Page 7 of The Blood Moon Oath

“Clean, as always,” he says, his tone mocking. “You could benefit from some chaos, brother.”

“And you could benefit from cleaning your damn quarters once in a while,” I shoot back, lighting a fire with a flick of my fingers. The flames burst to life, casting a golden glow across the room. Unlike Torin’s chaotic mess or Kael’s austere elegance, my space is precise, orderly. A reflection of myself—or so I’d like to think.

The room is a study in control. Dark stone walls are softened by rich, dark green tapestries embroidered with silver accents, each depicting scenes of ancient battles or symbolic representations of the Sabers' strength. A massive oak desk sits in the corner, its surface polished to a gleaming shine, with neatly arranged papers, quills, and a single, slender silver dagger resting atop it—more decorative than functional, though it’s sharp enough to kill.

Bookshelves line one wall, filled with tomes of strategy, lore, and a few personal indulgences in fiction, each spine meticulously aligned. Opposite the shelves is a sitting area with a low black leather sofa and two matching chairs, all framing a glass coffee table with a single silver candleholder in its center. A decanter of whiskey and a pair of crystal glasses sit on a side table next to one of the chairs, untouched but ready.

The bed is tucked into an alcove on the far side of the room, its dark, forest-green blankets pulled taut, accented by black and silver pillows. A sleek chest at its foot holds spare clothing and weapons. A large, arched window is draped with heavy curtains, keeping out the cold and the prying eyes of the outside world, though the faintest glow of moonlight sneaks through the cracks.

Everything has its place, nothing out of line. It’s not sterile—it has warmth, a quiet luxury—but it’s clear that no chaos lives here. Only order.

Torin just grins, unbothered by the jab, as we head toward the hidden passage at the back. I push open the heavy stone door, revealing a narrow staircase that leads down to the concealed quarters I’d built years ago.

The room is sparse but functional, with a sturdy bed, a small table, and a fireplace. I flick my fingers again, and the fire roars to life. The warmth fills the space, chasing away the chill that clings to us from the forest. As I glance around, an idea strikes me, and I channel a sliver of power into the room, subtly altering it. The bedding softens, the furniture takes on a more welcoming appearance. Torin notices immediately.

“Thought you didn’t like her,” he drawls, his grin sharpening. “Getting cozy, Finn?”

“Shut up,” I mutter, not entirely comfortable with why I just did what I did. “Put her on the bed.”

Torin obliges, laying her down with surprising gentleness. But then, of course, he tries to climb onto it with her.

“Off,” I bark, and he pouts like a chastised child.

“What are we even going to do with her?” he grumbles, crossing his arms.

“Lock her in,” I say, my tone final. “I’ll shield her with my magic tonight. You’re free to do whatever you want, as long as it doesn’t involve her.”

Torin huffs but eventually saunters off, leaving me alone in the room with the girl. I stand there for a moment, watching the firelight dance across her pale skin. She’s a danger, I remind myself. A liability. But even as I think it, my fingers twist the silver ring on my hand, and memories I’d rather forget claw their way to the surface.

“Never again,” I murmur to myself, turning away. But as I step out of the room, I can’t shake the feeling that keeping her here might be the biggest mistake I’ve ever made.

Chapter

Five

SABLE

Iwake slowly, my body heavy, my head pounding like I’ve been dragged through hell and back. My eyes flutter open, and the first thing I notice is warmth—luxurious, smothering warmth, like being cocooned in a soft embrace.

This isn’t snow. This isn’t the forest.

I sit up quickly, regretting it instantly as the pounding in my skull intensifies. Groaning, I press a hand to my forehead and force myself to take in my surroundings.

The room is… lavish. Too lavish.

The bed I’m on is massive, far too big for one person, draped in dark green blankets that feel like the softest velvet against my fingertips. Silver-accented pillows are scattered across the bed, and the sheets beneath me are crisp and clean, smelling faintly of cedar. The room itself is dimly lit by a fire crackling in a sleek, black stone fireplace across from me, its golden light dancing across the walls.

The walls are stone, but not the rough, unpolished kind I’dexpect in a warlock’s lair. They’re smooth, almost elegant, adorned with intricate tapestries in deep greens and blacks, embroidered with silver threads that glint in the firelight. One depicts a battle, another some kind of strange runic symbol I don’t recognize, and a third shows a massive feline—its fangs bared, eyes burning with fury. A saber-tooth.

I scoff under my breath. Of course.

A black leather armchair sits beside the fireplace, paired with a low table holding a crystal decanter of amber liquid and two pristine glasses. Across the room, a wall of bookshelves looms, filled with tomes I can’t even begin to comprehend. Every inch of this place screams wealth and control.

I swing my legs over the side of the bed, my bare feet brushing against a soft, plush rug. My boots are gone. My coat too. I’m left in my underclothes, and the realization sends a sharp jolt of anger through me.

My jaw tightens as I take in the rest of the room. A sleek oak chest sits at the foot of the bed, polished and clearly expensive. In the corner, a standing wardrobe looms, its silver handles gleaming. Everything is neat, pristine, and reeks of superiority.

I let out a bitter laugh, standing unsteadily. “Of course, this is their dungeon,” I mutter to myself, shaking my head. “Why am I not surprised?”

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