Kael stood across from me, his expression unreadable, his posture rigid with authority. Lyra lingered behind him, draped in pale silk, her scent no longer that of my sister but something sharp and metallic that made my wolf recoil.
“You still have time to reconsider,” Kael said.
I almost laughed.
“Reconsider what?” My voice came out raw. “Losing my child? Losing my father? Or losing you?”
His jaw tightened. “This is necessary. The pack cannot function with a Luna who rejects the Moon.”
“I didn’t reject it,” I whispered. “You just refused to hear me.”
He didn’t answer.
The High Priest stepped forward, his ancient eyes reflecting the rune fire. “Once the blade descends, the bond will unravel,” he intoned. “Not cleanly. Not quickly. You will feel the mark fight you. Your wolf will remember everything.”
Good, I thought bitterly. Let it remember.
The obsidian blade was lifted.
I closed my eyes.
The first cut was nothing like flesh. It was memory.
The moment Kael had knelt before me under the spring Moon, his voice trembling as he promised to protect me. The way my wolf had surged forward, not in submission, but in recognition.
The blade tore through that memory.