<h4>Chapter 240: I’m Not Done</h4>


    He remembered her at sixteen. Every ceremony, he had waited for the Moon Goddess to call her name alongside his, to bind them in the most sacred of bonds. But each year, she walked past him, the pull of fate absent in her gaze. Still, he wished. Still, he waited.


    Then her parents arranged her marriage. But even that victory had been hollow. Because the same day they were meant to be married, he learned the truth. Luna had a vampire mate. And not just any vampire — a prince.


    Finding out that he, too, had been marked as her mate had only made it worse. Two bonds, tangled and defiant, pulling her between two worlds. He had sworn then that he would protect her, even from the other half of her heart. But vows are easy when spoken; keeping them when she was dying was another matter entirely.


    He hadn’t been able to save her then. And now, standing in the echoing courtyard with the scent of failure clinging to him, he felt it again — that helpless ache of a man watching the woman he loved slip beyond his reach.


    When he arrived at the pce, the queen mother was waiting for him. Her hands twisted tightly in front of her as though herposure was the only thing keeping her upright. The moment he entered the grand hall, their eyes met — hers, full of desperate hope, his, shadowed and heavy with failure. He shook his head once. Just once. That was all it took. Ravena copsed to the ground as though her bones had dissolved beneath her. Her wail cut through the pce, splitting the stillness with grief.


    He wanted to speak but words stuck in his throat. The sight of the queen mother weeping on cold stone reduced him to silence. Kyllian clenched his fists. Her tears were daggers in his flesh. He couldn’t bear them.


    What in the world had happened? He asked himself the same question again and again, and each time, the answer slipped further from him. They had been a happy people once. The werewolves were proud, fierce, united under a revered king and a formidable queen. Even their warrior princess, Luna, had embodied everything noble in their bloodline. But then the vampires hade. The leeches, with their insidious whispers, their poisons and schemes, had meddled where they had no right. They had brought ruin, and now everything Kyllian had once sworn to protect seemed to be shattering in his hands.


    The wailing of the maids as they gathered around Ravena only deepened the ache. Kyllian could hardly look. He felt their judgment pressing on him as though each sob was an usation: You failed. You lost her. You couldn’t keep her safe. He turned his back to them, his jaw tight, and muttered under his breath, "I’m not done. Not by a long shot."


    No, he wasn’t giving up. He refused. He would strip the earth bare if he had to, hunt through every shadowed forest, tear apart everyir until his ws bled. Luna was out there, somewhere, and as long as her heart beat, he would not rest. He would go back out into the night, and if it meant bleeding beneath the moon until dawn, so be it. But first, he needed a moment. A shower, a breath, a sliver of strength to go back out there. Talon was already overseeing the shift change, barking orders to the gammas, ensuring no stone would be left unturned.


    When he entered his chamber, the silence felt wrong. The air held a sharpness that prickled at his senses, and instinct had his ws itching beneath his skin. Then he saw it.


    On his pillowy a single piece of paper. White against dark linen. Out of ce.


    He approached slowly, every muscle tense, his eyes narrowing. It wasn’t sealed, wasn’t folded, just resting there as if deliberately meant to catch his attention. One word was scrawled across it in an elegant, almost taunting script: Morvakar.


    That was all. Just the name.


    Kyllian’s brows furrowed, his lip curling back in a low growl. "Morvakar," he muttered. But how had this gotten into his room?


    Did he know where Luna was? The thought wrapped around Kyllian’s mind. Why else would Morvakar, that twisted bastard, be sending him a cryptic message? The sorcerer didn’t deal in pleasantries or idle words. Every syble from him was a de, every riddle a snare. If he had left this... if he had broken into Kyllian’s own chambers to leave a note on his pillow... then he knew. He knew something. Maybe everything. Kyllian’s jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached. Was this a game to Morvakar? Was Luna another piece on his cursed board?


    He tried to figure it out, his mind darting through possibilities. His hands trembled with barely restrained rage and a flicker of desperate hope he refused to name. He held the paper under the bedsidemp, tilting it, waiting for the ink to catch some hidden gleam. Nothing. Just nk parchment mocking him. A growl tore from his throat as he strode to the window, shoving the curtains aside so moonlight flooded in. He raised the note high, as if the Goddess herself might bless it with rity. Still nothing.


    "Stupid vampires and their madness," he snarled, the words venom on his tongue. But even as he cursed, a thought sparked in his mind, sharp and undeniable. Vampires. Their obsessions always circled back to one thing. Blood.


    His pulse quickened, a dangerous rhythm pounding in his ears. Blood was their key, their addiction, their answer to everything. Slowly, he opened the drawer of his dresser and retrieved the small knife resting inside. The de glinted, catching a shard of moonlight, as though daring him. Heid the paper carefully atop the dresser, and without hesitation dragged the de across his palm. The sting bit deep, but he weed it. Blood welled and dripped, fat crimson drops spattering across the paper.


    Instantly, the page ignited with light. Crimson lines bled across it, weaving into words. His breath caught in his throat as the message burned into view.