Chapter 131

Chapter 131: Chapter 131

The cave was cold and damp, the walls glistening with moisture, the air thick with the smell of earth and blood. The survivors of the mill huddled together in the dim light of a single lantern what was left of the resistance, a ragged band of wounded fighters and frightened civilians. Outside, the river rushed past, its sound a constant reminder of how far they had fled.

Nyra knelt beside Corvin, her hands pressed against the wound on his chest. The shadow bolt had burned through his tunic and into his flesh, leaving a dark, weeping gash that refused to close. His skin was pale too pale and his breathing was shallow and uneven. Every few seconds, his body shuddered with pain.

"How is he?" Ragnar asked, limping over with his arm still in a makeshift sling.

"He’s losing too much blood." Nyra’s voice was tight with fear. "The wound won’t close. The witch’s magic is still in it, eating away at the flesh. We need supplies—bandages, herbs, something to stop the bleeding."

"We don’t have supplies," Darian said grimly. "We left everything at the mill. What little we carried out is already gone."

"Then we find more."

"Where? The nearest village is half a day’s walk, and Varek’s soldiers are already searching the river. We’d be captured before we got halfway there."

Nyra’s hands pressed harder against the wound. "So we just let him die? Is that what you’re suggesting?"

"I’m suggesting we face reality. We’ve lost too many already. We can’t risk more lives for one man, no matter how valuable he is."

Nyra’s head snapped up, her silver eyes blazing. "He’s not ’one man.’ He’s Corvin. He’s the reason I’m still alive. He’s the reason any of us are still alive. And I will not let him die on this cave floor while there’s still breath in my body."

The cave fell silent. Darian held her gaze for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "I understand. But we still can’t leave. Not yet. The soldiers are too close."

From the shadows at the edge of the cave, Selene stepped forward. Her amber eyes were cold, but there was something else in them—something that looked almost like concern.

"I know something of treating wounds," she said. "The Silvermoon curriculum includes battlefield medicine. I can help stabilize him."

Nyra stared at her. "Why would you help us? After everything—"

"Don’t mistake this for friendship." Selene’s voice was sharp. "Corvin and I have known each other since we were children. Whatever exists between you and me—whatever grievances I hold—he doesn’t deserve to die because of them." She knelt on the other side of Corvin’s body. "Besides, if he dies, you’ll be even more insufferable than you already are."

Nyra almost laughed. Almost. "Fine. Help him."

Selene examined the wound with practiced efficiency, her fingers pressing gently around the edges. "The bleeding is severe. The dark magic is preventing his wolf from healing. I can slow it, but I can’t stop it completely. He needs blood. Fresh blood."

"We don’t have blood."

"Then he’s going to die."

The words hung in the air like a death sentence. Nyra’s chest tightened. Corvin’s face was gray now, his lips almost blue. She could feel his pulse weakening under her hands.

"There has to be something," she whispered. "Some other way."

Maureen Holt appeared at her side, her round face pale but determined. She had been assisting the wounded since the battle ended, her healing skills rudimentary but effective. "I know a little about potions," she said quietly. "Not as much as Corvin, but enough. I can brew a blood-replenishing tonic with the right ingredients. But I don’t have the ingredients. And even if I did, it would take hours he doesn’t have."

"What about a transfusion?" Selene asked. "Wolf to wolf. If someone gives him their blood directly—"

"That’s dangerous," Darian interjected. "If the blood types don’t match, the transfusion could kill him faster than the wound."

"Then we test the blood first." Selene looked around the cave. "Who here knows their blood type?"

Silence. No one answered.

"I know mine," Nyra said quietly. "I was tested as a child. My father wanted to know if I carried the Moonblood markers."

"And?"

"I’m a universal donor. My blood can be given to anyone."

The cave went very still.

"No," Ragnar said. "Absolutely not. You’re already exhausted from the battle. Giving blood now could kill you."

"He’s going to die without it."

"There has to be another way."

"There isn’t." Nyra’s voice was steady. "Corvin has saved my life more times than I can count. He’s bled for me. He’s killed for me. He’s given up everything—his position, his future, his safety—to protect me. The least I can do is give him my blood when he needs it."

"It’s too dangerous—"

"I don’t care about the danger." She reached down and took Corvin’s cold hand in hers. "He’s my mate. My friend. My protector. And I will not let him die while I stand by and do nothing."

Selene studied her for a long moment. Then she nodded. "You’ll need to be strong for this. If you pass out during the transfusion, it could kill you both."

"I won’t pass out."

"You don’t know that."

"I know I won’t let him die. That’s enough."

Selene turned to Maureen. "We’ll need clean cloths, hot water, and a blade sterilized with fire. We’ll do the transfusion directly—wrist to wrist. The Moonblood magic in her veins might actually help him heal faster."

Maureen nodded and hurried to gather the supplies. Ragnar opened his mouth to protest again, but Finn put a hand on his arm.

