BloodMoon: Captivated by the Forbidden Lycan Alpha
Chapter 163: MIRA’S WARNING

Chapter 163: MIRA’S WARNING

SIERRA’S POV

The sun hung low, stretching shadows long across the garden, golden light filtering through the leaves, making everything look softer than it was, more forgiving. The soil was warm beneath my bare feet, and the water from the tin watering can hissed softly as it met the roots of the jasmine. It should’ve been a peaceful moment. It was, for a second.

Then—

It hit me like a wave crashing over my mind, and I staggered, the can slipping from my hands and thudding into the dirt. My breath caught in my chest, and Vampire Blood Mira powers surged like a flood I couldn’t hold back, and the world around me blurred at the edges, softening into a hazy smear of golden and gray. My knees gave out, and I dropped to them, hands pressing into the earth, grounding me, but it wasn’t enough.

The garden faded, the air chilled, and I was transported into a vision. I was moving through Blood Stone Mountain, Jagged cliffs looking under a bleeding red sky, and the ground pulsed with a sick, rhythmic thrum, like a heartbeat twisted wrong.

The view came, and Dante was on his knees, blood trailing from his temple and some spilling from his mouth. Something towered over him, too tall, too shadowed, its face shifting like smoke over bone. A creature of ancient, awful hunger.

"No!" I cried out, my voice thin and echoing in the vision, useless.

Then the vision moved, and I saw someone else who was covered in a golden aura.

"Freyr!"

His large frame was tense, his fists glowing faintly with that flicker of light he hadn’t learned to control yet. His face was twisted in defiance, teeth bared as he stood between the creature and Dante.

"Roar!" The sound came from his mouth and shook the whole mountain.

The creature seemed surprised as it halted, and I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move.

Freyr darted forward, a blur of light and fury, and I could feel his rage. My hands clawed into the dirt of a garden I couldn’t see anymore. My body was still there, but my soul was tied to that battlefield with my son and the man I loved. By the vampire gods, let me wake up. Let me wake up.

But the vision held me, sharp and cure, blood and stone, roars, screams and thunder.

My breath snapped back into my lungs like a gasp from drowning, and then I was in the garden again, the real one. The jasmine shivered in the breeze, and the watering can lay half-buried in damp soil beside me. My hands trembled, fingers caked in dirt, knees scraped raw. My heart was pounding so hard I thought it might tear clean out of my chest.

I didn’t even let myself think. My body moved before my mind caught up, and I bolted as the back door slammed open with a crack. I stumbled into the house, stripping my mud-streaked shirt as I went. My skin buzzed with Mira static, like the vision had left an echo behind, something just beneath the skin, clawing to be acted on. I needed to be clean; I needed to move fast. Blood Stone Mountain. I could already feel its pull. The shower was a blur of cold water, scalding water I couldn’t tell. I scrubbed until my skin burned and the dirt was gone, but the dread stayed.

I pulled on my field gear: thick boots, the reinforced jacket, Mira crystals laced into the inner lining. I tied my hair back with shaking hands. My reflection in the mirror didn’t even look like me. She looked like someone on the edge of war and then was halfway to the door when I heard her voice.

"Ma" Qadira stood at the threshold, arms folded, but her eyes were sharp. She took one look at me, and her whole body tensed.

"I am leaving for Blood Stone Mountain."

She didn’t ask why. Not at first. She just stepped in front of me, grounding, solid.

"What did you see?" She demanded.

"Dante’s hurt. Freyr’s there. Fighting. Alone." My voice cracked

We locked eyes. Her jaw was clenched, but I could see the flicker of understanding pass through her.

"Be safe and come back in one piece. I know my brother can handle himself, but the fact that Dante is hurt, you will not sit still. "

An hour later, I arrived at the forest, and the wind changed the moment I crossed into Bloodstone’s shadow. It was sharp and metallic, like old blood and burned stone. I paused near a jagged ridge, catching my breath. My Mira flared under my ribs like a second heartbeat, erratic, pulsing with something wrong. I listened in, and then I felt it.

