The silence in the tavern was a beast of its own. It growled beneath every held breath, lurked in every widened eye. Nyra stood nose-to-chest with the God of War, heart pounding, skin burning—and she hated it. Hated how his scent still stirred something ancient in her blood. Hated how it wasn't attraction, but recognition.
Something primal.
Something sacred.
Something... wrong.
"Step back," she said coldly.
Ares didn't.
The air between them thrummed with tension. Not lust—at least, not for her. For him? She wasn't sure. He looked at her like he looked at battlefields—something he wanted to conquer, control, own.
"You felt it," he murmured. "The mark."
Nyra's breath caught. The mark. That strange sear on her lower back. It had bloomed the night of her twenty-first eclipse—an ache that shimmered like silver fire under her skin. A mark that hadn't come from any lover, but something older.
"You think I'm marked to you?" she said, voice like shattered glass.
"I don't think. I know."
Nyra backed away slowly, rage crawling over her skin like vines of thorns. "You're my father, Ares. You left my mother to rot in madness. Don't come here with some cursed mate bullshit."
"I never claimed you," he said, tone sharp. "That makes no blood bond. Your mother was divine, not mortal. You were born in secret. Conceived under a Blood Eclipse, between realms."
Her gut twisted.
"So what—you're saying I'm not your daughter?"
"I'm saying you were never supposed to exist."
She went still.
And that silence? That fucking silence swallowed her whole.
"Get. Out," she hissed.
But Ares wasn't done.
"The Moonborn line doesn't follow mortal blood rules. You're a creature of divine sin. You were never meant to be a daughter, Nyra. You were meant to be a weapon."
And just like that—CRACK—her dagger slammed into the wood beside his head.
"I'd rather fuck a manticore," she snarled. "You want a weapon? Forge your own."
She turned her back on him.
Bad idea.
In less than a breath, she was pinned to the tavern wall, Ares's hand gripping her arm—not hurting, just holding. She could've fought him. Would've. But another presence was already cutting through the room like thunder on ice.
It wasn't just heat anymore.
It was frost.
Power.
And it made Ares turn.
The door was wide open.
The man standing in it looked like a ghost carved from shadow and moonfire. Tall. Pale. Hair like ink spilled across snow. Eyes—amethyst and void—locked on Nyra with such feral hunger it stole the air from the room.
Even Ares tensed.
"Who the fuck is that?" Nyra whispered.
The priest beside her went white.
"Ravyn. The Daybreaker. First of the Nightborn. The true heir to the Crimson Court."
A vampire.
But not just any. This one smelled like old death. Like starfire wrapped in frost.
And he was looking at her like he'd finally found his next addiction.
His lips curled into a half-smile. "Little Moon... you're harder to find than the rumors promised."
Nyra straightened. "And you are?"
"Your fate."
Ares growled low beside her. "Over my dead body."
Ravyn's eyes glittered. "Gladly."
Before Nyra could even blink, the tavern exploded into movement.
Ares lunged, divine blades drawn, and Ravyn moved like mist and vengeance. Their clash shook the room. Tables flipped. Glass shattered. Lycans scattered. The priest screamed.
Nyra stood in the center of it all, hands clenched, power flaring beneath her skin. She could feel the mark burning now—not from Ares, not from Ravyn—but from within.
She didn't belong to either of them.
The mark was hers.
And suddenly, it all made sense.
The dreams.
The whispers.
The hunger.
The beasts beneath the realm weren't just calling to her—they were inside her.
She screamed.
Not from fear, but release.
And the tavern went still.
Ares and Ravyn froze.
Every light snuffed out except the moon above.
And from Nyra's back, silver wings burst free—huge, shadow-kissed, glowing with eclipse light. Her eyes turned full black. Her skin cracked with ancient glyphs.
The Moonborn had awakened.
---
When her vision cleared, the tavern was rubble.
Ravyn was on one knee, blood on his lips. Ares was flat on his back, his war-god pride wounded.
And Nyra?
She hovered above the ruins like a goddess reborn, chest rising, eyes wild.
"Touch me again," she said, voice layered with something else, something divine, "and I'll tear this realm in half."
Ares stared, stunned.
Ravyn… smiled.
"Well then," the vampire purred, "I think I just fell in love."
---