His Moon Her Bane

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Three wolves thundered through the ancient forest, their paws drumming against the earth like distant war drums. The dense canopy above filtered the moonlight into silvery beams, casting ethereal patterns on the moss-covered ground. These were not ordinary wolves; their pelts shimmered with hues unseen in ordinary beasts, and their eyes held the weight of decades.

At the forefront was Mathias Bane, the last true Lycan and the formidable Pack Master of the Rabid Domain. His massive form moved with a predatory grace, muscles rippling beneath his dark fur. Beside him ran Erik, his loyal second-in-command, equally imposing and vigilant. Trailing slightly behind was a third wolf, smaller and less robust, struggling to keep pace.

The Rabid Domain was a land untouched by mercy. Though green and lush, blanketed in ferns and veined with silver rivers, it was a kingdom of teeth and blood. The trees, ancient and colossal, stood like living titans, their bark veined with veins of dark red sap that sometimes ran like blood. They bent and swayed unnaturally, as though they were sentient—and watching. Sometimes, they were. The forest was known to crush intruders, twisting its own roots into traps or shaking off leaves laced with poisons or sleeping powder.

The prey here did not flee—they fought. Even the deer had sharpened antlers and eyes too intelligent for comfort. Lynxes prowled the trees, silent and near invisible, and boars with tusks like daggers roamed the underbrush. It was a place that tested you.

But it was also beautiful. Wild, unclaimed, and sacred. The air tasted clean and sweet like the fresh nectar of a flower. And for those born of fur and fang, it was home.

It was the heart of all wolves—Lycan and werewolf alike.

Their destination was Lochlea, the sacred meeting ground nestled at the heart of the territories, where ancient stone perched in circles stood as silent witnesses to countless epochs. The air grew thick with anticipation and the scent of old magic as they drew closer.

Suddenly, the third wolf faltered, his limbs trembling as if burdened by an unseen weight. He collapsed, whimpering, his body refusing to obey.

Mathias and Erik halted instantly, their instincts on high alert. With a swift motion, Mathias shifted into his human form, towering and formidable, his eyes glowing with a fierce intensity and annoyance.

"Shift," he commanded, his voice resonating with authority.

The fallen wolf obeyed, revealing a frail man with sunken cheeks and haunted eyes.

"I... I cannot proceed, Pack Master," he stammered. "The presence here... it's overwhelming. I hear her voice—Nyx, the Night Goddess. She tells me I do not belong."

Mathias's expression hardened. He despised weakness, viewing it as a blemish on his leadership. Yet, he recognized the man's value; he was the only one among them fluent in the common tongue, a necessary tool for the impending council. Still, the weakness unnerved him causing Mathias to pull the wolf to his feet roughly.

"Remain in this form," Mathias ordered, releasing his grip. "It may ease your burden."

"Yes, Pack Master," the man replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

Erik approached, offering his back to the weakened man. With effort, the man climbed on, and the trio resumed their journey, the air growing colder and more charged with each step.

As they neared Lochlea, the forest seemed to hold its breath. The ancient stones loomed ahead, bathed in the pale glow of the moon. They stood in a perfect circle, their surfaces etched with runes that pulsed with a soft, otherworldly light and steady hum. The ground within the circle was untouched by time, a sacred space where the veil between worlds was thin and their beasts lie dormant.

Eventually, the forest opened into a glade lit by the bleeding moon above. Stone monoliths stood tall in a perfect circle, ancient and etched with glyphs that pulsed with soft, silver light. These were the Standing Stones of Lochlea, the oldest sacred site known to wolves. No grass grew within the circle, only black soil and white lilies—flowers said to grow only in places touched by the Moon Goddess herself.

The man dismounted, his knees buckling slightly as he took in the awe-inspiring sight; wolves like him were never allowed near such a sacred place. Only the strongest wolves were unburdened by Lochlea's power.

Mathias and Erik then shifted back into their human forms, unbothered by their nudity, a testament to their primal nature. The fine leathers they did own were reserved for necessity—armor, travel, and winter's bite—not modesty. Today, however, was different. Today, they stood before the remaining Alphas of Lupus Glen; the others being killed and their packs absorbed into the packs of the men before them.

As they crossed the threshold into Lochlea, a shiver passed through them. Though it had a strong effect on the frail man, Mathias and Erik were mildly affected.

Wordlessly, the frail man passed out leather coverings for their lower halves—an olive branch for the silken Alphas who stood before them.

The four Alphas waited, cloaked in silks and adorned with gleaming jewels—peacocks preening in their ornamental vanity. Disgust twisted their features as they averted their eyes from the trio’s naked approach. One Alpha, Sorin, extended garments out of what he likely thought was civility, but his hand trembled.

Mathias ignored them all as he pulled on his leather covering, his eyes like shards of glacial stone as he locked his gaze onto Alpha Aurex. Mathias said nothing, but his silence crackled with disdain.