Movement. Not from the mountain itself, but down the western slope. Boots pounding earth. The flicker of torches in the distance. A group in pursuit. Organized. Trained. Royal.

"Guards," I whispered. "Why are they here?"

I slid low against the rock, eyes narrowing as I pressed my palm to the ground. Mira answered immediately, sending a pulse outward like a sonar echo. The magic swept the terrain ahead—and bounced off two smaller, swifter signatures moving erratically through the bramble and five, no, six heavier ones closing in fast behind. My stomach twisted, and I deduced that it was Frery, and without thinking, I sprinted.

My feet barely touched the cracked stone as I ran along the slope, Mira sparking at my fingertips. I couldn’t get to them fast enough, not directly. Not before the guards did. But I didn’t need to. I had options.

I skidded to a halt at the edge of the drop and raised my hands. "Mira, reflect. Bend. Become me." The words left my mouth like breath and flame. The air shimmered, then split. A ripple of light exploded outward, warping space in front of me until it cracked like a mirror fracturing on the verge of shattering. And from it stepped me a mirror-image, exact and glowing with the inner burn of conjured magic. Her eyes caught mine, she turned, silent and deadly, then launched herself down the ridge toward the guards, and I watched her go, adrenaline roaring in my blood.

The royal bastards wouldn’t know what hit the.m "Buy me time," I whispered to her shadow. "I’m coming, Freyr. Hold on." I turned and disappeared into the folds of the mountain, hunting the path I felt like a pulse in my chest.

The deeper I moved into Bloodstone’s Mountain, the more the air seemed to close around me—hot, sharp, breathing with the mountain’s sick rhythm. My lungs burned, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. The mirror-image was holding, drawing the guards farther off course. I felt her flicker each time she struck, each time they thought they had me and didn’t.

I rounded a bend where the stone bled rust-red along the cliffside, and there they were.

Freyr stood with his back to the rock, small chest heaving, one hand glowing faintly with residual Mira, the other fisted tight like he didn’t know how else to hold himself together.

"What happened?" I demanded as I moved towards them.

Dante was slumped against a boulder, pale, blood soaking the front of his shirt. His breathing was shallow, but he was alive. Beside him knelt a man I didn’t recognize, lean, cloaked, one arm braced around Dante’s shoulders, the other holding a blade like he’d been waiting to die with honor if it came to that.

"This is Rolan," Frery spoke up, and I nodded as I leaned down to check on Dante, and my body thrummed with fear.

"We need to move," I said. "Now."

Frery nodded as Rolan picked up Dante, and we turned from that cursed ridge. The Mira flared one last time behind us, a final flash of mirror and light like the mountain itself was closing its eyes.

The wind had changed again, this time colder, whispering of the wrong kind of eyes. I listened in to my power, deep beneath my ribs, past the exhaustion and ache. It hummed steady but low, like it was waiting for me to decide. Kayne was too far. Dante wouldn’t make it in his condition, not with royal patrols still sniffing the mountain’s edges like hounds.

So, I made the call and moved towards my maternal home that I hadn’t been back to since my mother died. That the place held more ghosts than memories. That some of the protection spells were sealed with blood I hadn’t spilled in decades. By the time we arrived, dusk had melted into night, and the house rose from the earth like it had been holding its breath waiting for me. The stone was half-covered in ivy, the roof creaking under time’s hand, but the wards were still intact. Dim, flickering, but loyal.

Freyr hesitated at the threshold. I caught the worry flickering in his face. He didn’t say it, but I saw it. The unease. The question of what kind of place his mother would hide away in.

I pretended not to notice as Rolan stepped past him, Dante limp in his arms, breathing shallow but steady. He moved through the door like he belonged there, like he understood the weight of returning to a place that remembers you too well.

"Lay him there," I said, voice quiet but firm. "By the fireplace"

Rolan nodded and eased Dante down onto the worn fur rug. His skin looked worse in the light gray-tinged, lips cracked, the blood on his tunic already drying to a dull brown. But he was alive. Still alive. I knelt beside him, hands already glowing as the Mira welled up from my core as Rolan asked Frery to find blankets, offering the much-needed distraction from Frery’s questioning gaze.

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