Page 73 of Wolf Queen Ruin
“Um, well, Your Highness,” I began, “we’re trying to find the Shadow Fang to heal those we care about.”
Her luminous gaze fixed on me, the intensity of her attention like a physical weight.“Half truth, wolf-daughter.Your intentions are divided.”
I opened my mouth to argue but then thought better of it.But how was that a half truth?It was the full truth.One hundred percent truth.
She turned her focus to Damien.“And you, night-son?What compels a blood-drinker to enter the sanctuary of his enemy?”
Damien met her gaze, his voice steady despite the visible strain.“I seek the Shadow Fang to cure my maker of the Wasting disease.”
A sound like distant laughter echoed through the cavern.“Truth, yet incomplete.Your maker’s salvation is but one thread in your purpose.”
Ah.I suspected as much.Sure wished one of them would elaborate on that.
The specter descended from above her sarcophagus, her feet never quite touching the stone platform as she circled us.Unlike most apparitions I’d encountered during tomb raids, she seemed conscious and present, not a mere echo of past existence but an active guardian with agency and intent.
“Curious,” she continued, studying us with unsettling intensity.“You share blood-knowledge, yet understand nothing of what you’ve begun.”She reached toward me, her translucent fingers stopping just short of touching my face.“The mixing of wolf and vampire essence awakens old magic.Dangerous magic.”
I suppressed a shiver.“We didn’t intend—“
“Intention matters not to power unleashed,” she interrupted.“What flows between you now cannot be undone.”Her gaze dipped to my engagement ring.“Twice over, it would seem.”
“What exactly flows between us?”Damien asked, his tone neutral.
The Queen’s form shimmered, her features momentarily becoming more lupine before settling back into her regal human form.“That remains for you to discover.Now you must prove yourselves worthy of my gift.”
She glided back to the center of the platform, raising her arms in a commanding gesture.The blue light intensified around us, forming distinct pathways leading away from the central chamber into previously invisible corridors.
“The Shadow Fang was created to transform essence, to unmake what was made and remake what was unmade.Such power requires understanding beyond mere knowledge.”Her gaze swept between us.“You will each face trials designed to test this understanding.Success grants passage to my treasure.Failure ensures you join my eternal court.”
Yeah, I was smart enough to recognize a death threat when I heard one, however elegantly phrased.
“And if we decline your trials?”Damien asked.
The Queen’s smile was all predator.“There is no decline, night-son.You crossed my threshold willingly, with the blood offering that binds you to my judgment.The trial has already begun.”
As if on cue, the stone beneath our feet trembled, and the platform began to separate—splitting down the middle to create a widening gap between Damien and me.I stumbled backward as my section of floor rotated, aligning with one of the glowing blue pathways.
“Luna!”Damien called, his voice already distorted by the distance growing between us.
“Don’t fail!”I shouted back as his section of platform aligned with a different corridor.“You probably have a can opener, so you’ll be fine!”
His reply was lost as the walls sealed behind me, leaving me alone in a narrow passageway illuminated only by the pulsing blue fungus.The air here felt different, heavier with moisture and carrying unfamiliar scents.
Taking a deep breath, I examined my surroundings with help from my headlamp.The corridor ahead descended at a gentle angle, its walls carved with more of the ancient shifter runes.Unlike the historical narratives in the entrance chambers, these markings appeared to be spells or invocations—protective magic woven into the very structure of the crypt.
I moved forward cautiously, testing each step before committing my weight.Traditional tombs often included physical traps, but a sanctuary protected by active magic presented different challenges.The danger might not be an arrow shooting from the wall or a collapsing floor, but something far more insidious.
After several minutes of careful progress, the corridor opened into a small circular room with three identical doorways.No obvious markings distinguished them, and the blue glow permeated all three paths equally.A classic choice test—pick wrong, and face the consequences.
I examined the threshold of each doorway, looking for hidden indicators or clues.Finding none, I knelt and studied the floor, noticing subtle wear patterns in the stone.The center path showed slightly more erosion, which suggested more frequent use.
As I considered my options, a familiar scent reached me, faint but unmistakable.Pine needles, summer rain, and woodsmoke.The distinctive smell of the Northern Territories pack gathering place.
My home.Before everything changed.
The scent came from the leftmost doorway, triggering a wave of conflicting emotions—longing, bitterness, nostalgia.I knew it couldn’t actually be my pack’s scent, not here in this ancient crypt thousands of miles from pack territory.It had to be part of the test—magic designed to evoke an emotional response.
Which meant it was likely a trap.
