The Cursed Alpha’s Mute Bride – Episode 17
The Temple of the First Moon groaned like a waking beast. Its first Sentinel swung a massive stone arm toward Hunter, driving enough force through the air to make the surrounding pillars tremble.
“Move!” Clay shouted. The Silver warriors scattered as the fist struck, shattering the courtyard floor and throwing ancient debris into the storm.
Hunter did not retreat. He met the next blow head-on, Alpha power surging around his crossed arms. The collision released a violent shock wave that tore vines from the walls and sent the Sentinel staggering.
It did not fall. Silver runes repaired fractures across its chest as quickly as Hunter created them. The guardian raised its spear again, untouched by pain or fear.
Wren sheltered behind a broken pillar, studying the glowing patterns rather than the battle. This was not simply an attack. The temple had named her corrupted, and every strike felt like part of a judgment written before she arrived.
A second rumble answered from the colonnade. Another Sentinel pulled itself free of the wall where it had stood disguised as a carving. Then a third awakened beside the sealed gate.
The three towering guardians spread through the ruins, their rune-eyes locking on Wren. Silver light ran between them, forming a triangle that trapped the entire company inside the courtyard. When one warrior tried to cross the glowing boundary, the ward hurled him backward and scorched a crescent into his shield.
“Keep them separated!” Clay ordered. Two warriors attacked the second guardian’s legs while he drew the third away from Wren. Their blades chipped stone but could not silence the runes.
The Moonstone called from beneath the temple, louder with each heartbeat. Wren pressed a hand to her burning mark and felt the relic pulling her toward the gate. It did not regard her as corrupted. It knew exactly who she was. A half-remembered lullaby surfaced in her mind, one her father used to hum while carrying her through Wolfhart halls, and its rhythm matched the pulse below.
A pulse burst from her collarbone. Silver light shot across the ruins and struck the wolf-and-crescent sigil above the entrance. The entire temple answered with a deep, resonant note.
Hunter turned toward her. “Wren, do not move!” The warning came too late. A crack opened beneath her boots and raced around the broken pillar. Wren jumped toward solid ground, but the stone collapsed before Hunter could reach her.
She fell into white light. His hand closed on empty air above her, and the mate bond stretched with sudden, terrible force as the courtyard vanished.
There was no impact. Wren dropped through layers of memory—priests in silver robes, wolves gathered beneath a blood moon, her father kneeling before an altar with an infant in his arms. The visions turned faster than she could understand.
Then cold stone formed beneath her feet. She stumbled into a vast underground chamber where no rain had fallen for centuries. Rows of empty niches lined the walls, each holding the weathered name of a Wolfhart heir who had come before her. A crystal core floated above an altar, pulsing like a silver heart.
The Moonstone Amulet hung within that radiance. Its pale gem and silver chain were untouched despite the hooded figure from Wren’s vision. The thief had brought it here but had been unable to claim its power. The relic waited for Wren, brightening as she crossed the chamber while the curse inside her recoiled from every step.
An ancient voice filled the chamber, neither male nor female, gentle nor cruel. HEIR OF WOLFHART BLOOD, YOU HAVE RETURNED.
Wren backed away. The curse tightened around her throat as if Gertrude’s magic recognized the danger. Black veins spread from the crescent mark, fighting the silver light gathering around the altar.
The Moonstone’s surface changed. Instead of reflecting Wren’s frightened face, it revealed a vast black wolf imprisoned behind a lattice of runes. Chains crossed its body and muzzle, each one rooted in the curse beneath her skin. Scars marked the creature where it had fought them over the years, proof that the silence inside Wren had never meant surrender.
Wren touched the image. The wolf lifted its head and opened silver eyes identical to hers. Recognition traveled between them, intimate and devastating.
Above, Hunter roared her name. The Sentinels closed around the fractured opening while the mate bond thinned beneath layers of enchanted stone. He felt Wren alive, but the temple blocked every path to her.
