BloodMoon: Captivated by the Forbidden Lycan Alpha
Chapter 237: THE VEIL OF THE BLADES

Chapter 237: THE VEIL OF THE BLADES

{"Evil is powerless if the good are unafraid."}

FLORA’S POV

We moved like shadows down the lower spine of the mountain, silent, sharp, and fast. The deeper we went, the colder the air grew, thick with damp stone and the scent of blood long dried into the rock. The kind of place built for secrets. Rita walked just behind me, her steps perfectly in sync with mine, our breathing steady and light. Rolan led us with quiet purpose, while Qadira moved like smoke, agile, deadly, always watching.

"We’re close," Rolan whispered, halting behind a twisted column of red crystal veined into the rock. "That’s the guard’s antechamber just beyond this arch. Two are on patrol. Maybe more inside."

Qadira flashed a grin. "Good. I could use a warm-up."

I motioned with two fingers, then drew my twin blades, silent metal gleaming in the low light. Rita’s claws flexed once before she pulled her daggers. Rolan unslung his staff, and Qadira simply vanished into the shadows.

The ambush was clean, two guards, two seconds, one never saw my claws before they kissed his throat. The other had just enough time to turn before Rita slammed him into the wall and silenced him with claws between the ribs. Neither of them screamed.

The room beyond was a small, off-duty rest chamber, plain with stone benches, a table, and armor racks lined with royal bloodstone livery.

"Perfect," I muttered.

Rolan dragged the bodies aside while Qadira ransacked the gear.

"The uniform stinks," she muttered, inspecting a breastplate. "But it’ll pass inspection from a distance."

We worked fast. I stripped the guard I’d downed, slipping into his gear piece by piece. The fit wasn’t perfectly tight across the shoulders, but it would do. Rita cursed under her breath as she pulled on the gloves and adjusted the belt across her hips.

"You look terrible," I said with a crooked grin.

"I look authentic," she shot back, buckling her blade to her hip. "Besides, you’re not exactly winning any uniform awards either, Commander."

I laughed quietly, the sound brief and sharp, and Qadira tied her braid up and snapped on the crimson helm. "Let’s hope their friends aren’t particularly observant."

Rolan adjusted the mask under his collar and gave us all a hard look. "Once we step into the main hall, we’re no longer Flora, Rita, Rolan, or Qadira. We’re guards. Loyal. Brutal. And utterly unremarkable."

I straightened my shoulders, letting the weight of the armor settle on my bones.

"Then let’s disappear," I said. "And get to Lord Marcel’s inner chambers before anyone notices what’s missing."

Rita’s hand brushed mine for a second quick, fleeting, reassuring. We moved together toward the door as one unit, breathing in sync and because in enemy skin... only trust holds the line.

We kept our heads down as we moved through the winding corridors of Blood Stone Mountain, our stolen armor clinking in sync like we belonged. Our faces were half-shrouded by the crimson helms, and no one questioned us. The guards we passed barely glanced at us.

Just four more blades in a red tide.

The deeper we went, the colder it got. The walls bled faint light bloodstone veins pulsing with a heartbeat that didn’t belong to the mountain. Or maybe it did. Maybe the mountain was alive.

Rolan turned sharply down a lesser path. The corridor narrowed. No more torches. No more patrolling footsteps.

Only silence and dark stone."This tunnel isn’t on any of the schematics," he muttered.

"You sure it’s not a storage hall?" Qadira asked.

"Storage halls don’t hum," Rita said under her breath.

She was right and there was something low, almost beneath the skin like a vibration in my bones. Not sound. Not magic. Something else. We stopped at the end of the corridor, where the rock gave way to a smooth obsidian wall, cracked by a faint silver shimmer in the shape of a door. A barrier. Ancient. Breathing.

Qadira stepped closer, then hissed and pulled back, her hand glowing faintly from contact. "It’s alive. And it knows we’re not supposed to be here."

Rolan narrowed his eyes. "This isn’t bloodstone magic. It’s older. No-something deeper."

I knelt, running my palm across the ground just before the shimmer. The stone was warm. Too warm. Then the vibrations shifted and the barrier pulsed. Once. Twice. And I heard it. I stood quickly. Rita was already beside me, her body tense. "You felt that?"

