Chapter Thirteen: Shadows of the First Moon
The wind carried with it the bitter scent of snow and blood. Cain stood atop a ridge, staring down at the crumbling remains of the old cathedral. The jagged spires pierced the ashen sky like blackened bones. Once a sanctuary for monks who feared the wilderness beyond, the cathedral had long since been abandoned to rot. Now it was the site of something older, something buried beneath layers of history and violence.
"It's here," Rowan said, appearing beside him. His eyes reflected the blood moon overhead, pupils slitted like a predator in the dark. "The crypt below. They sealed it centuries ago. Thought they could bury the curse."
Cain didn't answer. He could feel the pull. Deep beneath the stone and moss and silence, something ancient stirred. Not a voice, but a sensation—like ice crawling over his spine. It was power. Old power. Wild.
He'd dreamed of this place. Nightmares soaked in fire and screams, moonlight turned to blood, and a single word echoing through it all: Awaken.
Rowan handed him a crude map, drawn on animal hide. "Tunnels run under the cathedral. Dante's already sending his people in. Graves is with them. They want to break the seal. And they're close."
Cain's jaw tightened. The pain of the sanctuary's fall still pulsed behind his ribs like a second heartbeat. Every breath he took in this cursed forest reminded him why he was alive: to end them.
They descended through the broken archway of the cathedral. Snow crunched beneath their boots. Moss hung like old skin from the stone pillars. Wolves—silent and lean—watched from the shadows. Rowan had brought a handful of his own kind. Survivors. Outcasts. Rogues. They didn't kneel to Cain, but they followed. That was enough.
The inside of the cathedral was silent but thick with tension. The heavy stone doors at the rear had been blasted open. Scorch marks marred the walls. Cain touched the edge of the breach. Silver residue. Explosives designed to break through werewolf defenses.
"They're deeper now," Rowan murmured.
Cain turned to his allies. "We go in silent. Fast. No mercy. Graves is mine."
The descent began.
They moved through winding catacombs, past bones too old to name. Symbols etched in dead languages lined the walls. Some of Cain's wolves growled low in their throats, instincts whispering warnings their minds couldn't translate. The deeper they went, the colder it became—not just physically, but spiritually.
Whatever lay beneath, it didn't want to be found.
They came across the first of Dante's men at a collapsed passage. Two werewolves in half-shifted form, ears alert, sniffing the dark.
Cain moved like a shadow.
One guard turned, eyes wide—too late.
Cain's claws slashed clean through his neck. The other lunged, but Rowan brought a bone axe down with a crunch of spine and howl of pain.
The path cleared, they pushed on.
As they moved closer to the crypt's heart, Cain's senses sharpened. His blood thrummed with ancient rhythm. His thoughts drifted—not to rage, but to memory. His brother's betrayal. The pack torn apart. The night he was cursed under the blood moon.
He remembered his brother's eyes. Cold. Empty.
He remembered Graves laughing as he slit the throat of Cain's mate.
He remembered everything.
And the beast inside him stirred. Not in fury—but purpose.
They reached the final chamber. A vast underground vault, carved in the shape of a wolf's mouth. In the center stood a pedestal of obsidian, and upon it, a sealed iron gate—its lock pulsing faintly with red light. Runes shimmered across it, trembling with power.
And standing before it: Dante.
He was larger than Cain remembered. Fully shifted, fur dark as tar, eyes like coals. His aura choked the air, oppressive and regal. Beside him stood Graves, calm, confident, silver blades strapped to his back.
"I was wondering when you'd crawl back from the ashes," Dante growled.
Cain stepped forward. "You burned what was mine. You slaughtered them."
Dante smirked, canines flashing. "They were weak. Just like your father. Just like you."
Rowan and the others fanned out. Growls rumbled in the chamber.
Graves stepped forward, drawing his blades. "We end this now, mongrel."
Cain dropped to a crouch. His bones cracked. The shift tore through him like wildfire. Fur split his skin. Fangs elongated. A beast of rage and memory.
But this time, he was in control.
The clash was thunder.
Graves struck first—silver blades flashing. Cain ducked, slashed, twisted. Metal sang against claws. Blood sprayed the stone. Rowan took on Dante's enforcers, blades clashing with teeth and fury.
Cain and Graves circled each other, one predator against another.
"You killed her," Cain snarled.
"I did," Graves hissed. "And I'll do it again. You should've stayed dead."
Cain lunged. Blades sliced into his shoulder. He roared, grabbed Graves by the throat, and slammed him into the obsidian pedestal. The hunter gasped, tried to stab—but Cain drove his claws through his ribs.
Blood poured out. Graves slumped.
Cain leaned close, voice a growl. "This is for her."
He ripped his throat open.
The gate behind them pulsed.
Dante bellowed. "NO!"
The gate's runes began to glow. Something stirred behind it. A deep rumble echoed through the chamber. The first wolf was waking.
Cain turned, covered in blood, and faced Dante.
The two Alphas collided.
Fangs met flesh. Claws tore. They rolled through ancient dust, slamming into walls. Dante was stronger, but Cain was faster. Smarter. The pain no longer slowed him—it drove him.
"You're nothing," Dante roared. "A mistake! A broken heir!"
Cain snarled, biting deep into Dante's shoulder. "And you're a tyrant. This ends tonight."
With a surge of strength, Cain pinned Dante beneath him and drove his claws into his chest. The older Alpha howled, but the sound broke into a choking gasp. Cain didn't stop. Not until Dante stopped breathing.
Silence fell.
The runes on the gate dimmed.
Cain stood over the body of the Alpha who had stolen everything. The blood moon above pulsed once more—and then faded to silver.
Rowan approached slowly, limping.
"It's over," he said.
Cain looked at the gate. "No. It's just beginning."
He turned away from the pedestal. The power beneath it remained sealed, but not forever. The blood moon would rise again.
And Cain would be ready.