"She’s made up her mind," Finn said quietly. "You know how stubborn she is."

"That’s what I’m afraid of."

They set up the transfusion as best they could in the dim cave. Selene cleaned the blade with fire from the lantern. Maureen prepared the cloths and a bowl of hot water. Nyra rolled up her sleeve and held out her wrist.

"Are you certain?" Selene asked one last time.

"I’ve never been more certain of anything."

Selene nodded and made the cut.

The blood welled up immediately—dark crimson in the lantern light. Selene made a matching cut on Corvin’s wrist and pressed the two wounds together. For a long moment, nothing happened. Then something shifted in the air—a faint shimmer of silver, almost invisible—and Nyra felt the pull.

Her blood was flowing into him. Her life was flowing into him.

The cave seemed to hold its breath. Nyra’s vision blurred at the edges. Her head grew light. But she held on. She held on, because Corvin’s face was slowly regaining color. Because his breathing was growing stronger. Because his pulse was steadying under her fingers.

"That’s enough," Selene said finally. "Any more and you’ll collapse."

Nyra pulled her wrist away. The wound was still bleeding, but Maureen was already there, pressing a cloth against it. "You did it," the girl said softly. "You actually did it."

Corvin’s eyes fluttered open.

He looked up at the cave ceiling for a long moment, disoriented. Then his gaze found Nyra’s face. "Nyra...?"

"I’m here." She leaned over him, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I’m right here. You’re going to be okay."

"You gave me... your blood?"

"The Moonblood blood. Universal donor." She tried to smile. "Turns out being a hidden princess has some advantages."

He reached up weakly and touched her cheek. "You’re... incredible."

"So I’ve been told."

He closed his eyes again, but his breathing was even now. His pulse was steady. He was going to live.

Nyra sat back, her body trembling with exhaustion. Around her, the survivors were watching with a mixture of awe and concern. Ragnar looked relieved. Finn was grinning despite the circumstances. Marek nodded once—his version of high praise.

And in the shadows at the far end of the cave, Valeria watched with cold, calculating eyes.

She had kept her distance during the transfusion, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable. She had helped during the battle had fought alongside them against Varek’s soldiers—but her allegiance was still uncertain. She was here because Selene was here. And Selene was here because—

Because she’s weak, Valeria thought. Because she let her feelings for Soren cloud her judgment. Because she’s starting to care about these people even though she won’t admit it.

A movement caught her eye. Across the cave, half-hidden in the shadows, a figure was watching her. A figure she recognized.

Their eyes met. A silent understanding passed between them—a message conveyed without words, a plan set in motion without speech.

Valeria looked away first. But a small, cold smile curved her lips.

Soon, she thought. Soon, everything will change.

Morgath had been born in an age of fire and blood.

Her earliest memory was of running—running through a burning village, her mother’s hand gripping hers, the screams of her people echoing behind them. She had been six years old. She didn’t understand what was happening. She only knew that the world was ending.

"What’s happening, Mama?" she had asked, her small voice trembling.

"The Moonblood queens," her mother had gasped. "They’ve come to destroy us. They fear the old magic. They fear what we can do."

"But why? We haven’t done anything wrong!"

"They don’t care, child. They see us as abominations. Threats to their power. They won’t stop until every last one of us is dead."

Her mother had hidden her in a hollow tree and told her to stay quiet. To stay still. To not make a sound no matter what she heard.

Morgath had stayed in that tree for two days.

She had heard the soldiers. She had heard the screams. She had heard her mother’s voice, pleading for mercy that never came.

When she finally emerged, the village was gone. Everyone she had ever known—her mother, her father, her sisters, her friends—was dead. Their bodies had been burned beyond recognition, their homes reduced to ash.

She had knelt in the ashes of her old life and made a vow.

I will destroy them. Every Moonblood queen. Every heir of the old magic. I will wipe their line from the face of the earth, and I will dance on their graves.

That had been three hundred years ago.

She had spent the centuries learning. Growing. Becoming more powerful than any witch of her generation. She had watched the Moonblood line fade watched the kings of the realm grow afraid of the old magic and begin erasing it themselves. She had laughed as the Moonblood temples were burned, as the sacred texts were destroyed, as the heirs were hunted and killed.

But one had survived. One had been hidden away, protected by a father who loved her too much to let her go.

Nyra Astrlyn. The last of the Moonblood. The final heir of the line that had destroyed Morgath’s family.

And now, at last, she was within reach.

Morgath stood on a hill overlooking the valley, the smoke from the burning mill still rising behind her. Her dark robes billowed in the wind. Her ancient eyes gleamed with anticipation.

"Run, little princess," she murmured. "Run as far and as fast as you can. It won’t save you."

She raised her hand, and the shadows around her writhed like living things.

"The Moonblood line ends with you. I will make sure of it."

She vanished into the darkness, leaving only the smoke and the ashes and the promise of death behind her.