SWNOVELXO Chapter 6: CHAPTER SIX.
The Price Of The Moon.
---
Seraphina wasn't smiling anymore.
She stood in the war chamber, facing her brother — Alpha Magnus — whose jaw was set like stone.
"She's gathering rogues," he said. "Raising them like a queen."
Seraphina poured herself a drink. "No. Like a goddess."
Magnus turned. "You created this. You cast her out. You hid the prophecy."
"And I'll fix it," she said coldly.
He narrowed his eyes. "With blood?"
"With fire," she snapped. "I've already sent the best. The Red Hand."
Magnus went still.
"The assassins?" he said. "They kill royalty, not rogues."
Seraphina smiled. "Exactly."
---
Meanwhile, Aria stood at the cliff's edge, staring into nothing.
The wind tugged her hair.
Cain stood a few feet back, silent. Watching.
She didn't speak.
Just dropped the pendant he gave her over the edge.
It disappeared into the mist below.
"Why?" Cain asked softly.
"I don't want to hold death," she whispered. "Not before I have to."
Cain didn't argue.
They stood in silence.
But something shifted between them. A pull. A final string tightening.
---
That night, a scout didn't return.
Then another.
Aria's gut twisted. Her wolf bared its teeth.
"We're being hunted," she said. "I feel it."
Cain nodded. "Then we move now. Before they strike."
She shook her head. "No. We set a trap."
He raised a brow.
"Let them walk into the fire."
---
They baited the clearing with fresh food and bloodied clothes.
Fake trail. Faked campfire.
Rogues hidden in trees, cloaked in magic and moonlight.
And then… they waited.
The Red Hand came just before midnight.
Four cloaked wolves. Silent. Fast. Deadly.
Aria saw them from the treetops — how they moved in sync, how they didn't speak, how their weapons glowed.
Not normal.
Not wolves.
Killers.
---
The first one took the bait.
And that was his mistake.
Aria dropped from the tree, blade first, slicing clean through his shoulder before his blade left its sheath.
The clearing exploded into chaos.
Cain took one to the ground, crushing his ribs with his boots.
The rogues fought hard, but these weren't regular enemies.
Two rogues fell.
One lost an eye.
Aria moved like fire — fast, hot, merciless.
She killed the second assassin with a throat slash so clean it didn't even bleed for two seconds.
---
Then the third came for her.
Faster than the others.
Taller. Stronger.
Masked.
They fought blade to blade, teeth to claws, steel to blood. Aria stumbled once — he slashed her arm.
She growled, spun, and stabbed him in the thigh.
He fell.
She yanked off his mask.
It was a woman. No older than twenty. Cold eyes. Familiar eyes.
"You'll all die," the assassin hissed. "The Goddess abandoned you."
Aria leaned close.
"No," she whispered. "She chose me."
Then she ended it.
---
When the fourth tried to flee, Cain caught him.
Snapped his neck.
And then… silence.
Ten dead. Four rogues lost. Dozens wounded.
But they won.
Just barely.
Aria stood in the center of the blood-soaked clearing, breathing hard.
And for the first time… she felt fear.
Not for herself.
For what was coming.
Cain limped toward her. "This was just the beginning."
She nodded.
"Next time," she said, "we hit them first."
---
In Nightbane, Seraphina stared at the empty chair meant for her assassin.
"You failed me," she whispered to the flames.
Magnus stepped into the room.
"She's not just a girl anymore," he said. "She's a storm."
Seraphina didn't flinch.
"Then I'll drown her in her own thunder."
---
The air was thick with blood and smoke.
Rogues gathered the dead. Aria watched in silence, her arm still bleeding, her thoughts louder than the screams that once filled the clearing.
Cain stood beside her. Limping. Bruised. Still breathing.
"Why didn't you tell me they were that skilled?" she asked, voice low.
"I didn't know," he said honestly. "The Red Hand haven't hunted in decades."
"Why now?" Her eyes darkened. "Why me?"
Cain looked at her.
"Because you're winning."
---
They burned the bodies that night — rogue and assassin alike — under the full moon.
Aria stood before the pyres, her cloak whipping in the wind.
Cain came up behind her, silent.
She didn't turn. Just spoke.
"I'm not ready."
"For what?"
"For you to die."
Cain was quiet.
Then: "Neither am I."
She looked at him now, tears in her eyes but refusing to fall.
"I hate this prophecy."
"I know."
"I hate this war."
"Me too."
"I hate that you're the only one who ever saw me."
Cain stepped closer.
His voice was soft.
"You were never invisible, Aria. They just couldn't handle your light."
---
She turned.
Their eyes met.
No words.
No logic.
Just need.
And then — lips collided.
It wasn't gentle.
It wasn't slow.
It was desperate. Bruising. Fire and hunger and sorrow wrapped in one kiss that felt like the last breath before drowning.
Cain's hand tangled in her hair. Aria's fingers clawed into his back.
His mouth trailed to her neck, her shoulder, her scars.
She gasped when his lips reached her collarbone.
"Say you want this," he whispered.
"I want you," she said, voice trembling. "I've always wanted you."
Cain groaned softly. "Then take me."
---
They didn't go to her tent.
They made love in the moonlight.
Raw.
Unapologetic.
A dance between wolf and woman. Between fury and freedom. Between goodbye and never again.
Afterward, they lay tangled in cloaks and silence.
Cain traced lazy circles on her hip.
Aria stared at the stars.
"Do you think we can change it?" she asked.
"The prophecy?"
She nodded.
Cain kissed her forehead. "If anyone can break fate… it's you."
---
By dawn, Cain was gone.
Not vanished.
Just distant.
He was preparing something.
Aria felt it.
The way he moved. The way he looked at her. Like he was saying goodbye with his eyes.
She didn't question it.
She just whispered into the wind:
"Don't you dare die on me yet…"