Chapter 7. The curses first strike

The packhouse was unusually quiet that morning. The sharp crack of a firewood splitting echoed through the halls, but aside from that, there was no movement. The air was thick, stifling, almost suffocating with an unease that had settled over the pack ever since the rogue attack.

Seraphina stood at the entrance, her hand resting on the worn doorknob as she stared into the flickering shadows cast by the early morning sun. Something was wrong. She could feel it deep in her bones. The strange events of the past week had escalated, the whispers growing louder, the shadows darker.

She had spent the previous night in her room, eyes wide open, listening to the murmurs of the pack, the hushed voices speaking of bad omens and curses. It was as if the entire pack was on the brink of something terrible, something far worse than a rogue attack.

The sudden shrill cry from the packhouse hallway shattered the silence, sending a chill down Seraphina’s spine. It was the unmistakable sound of panic.

Without thinking, she rushed toward the source of the scream. Her heart hammered in her chest as she pushed open the door to find a group of wolves gathered around a body. The smell of blood was thick in the air, cloying and metallic. The body belonged to one of the pack’s warriors Damon, a fierce, loyal soldier of Blackveil Pack, whose strength and power had been revered by all.

Now, his body lay in a heap, lifeless and pale. Blood pooled around him, a crimson stain that stood stark against the stone floor. His eyes were wide open, unseeing, and his mouth twisted in an expression of agony that made Seraphina’s stomach churn.

“What happened?” she asked, her voice cold, steady. She forced herself to step closer, to resist the temptation to recoil.

The pack members surrounding the body shifted uneasily. One of them, a younger wolf named Aric, stepped forward, his face drawn in terror. “We found him like this when we came to check on him this morning. He wasn’t breathing. No sign of injury.”

Seraphina knelt beside Damon’s body, studying him carefully. There was no visible wound, no marks to indicate a struggle. His skin was cold, and yet, there was something deeply unnatural about the way his body had gone stiff, as though life had been drained from him in an instant. Her fingers brushed against his wrist, searching for a pulse, but there was nothing. He was gone.

Her eyes scanned the room, trying to make sense of the scene. Then, something caught her eye.

Dark, almost invisible runes were etched into the floor near where Damon had collapsed. The markings were strange, ancient, and filled with an unsettling energy that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

“No…” Seraphina whispered to herself, her heart sinking into her stomach. The runes were familiar, but she couldn’t place them at first. They were old, older than anything she’d ever seen. She had only heard about them in passing a dark magic, forbidden by all but the most sinister of sorcerers.

She stood up abruptly, a sense of urgency seizing her chest. These runes were a warning. Someone had placed them here intentionally, and it wasn’t just coincidence that Damon had been the one to fall victim to them. No, this was much worse than a simple rogue attack or misfortune. This was the curse.

The pack was under attack from something far more insidious than they could possibly imagine.

Without a word, she turned on her heel and left the scene, her mind racing with the implications of what she had just discovered. Her footsteps echoed loudly in the halls, but she barely noticed, her thoughts consumed by the vision of Damon’s lifeless body and the runes that had caused his death.

She didn’t have time to waste. She had to find answers, and she had to find them now.

Dorian was sitting at his desk when she entered the Alpha’s office. His posture was rigid, his back straight, and his expression set in the mask of a leader who had to make difficult decisions. But when his eyes met hers, something shifted a flicker of uncertainty that lasted only a second before it was gone.

“Dorian,” Seraphina said, trying to keep the urgency in her voice from betraying her. “You need to come with me.”

His gaze sharpened, a frown pulling at his lips. “What is it?”

“It’s Damon,” she said quickly, her words spilling out in a rush. “He’s dead. But it’s not from any normal cause. Someone’s using dark magic. I found runes near his body. I think it’s the curse.”

Dorian’s face remained impassive, but the muscles in his jaw tightened. “You’re certain?”

Seraphina nodded. “I’ve seen them before, in ancient texts. They’re linked to a dark, forbidden magic that causes death. I don’t know who’s behind it, but I can tell you this: it’s not a coincidence.”

Dorian stood up, the motion so sudden it startled her. He was the Alpha, and yet in this moment, he seemed almost... wary. “I don’t believe in curses, Seraphina,” he said coldly, his voice low and steady. “There’s always a logical explanation.”

“Dorian,” she snapped, taking a step closer to him. “This isn’t just some coincidence. I’ve felt it this magic is real. Damon didn’t just die by accident.”

He looked at her for a long, silent moment, his eyes narrowed. Then, without another word, he turned and strode past her, his long legs carrying him quickly down the hall. “Show me.”

Seraphina followed him, heart pounding. She led him back to the scene, her thoughts spinning in a whirlwind of doubt and fear. She couldn’t explain why the curse felt so real to her, but she could feel the weight of it in the air, thick and suffocating. She could feel it in her bones.

When they reached the room, the pack members had moved Damon’s body, but the bloodstain on the floor was still fresh, the runes now more visible in the daylight. Dorian’s gaze swept over the markings, his face hardening.

“Is this your idea of evidence?” he asked, his voice laced with skepticism. “These aren’t runes of a curse they’re just markings. They could mean anything.”

Seraphina clenched her jaw, frustration bubbling up inside her. “You have to trust me. This magic is older than anything you’ve ever seen. It’s not just a marking it’s a sigil. Whoever is behind this knows what they’re doing.”

Before Dorian could respond, a sharp cry from the hallway interrupted them. Seraphina turned to see one of Dorian’s beta wolves, a large, muscular man named Kael, stumbling into the room, his face pale and drenched in sweat. Blood dripped from his lips, his breathing erratic as he collapsed to the floor with a strangled gasp.

“Kael!” Dorian shouted, rushing to his side. Seraphina’s heart raced as Kael coughed violently, his body shaking in spasms.

“Poisoned,” Kael managed to rasp, his voice barely audible.

“Poison?” Dorian’s tone was sharp, disbelief flashing in his eyes.

“No…” Kael’s lips trembled as he raised a hand, pointing weakly to his chest. “It’s the runes. They’re… they’re marking us, Dorian. All of us. We’re cursed.”

Dorian’s expression faltered for a split second just enough for Seraphina to catch it. He had believed in logic, in control, but now, standing there with his beta writhing in pain on the floor, the truth was undeniable.

“The runes,” Seraphina repeated, her voice steady. “They’re linked to the curse. Whoever is behind this is picking us off, one by one.”

Dorian knelt beside Kael, his expression hardening, his eyes blazing with fury. “Whoever is doing this will pay,” he growled, the primal anger in his voice unmistakable.

But Seraphina didn’t trust his words. She knew that Dorian, for all his strength, wasn’t prepared for the depths of darkness they were about to face. The curse was only just beginning, and it would take everything they had to survive.

And she wasn’t sure they would.