Page 50 of Shifting Hearts 1
The first charge comes from the Brotherhood, a wall of fur, fang, and fury.
The Forsaken meet them head-on.
Claws tear through flesh. Fangs sink into throats. Blood sprays across the snow. A hawk shifter dives, talons ripping through a bear’s shoulder. A serpent coils around a wolf, bones snapping like twigs.
Then Kieran leaps forward, and the world stops.
His mark flares, and the shift takes him. Not like the others. His body doesn’t break—it ascends. Scales ripple across his skin, black as void, edged in molten gold. His wings unfurl, massive and ancient, casting shadows that stretch across the battlefield. His roar splits the sky.
He is a dragon.
Not a beast. Not a monster.
A god.
And I can’t look away.
His eyes find mine, and for a heartbeat, the war fades. There’s only him. His power, his beauty. He belongs to me.
I run into the chaos, and my blade swings. My power surges as I siphon Alpha energy from the enemies, draining their strength, feeding it into the earth beneath us. I cast protection over my own, shielding them from death, from curses, from fate itself.
Through it all, Kieran flies overhead, fire raining from his jaws, wings slicing through the air. A god of war made flesh.
This isn’t a battle.
It’s a reckoning.
I didn’t know blood could sing, but it does now. Every scream, every clash of steel, every body hitting the ground in a wet, final thud. It’s music. Terrible, beautiful music.
My blade trills through the air, slicing through flesh, catching bone. Blood sprays across my face, warm and metallic. I don’t flinch. I welcome it. A wolf lunges, and my magic surges, Alpha energy thick and choking.
I drink it.
It rips from his body, screaming into mine. He collapses, twitching, and I step over him.
Another Forsaken screams, pinned, dying. I shut my eyes.
The protection spell erupts from me like a pulse of light. It slams into the battlefield, shielding my people, deflecting blades, unraveling curses. The Brotherhood stumbles, their magic failing.
I open my eyes, and I become wrath.
I carve through them, ribs split, tendons snap, skulls crack. I feel their blood on my hands, their fear in my wake. I am the prophecy. I am vengeance. I am the girl they tried to break, now wielding the power they feared.
I smell them before I see them.
Wet fur. Ash. The stench of old betrayal.
The wolf pack that cast me out; my blood, my tormentors, emerges from the smoke like ghosts. Their eyes gleam with hunger. Not for war, but for me.
Then there’s their leader, Aldric.
He walks like he owns the battlefield. Like he ownsme.
His voice cuts through the chaos.
“Raven. Come quietly. You were always meant to be mine.”
I laugh, sharp and broken. The blood on my blade drips onto the frozen earth as I take a step forward, and the groundshivers.
