin, heavy with unseen energy. The spirit realm was close, she could feel it, a cold, electric hum that made her teeth ache. Carla had died here, or somewhere like it, her spirit torn apart by Maren’s claws. Angela’s grief surged, raw and searing, but it fueled her resolve. She had to find something, anything, that would lead her to Bella.

Her flashlight beam darted across the clearing, catching glimpses of the battle. Marcus and Maren grappled near the edge, her claws raking his side, drawing blood that glistened black in the green light. One of the Moonblood women, a wiry figure with auburn fur, leapt onto Maren’s back, her jaws snapping at the larger werewolf’s neck. The man, his fur a pale gray, circled, looking for an opening, while the second woman, her coat a deep brown, lunged at Maren’s legs. But Maren was a force, her movements fluid and brutal, shrugging off their attacks with terrifying strength. She was the hunter, they the prey, and Angela knew they couldn’t hold her for long.

She forced herself to focus, her eyes scanning the altar. The blood stains were fresh, as if spilled hours ago, and beneath them, carved into the stone, was a spiral symbol, larger than the others, pulsing with a faint green light. Angela’s fingers brushed it, and a jolt shot through her, like touching a live wire. Images flashed in her mind, Carla, screaming, her body convulsing on this very stone; Bella, her face pale, trapped in a forest full of wolves, Jonathan, his leather pouch open, sprinkling powder into a glass. Angela gasped, yanking her hand back, her heart pounding. The Sanctuary wasn’t just a place, it was a conduit, a bridge to the spirit realm from the human world.

She flipped open Carla’s journal, her hands trembling as she searched for answers. The last page held a scrawled note: "The altar binds the bloodline. Maren uses it to track us, to strike in the spirit realm. Bella’s next. Sanctuary is her cage." Angela’s blood ran cold. Maren was using this place to hunt Moonbloods, to find Bella. The altar was the key, a tool to locate her niece, or to trap her. But how?

A scream tore through the clearing, animalistic, raw and pained. Angela’s head snapped up. The auburn-furred Moonblood was down, her side torn open, blood pooling on the ground. Maren towered over her, her silver eyes locked on Marcus, who was panting, blood dripping from his flank. The other two Moonbloods circled warily, but Maren’s presence dominated, her power suffocating. Angela’s paranoia spiked, she was out of time, out of options. She had to act.

She shoved the journal into her bag and gripped the knife, her mind racing. The altar’s spiral symbol pulsed faster, the air around it shimmering. She remembered Marcus’s words: the spirit realm was where werewolves fought without physical bodies. If the altar connected to that realm, maybe it held a clue to Bella’s location. Angela knelt again, ignoring the chaos, and pressed both hands to the spiral. The jolt hit harder this time, her vision blurring as the clearing faded.

A growl snapped her back to the clearing. Maren had pinned Marcus, her claws at his throat, while the remaining Moonbloods lunged desperately. Angela’s hands shook as she stood, the knife useless in her grip. She couldn’t fight Maren, couldn’t save Marcus or the others. But she could run, find Bella, expose Maren to the Moonblood council. She took a step toward the trees, her instincts screaming to flee, but something stopped her, a glint in the shadows, another pair of silver eyes.

A new figure stepped into the clearing, human-shaped but radiating the same primal energy as the werewolves. Tall, broad-shouldered, with dark hair and a familiar leather pouch at his belt. Jonathan. Angela’s stomach dropped, her grief twisting into rage. He’d poisoned Carla, betrayed her sister, and now he was here, watching the battle with cold, calculating eyes.

"Jonathan!" Angela shouted, her voice raw. "What are you doing?"

He turned, his gaze locking onto hers, and for a moment, she saw something in his expression... guilt, maybe, or pain. But then his lips curled into a smile, and he stepped toward Maren, not Angela. "You shouldn’t have come, Angela," he said, his voice smooth, devoid of the warmth she’d once known. "You’re making this harder than it needs to be, you’re endangering your life."

Maren’s head snapped toward him, her snarl softening into approval. "You were right to call me," she said, her voice distorted by her beastly form. "She got too close, this one."

Angela’s world tilted. Jonathan had called Maren. He’d known she was coming to the Sanctuary, had set her up. The black sedan, the glinting eyes outside her window, it had been him, watching her, leading her here. Her grief exploded, a scream tearing from her throat. "You bastard! You killed Carla!"

Angela’s knife trembled in her hand, her vision blurring with tears. "She’s your daughter! You monster, Bella is your daughter!"

"She’s a Moonblood," he said, his voice cold. "And Moonbloods can’t be allowed to live. So she must die."

Marcus roared, struggling under Maren’s claws, but the other Moonbloods were faltering, their injuries slowing them. The air pulsed harder, the altar’s light flaring, and Angela felt the spirit realm pressing closer, its cold fingers brushing her mind. She was trapped, betrayed by the man who’d married her sister, surrounded by monsters she couldn’t fight. But Bella was still out there, and Angela wouldn’t let her die.

She lunged for the altar, slamming her hands onto the spiral, desperate for another vision, another clue. The jolt hit, and the clearing vanished again. She saw Bella, clearer now, in a forest, her wrists bound, her eyes glowing brighter. A map flashed—Whitethorn Academy, a school in the woods. Bella was there, alive, but weakening. Angela’s heart pounded. She had to get to her.

But the vision shattered as claws raked her arm, pain searing through her. Maren loomed over her, her silver eyes blazing. "You’re not leaving this place," she snarled, her voice echoing in both realms.

Angela screamed, the knife slipping from her hand as Maren’s claws raised for the killing blow. But then a new howl split the air, and a figure crashed into Maren, it was a magnificent werewolf, smaller, with fur the color of moonlight. Its eyes locked onto Angela’s, and she froze, recognition hitting like a blow. Bella.

The altar flared, the spirit realm tearing open, and Angela’s world went black as Bella’s howl echoed, a promise and a threat, leaving her dangling on the edge of life and death.