Lorraine's POV

Adrian's scream was ripped from his throat before it could even form. He was on the ground, collapsing hard, his chest heaving as the silver blade burned mercilessly through his flesh.

The reek of charred flesh filled the air, silver hissing as it ate into him

"Adrian...."

"Brother!!!!!!"

Aveline's cry echoed through the yard. Her eyes, bloodshot and glazed from the ghosthound's lingering bloodlust, seemed to clear at the sight of her brother's body crumpling. She tore herself from her reckless frenzy, stumbling toward him, dropping to her knees as though the earth itself had failed her. She pressed her hands to the wound, but the blood surged between her fingers, hot and dark. For a heartbeat, guilt carved itself into her features. Then that grief twisted, sharpened, and reignited into fury.

Her face snapped upward, locking on the one man who orchestrated all of this, the Leader.

And he was smirking.

A slow, cruel curve of lips, as if our pain was nothing but another chess move he'd predicted long before we ever set foot here. His eyes glimmered with the cold amusement of a predator who knew victory was already his.

"Pathetic," he drawled, his voice cutting sharper than any blade. "Look at you. All that fire, all that rage, and still weak."

Behind him, the soldiers pressed harder against Kieran. Their numbers were endless, relentless. I could hear the clash of steel, the snarls of wolves, the thud of bodies hitting the dirt. Kieran fought like a storm, brutal, efficient, merciless, but his strength was being chipped away piece by piece. His wounds reopened, crimson staining his torn clothes, blood dripping onto the ground no matter how fast his body tried to heal.

Adrian groaned, coughing blood, and Aveline's reckless screams drew my gaze back. She had thrown herself at the Leader again, blades flashing, but she was no longer fighting with strategy. She was lashing out blindly, grief twisting her into something fragile. Every swing was wild. Every step careless.

And the Leader, he didn't meet her rage with equal force. He didn't need to. He used it. He slipped past her strikes, feinted with deceptive ease, drew her in, punished her mistakes with counters that cut deep. Blow by blow, he dismantled her, and now...., Aveline Vale looked like she could actually lose.

I hated myself. I hated my uselessness, my broken body, the way my left shoulder ached where an arm no longer existed. I hated being forced to stand and watch everyone I loved die around me.

No. Not again. Not like this.

If death was coming for us, I would meet it on my feet.

I staggered toward the nearest fallen soldier, my fingers closing around the hilt of a dagger slick with blood. It felt too heavy in my lone grip, the balance awkward, but my resolve burned.

Better to die fighting than rot as a helpless witness.

The first soldier that lunged at me sneered, as if swatting me away would be a mercy. I ducked low, shoved the blade upward with all the feral stubbornness in me, and felt it sink into his throat. Hot blood gushed across my face as he crumpled.

The second came roaring, but I twisted, slashing upward. It wasn't clean, but it caught across his eye and cheek. He reeled, clutching his face, and I drove the dagger into his chest before he could recover.

The third sneered as though my tiny victories meant nothing. My chest heaved, sweat burning my eyes, my one arm trembling from the sheer force of holding my weapon. Still, I faced him head on. He underestimated me. Most do. And that mistake let me sink my blade into his gut when he overextended.

I stood panting over the three bodies. My chest burned, but my heart roared. Even with one arm. Even broken. I would not be useless.

But then, Aveline's scream.

I spun just in time to see the Leader twist behind her, his hand snapping cruelly around her head.

He snapped her neck.

Her body went limp.

"Aveline!" My own cry ripped me apart, but I was already moving. My legs, weak and shaking, carried me forward on instinct, dagger clenched, rage hot enough to scorch my veins.

I never made it.

The Leader's hand shot out, catching me by the throat with terrifying ease. My dagger clattered uselessly to the ground as he lifted me into the air. My feet dangled, scrabbling against nothing, lungs burning for air. His grip was tight

"So fragile," he murmured, almost tender, though his eyes were nothing but death.

"Kieran Valerius Hunter!" His voice rose, carrying across the battlefield. "Drop your blade. Surrender, ir I end her here."

Through my blurred vision, I saw Kieran falter. His bloodied hands gripped the sword he was holding tighter. He shook his head once, jaw clenched.

"You will not kill her," he growled, voice breaking like gravel. "You need her alive."

The Leader's smile widened. "Ah. That's true." His grip around my throat tightened until my vision sparked white. "But who said I need her whole?"

His gaze slid toward my shoulder, my one remaining arm.

"How about I rip this one off too?"

My breath hitched violently. Tears stung my eyes, spilling hot down my cheeks. Not again. Not again. My chest heaved with strangled sobs, choking against the pressure of his grip.

Kieran's entire body froze.

And then.... he dropped his weapon.

The sound of steel hitting the ground was louder than any war cry.

Soldiers swarmed him immediately, shackling, dragging, binding him down.

And that was the last I remembered, as my eyes began to close and the darkness drowned me.....

My lashes fluttered. My body was heavy, limbs too stiff to move, as though I'd been swallowed whole by exhaustion. The first thing I noticed when my vision cleared was the dying sunlight bleeding across the sky. The world had shifted while I was gone. My throat ached like I had swallowed sand, and I realized I was back at the tree, the same cursed tree they had tied me to before. My wrist burned from the rope digging into them.

