Ex-Alpha's Regret: Siren's Comeback novel Chapter 71

POV: Seraphina

The forest floor was a blur of darkness and grasping thorns beneath my feet, tearing at the rough fabric of the servant's dress I wore. Every ounce of my being was focused on the desperate, lung-burning race. Behind us, the hunting howl of my husband grew closer, a sound of pure, possessive rage that promised a fate worse than death. Jax's hand was a vice around my arm, his strength the only thing keeping me from stumbling as he pulled me forward. His warriors, a silent, deadly perimeter around us, moved like shadows through the oppressive dark.

We burst into a small, hidden clearing. It felt ancient, sacred. In the center stood a circle of monolithic, moss-covered stones, and within it, a single flat-topped altar that seemed to drink the meager moonlight. An old woman, Morwen, the Elder Healer of my family, stood waiting. Her face was a roadmap of wrinkles, and her eyes, dark and deep, held the gravity of a thousand lifetimes. Torches had been placed at the four cardinal points, their flames sputtering in the damp night air, casting long, dancing shadows that writhed like tormented spirits.

"They are close," Jax bit out, his breath misting in the cold air. The sound of Damian's howl was closer now, a physical vibration in the ground. He turned to his second-in-command, a grim-faced warrior named Rhys. "The stones are our only advantage. This is where we make our stand. Use them. Buy us time."

Rhys nodded sharply, his eyes hard as flint. "You'll have it." He and the small team of Thorne warriors melted into the shadows of the monolithic stones, their movements swift and silent as they set up a desperate, last-ditch defensive line, their blades scraping softly as they were drawn from their sheaths.

The Healer's gaze settled on me. It was heavy, filled with a sorrowful, profound understanding. "Luna," she said, her voice a low, raspy whisper that seemed to carry the weight of the stones around us. "Once this ritual begins, there is no turning back. The pain will be unlike anything you have ever known. It will not be of the body, but a tearing of your very soul. If your will falters, if you are interrupted before the mark is fully excised, the spiritual feedback could shatter your mind. You will be lost forever."

I nodded once, then walked into the center of the stone circle. The air within the ring of ancient stones felt different—heavy, electric, humming with a power that was old and wild. I lay down on the cold, flat surface of the altar stone, its chill seeping through the thin dress, staring up at the sliver of dark, new-moon sky visible between the canopy of the ancient trees.

The Healer stood over me, her silhouette stark against the torchlight. She held a ceremonial obsidian dagger, its edge gleaming darkly. She began to chant, her voice a low, guttural litany of forgotten words that seemed to make the very air vibrate. The stone beneath me hummed in response.

The tip of the obsidian dagger touched the center of my chest, cold as ice.