He took his seat slowly, deliberately. Erik, his second, stood to his left like a statue carved from shadow. The frail man lingered to his right—close, but not too close. Close enough to show his place.

Pack Master, the frail man whispered through their link, his voice brittle but clever. When did it become custom to hide behind so much cloth?

Mathias smirked. Perhaps around the time their mate bonds stopped forming naturally.

Alpha Aurex cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably beneath Mathias’s gaze. “Now that Alpha Mathias has arrived—”

“Pack Master,” the frail man corrected, his voice holding no fear or malice, only truth.

Alpha Aurex’s face darkened. “Who are you to speak out of turn?”

Before Mathias could answer, the frail man straightened, the fire casting grotesque shadows across his gaunt face. “My Master says who I am matters little. But if you must know, I am his translator. He would like you to explain why you summoned him from across the world.”

“Master?” one Alpha, Garric, whispered.

“Yes,” the frail man said with piercing clarity. “He is my Pack Master.”

The Alphas recoiled, struggling to process what they had just heard. It had been many lifetimes before their own since the title Pack Master had been used by them. The other Alphas had long since turned their backs on the Night Goddess for her sister, the Moon Goddess, Selene, and had suffered generations for it already.

What was once considered normal for their Lycan descendants, the werewolves lacked any of the enhanced abilities of their wolves. Many of them were no longer able to shift into their wolves, their vision and hearing were no longer as sharp. They were just shy of being barren, a being with no magic.

“Our hearing is flawless,” the frail man added almost lazily. “As it was for you in the days of the old.”

A growl rolled low in Mathias’s chest. “Alpha Aurex. Alpha Garric. My Master wishes for you to cease your idle chatter. Why have you summoned him?”

Mathias leaned back, unreadable as always. “He speaks because I allow it. As for why I am here… you tell me, Alpha Aurex. What desperation moved you to reach out to me and my Horde?”

The space fell silent.

Aurex’s lip curled. “We called you because we had no choice. The Veyrix attack our packs daily, many killed. It is only a matter of time before they make their way back to the Rabid Domain,”

Mathias arched his brow and smirked.

Alpha Aurex clenched his fists. “Veyrix are infesting the reamining regions; we've already lost the other three Alphas. They slaughter our kind—one by one. We need your strength, Mathias.”

A thick silence stretched on for only a second before Mathias gave a long growl that changed in tone and octaves, their native tongue.

The frail man’s lips twisted in a mockery of a smile. “My Master says this is no concern of his. Let the Veyrix come, we will be ready.”

“Damn it, Mathias!” Alpha Caius slammed his fist down. “People will die!”

Mathias’s gaze flicked to him, slow and dismissive, the way a wolf might glance at a yipping pup too small to pose a real threat. His expression didn't shift, but his presence grew heavier, the silence around him expanding until even the wind outside the ruins seemed to hush in reverence—or fear.

“I broke bread with your ancestors,” Mathias said, voice low, reverberating through the stone bones of the temple. “I warned them what would come from forsaking one goddess for the other. I told them balance was sacred. They laughed in my face.”

His eyes lingered on each Alpha in turn, unblinking. “Now here you stand—begging me to fix the rot your bloodlines planted. The irony isn’t lost on me.”

"You'd let us perish," Aurex asked incredulously.

Mathias shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly.

“So is the way of the world,” the frail man said.

Garric’s voice cracked. “Why did you abandon us?”

“Because it is the order of things,” Mathias said. “The strong survive. The weak fade into dust. Your time has come.”

"My master warned your packs long ago, but you didn't want to listen. This is the Goddesses' will," the frail man said.

Caius sneered. “There is no will of a Goddess, women can't rule.”

Mathias laughed angrily. “A God-fearing man you are, and a God-fearing man you will die. We are Moon Warriors. We were made by the Night Goddess. You worship a god who did not birth you, and now you wonder why the Veyrix easily cull your numbers?”

The fire dimmed, as if recoiling from the words.

Then it hit him.

Blood. Sweet, Veyrix blood and pineapples with mint.

Pack Master. Erik’s voice was razor-sharp. Something comes.

Mathias stood. Shift, Erik. You too.

The frail man convulsed and transformed, bones breaking with eerie precision. Erik followed. The Alphas gawked, unprepared for such seamless shifts.

“Mathias, what is this?”

He did not answer. The scent thickened, coiling around him like a rope. Then—

She appeared.

Molten silver eyes, electric and endless. Platinum hair. A storm incarnate. She barreled into the space as if she belonged to it. She was covered in blood, not her own, her small sword in hand as she readied herself for more fighting.

Mathias' beast surged.

“Mine,” Mathias growled, the word low, primal.

Alpha Aurex smiled. “Mathias, you asked for a reason to care. Meet my ward, Nyrielle, the Moon Wolf the Veyrix are after and—your mate.”