I nodded slowly as Rolan unslung the small prism stone from his belt and held it toward the barrier. "This place is masking something. And the fact that it’s locked this far down means whatever’s inside matters."

"I don’t like this," Qadira muttered. "It smells like a trap."

"Maybe," I said. "Or maybe this is where Lord Marcel keeps the things even he fears."

We stood in silence, the silver light rippling like water in moonlight.

Then I turned to the others. "We’re going in."

Rita’s jaw clenched, but she nodded. Rolan’s fingers twitched in preparation. Qadira stepped up beside me.

"I’ll find the way," she said. "You all watch the shadows."

The shimmer pulsed harder now, like it sensed what we were about to do. Like it knew who stood before it. Qadira stepped forward, lips tight, eyes narrowed with quiet focus. She pulled off the crimson helmet and let it drop to the stone floor with a hollow clatter. Her long black hair unfurled like a banner, and the moment it caught the still air, the barrier responded.

A wave of heat brushed over my skin. The stone beneath our feet trembled. "Qadira," I said, a warning caught in my throat. "What are you doing?"

She glanced back at me, her voice low. "This isn’t normal magic. It’s Kayne-blood locked. That’s why it’s humming around me."

Rolan’s eyes widened. "You’re using the blood of Freyr’s line." I saw it then, thin, glowing lines of silver-black light snaking down her fingers, threading through her veins like illuminated vines. Her entire palm lit up with a strange sigil, ancient and alive, and when she placed it flat against the barrier, it opened.

Just a breathless, sudden folding of silver and shadow, like the wall turned to mist and invited us through, and we all froze.

"Did that just—" Rita whispered.

"It opened," Qadira confirmed, her expression unreadable. "It knows I’m one of them."

Before I could say anything else, she stepped through, and I followed. My instincts screamed to hold back, but it was too late; we were committed. The chamber was massive. A vault. Carved not by tools or spellcraft, but by something ancient and primal. Walls of smooth obsidian curved around us like the inside of a heart. And at its center stood something that made my chest tighten.

A throne, cracked. Jagged. Made of black stone and red glass. And bound to it, something half-alive. Not a vampire. Not a shifter. Something in between. Rita took a step closer, hand on her blade. "What in the gods’ name is this place? How much have these bastards done while the realm was not aware? This is too much."

Rolan knelt, pressing his palm to the floor. "There’s power here. Old power. But it’s... restrained."

"It’s a prison," Qadira said softly, eyes fixed on the throne. "And that thing is the key to something worse."

I felt it too. In the air. In my blood. A pressure was building in the silence, and whatever we’d found, it wasn’t meant to be seen. But it was awake now, and it was watching us. The thing hadn’t moved yet, and then it lifted its head, and the air snapped.

"Qadira..."

One word, and Qadira stood frozen. Her eyes were wide, her lips parted, all the blood draining from her face.

"No," she breathed.

The creature smiled, and it was not a smile meant for the living. It was a memory. Grudge. Obsession.

"Yes, my dear Qadira."

I spun toward her. "Qadira?"

Rolan flinched as if struck. "That voice—"

"I watched you die!" Qadira shouted, her voice sharp and shaking. "Freyr, he cut your head off. I saw it roll, Cassius Marcel."

"I remember," the creature said, voice thick with dark satisfaction. "And yet... here I am. Bound. Broken. But not gone."

Qadira trembled. "You were dead. You were dead. I saw you die."

"I was," Cassius answered. "But death is not exile. Not on this mountain. Not with the right blood and the right curse to hold it in place and the power of the Marcel.

Rita drew closer to me, blade up, eyes scanning the shadows. "Isn’t this Lord Marcel’s brother?"

Qadira’s voice cracked. "Fuck yes. He was a monster. He almost killed Aurora as he planted blood stone vampire bugs in her, and she was drained. It was my brother Freyr who saved her.

Cassius let out a broken laugh. "Oh, Qadira, you are such a fool." The chains shimmered with power, tightening as if they could sense his rising energy."You shouldn’t have come here," he said, eyes gleaming like black fire. "But now that you have... your blood can free me."

Rolan growled so loud as I pulled Qadira back, heart thudding in my throat. Cassius’s voice echoed across the chamber like it was etched into the stone itself.

" Lord Marcel is here, you are all dead meat. You brought this upon yourselves, you should have stayed far from Blood Stone Mountain. "