A rustle caught my attention. I turned my head, every muscle protesting, and my heart stopped cold.

Opposite me, a little distance away in the yard, was Kieran.

He wasn't free. He wasn't the untouchable Lycan prince who always looked like nothing could break him. He was locked inside a metal cage, its black bars glowing faintly where they had been coated with silver. Chains wrapped around his chest and arms, cutting deep into his flesh. Blood dripped steadily from his wrists where the silver bit into his skin, and to my horror, it wasn't healing.

Kieran rattled the bars, his jaw tight, his dark red eyes blazing with a fury I had only ever seen in fragments. But even his strength was no match against that cursed cage. Every pull of his body against the chains only tore him deeper.

I wanted to call his name, but when I tried, no sound came out. My lips moved uselessly against the cloth gag tied over my mouth.

Then the chanting started.

A group of women in white robes had formed a circle around me, their bare feet smudged with dirt as they swayed, hands lifted to the sky. Their voices rose together in a low, guttural harmony that sent chills crawling down my spine. The words were foreign, twisted, unnatural. Something in my chest tightened at the sound, like my wolf was pressing against me, restless, uneasy.

And then the soldiers came into focus.

They surrounded the yard like a swarm of bees, an unbreakable wall of steel. Every exit was blocked, every gap filled with swords and shields. My heart pounded violently. There was no escape. Not for me. Not for Kieran.

The soldiers shifted suddenly, parting like water in a stream. A single figure stepped into the cleared path.

The Leader.

He was shirtless now, his chest broad and shimmering in the fading light. His long dark hair was tied into a loose ponytail, strands falling across his shoulders like ink. His steps were measured, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world.

The women in white immediately dropped their heads, bowing low to the ground. "We are ready to begin the ritual," they chorused.

The Leader's gaze swept over me, a cruel smile curving his lips. He gave a single nod. "Good. No more delays. Let us begin."

Terror clawed at me. I wanted to scream No. I wanted to fight, to thrash, to spit at his face. But the gag silenced me. My voice was gone. My choices were gone.

Kieran roared, slamming against the bars of his cage so violently it shook. The sound of silver chains grinding against his skin was sickening. He rattled them harder, eyes locked on me with a desperate fire. But the more he fought, the more the chains cut into him. Blood streaked down his arms, staining the cage floor.

I shut my eyes tight. My lungs burned. So this was it. The end. The Leader would rip my wolf from me, and in the process, he would kill me. My story ended here, in this cursed yard, beneath a bleeding sky.

One of the women in white stepped forward, a dagger glinting in her hand. Without hesitation, she pressed it against my forehead and carved a symbol into my skin. Pain exploded through my skull as hot blood streamed down into my eyes. I screamed, raw and sharp, but the gag muffled the sound into a broken sob.

Across the yard, Kieran slammed against the cage again, his eyes wild, his throat straining as he growled something I couldn't hear. His agony was worse than my own. Seeing him restrained, forced to watch, unable to reach me, it broke something in me deeper than the dagger had.

The Leader stepped into the center of the runes carved into the ground. Strange markings glowed faintly under the dirt, pulsing like veins of fire. He knelt inside them, his body too eager, too ready. The same dagger was passed to him, and with it, he carved the same bloody symbol into his own forehead.

His smile widened. He looked almost joyful, like this pain was nothing but a gift.

Just as the chanting grew louder, rising like a storm, a sudden clash shattered the air.

The sound came from the north side of the academy. A loud boom echoed, rattling through the yard.

Every soldier froze.

A man broke from the line of guards, bowing quickly before the Leader. "We are under attack," he reported breathlessly.

The Leader's expression twisted, dark and sharp. "Take most of the soldiers and deal with it. Make sure the intruders never get close to us here."

The soldier bowed again, then barked orders. Half the swarm peeled away, racing toward the north. The yard grew thinner, but still guarded.

The Leader turned back to the women. His smile returned. "Continue."

A different woman stepped forward this time, carrying a strange, blackened bowl etched with carvings. She chanted in a language that curled like smoke through my ears. Then she dragged the dagger across my arm, letting blood flow freely into the bowl. She lifted it with both hands and offered it to the Leader.

He took it eagerly and drank deep, his lips stained red, his eyes alight with sick satisfaction.

My stomach twisted. My breath came in shallow gasps. Was this truly the end?

I thought of Kieran.

Not as the prince, not as the arrogant Lycan who challenged me at every turn. But the moments in between, the way his eyes softened when he thought I stared at me. The way he had carried me when I couldn't walk. The way he had always, always been there, even when I swore I didn't need him.

I wanted to tell him. I wanted to whisper all the words I had kept locked inside. That I had been stubborn. That I had been foolish. That I had wasted so much time fighting him, when all I had really wanted was more time with him.

But now it was too late.

I turned my head, tears blurring my vision, and found his eyes through the bars of his cage. His fury melted when he saw my tears. His lips moved around his own gag, trying to speak to me, to tell me something. I didn't need to hear the words. I knew.

And my heart broke, because I would never get to say it back.

That I loved him.

I was going to die before I ever could.