Page 1 of Blood Marked

ONE

SELENE

The carriage jolted violently, iron wheels grinding against the uneven stones of the Veil's border road. Selene Morwen clenched the worn leather strap above her head, bracing herself against the sharp sway, her storm-gray eyes narrowing against the swirl of mist that swallowed the world outside the thin glass window.

"Almost there, Lady Morwen," one of the Council guards muttered from the front seat, voice muffled behind the heavy veil of his hood.

Almost there.

Selene swallowed, her throat dry, her heart a hard, cold thing inside her chest.

Through the glass, the mist thickened, a living thing curling around the carriage like curious fingers. In the far distance, jagged silhouettes loomed—ancient spires and walls half-eaten by time. House Fenrir's citadel, the stronghold of the wolf shifters. It rose like the bones of some dead god out of the mist.

Peace.

That's what they called this suicide mission.

Selene tugged the edge of her blood-red traveling cloak tighter around her shoulders, the velvet worn but still richagainst her pale skin. She didn't feel the chill anymore. It had sunk too deep. Had settled somewhere between her ribs and her spine when the Human Council had summoned her and explained, in cold clipped tones, that her blood would buy a future.

"You’re perfect," they’d said.

"Not too important, not too plain. Diplomat’s daughter. Ties to the old bloodlines."

Meaning: expendable.

She was a symbol, nothing more. A lamb in a cloak, offered up to wolves and warlords in the hope they wouldn’t tear her apart.

Her fingers twisted unconsciously in the hem of her cloak, seeking the thin embroidered thread her mother had once stitched there—little stars hidden among the fabric folds. A secret she carried close to her heart.

"Selene."

The voice came from her father, sitting across from her, his figure bowed and smaller than she remembered.

Ambassador Elias Morwen had once stood tall and proud at court, a voice of reason and compromise in a sea of snarling ambition. Now... now his shoulders hunched under invisible burdens, his once-dark hair streaked with ash-gray. His eyes—so much like hers, stormy and watchful—held sorrow and something more bitter beneath it.

"I know you hate this," Elias said softly, as the carriage groaned to a halt. "But you are the only hope we have left."

She forced a tight smile. "I’ll try not to get eaten."

A dry bark of laughter escaped him, but it died almost instantly.

He reached forward, clasping her hands in his. His skin was warm and callused, worn from years of grasping for peace in a world that preferred knives.

"Don’t trust them, Selene. Not even the ones who smile. Especially not them."

"I know, Father."

He squeezed once, fierce, as if memorizing the feel of her. Then the door clanged open, letting in the mist and the smell of damp stone and iron.

"Go," he said hoarsely. "Before I change my mind."

Selene hesitated for one heartbeat—then stepped out into the Veil and into Aethermoor, the Court of Claws.

The mist swallowed her whole.

The world here was sharper, somehow. Every sound felt amplified—the grind of metal, the creak of leather, the low rumble of inhuman voices just beyond sight. The air tasted faintly metallic, like old blood and broken promises.

She stood tall despite the tremor running through her, her frame lean but unyielding beneath her cloak. The silk tunic and leggings she wore—styled modestly in human fashion—felt almost laughably inadequate now.

---