Luna's Redemption: Bonded by the Blood

t. She dared not move, her small fingertips probing the bark and splinters pricking her palms. Not when the hollow chantin

lara, Lysandra's mother, was tall even though the ropes were stinging her wrists. Her silver-

irling around the pyre. "A wolf here." You d

n to hear, a flutter of a smile-soft and sad. Her chest constricted. She recognized that spell, th

amp dr

Lysandra's scream stuck in her throat as

spl

ells breaking apart. Lysandra's hands shone, a weak silver light throbbing beneath her flesh. She didn't get it;

definitive sliced through

ound, the curses of the coven followed her like wolves. She left. But two

t is

land totally consumed. She continued even though Brambles ripped at her nightgown

. A jagged cut divided his side-result of the silver swords of the coven. Like her own, his g

ot sure about healing spells. Her fingers tingle from the silver pois

d witch is the answer. He started to cough, red flecking his lips. "The coven will l

e asked in

ht before he

st one front had a young face pale like moonlight, red eyes shining with predatory calm. Lysandra stop

at her father's limp body. A dying

forcing himself st

throat, he pinned her father to the ground in a blur. Ah-ah, h

d her eyes. "

e the coven is shrieking about. His grin got wider. "I'll negotiate with you, li

er cried,

ht through his neck

dra said in

ss. "Beautiful girl," He threw her a copper coin picturing a serpen

eir to the Nightrose Court," as he disappeared

ight dragging against her. But his breaths got sh

from excavation. She held the silver coin, its sharp edges aga

me I would sur

s she turned toward the horizon, its ruby

n his frayed robe below, she pushed her forehead on the cool ground. The low moon of the wolf hung teasing her with its

ruby eye of the serpent pointed back, frigid and unbroken. A gift. Her throat grew constricted. From a twel

to hide it," repeating her father's last

l tasted mor

intly-a combination of witchlight and wolf-instinct intensifying her eyesight. D

ward the tomb. "A tear waste of a w

tiff. "What d

sympathy there for a heartbeat. Possibly also hunger. " Little mongrel, you owe me. I am not here to collect yet, though. He brush

ould respond, leaving just t

ened around the rose, its fangs cutting the petals. A deal negotiated in the

extinguish her witchlight, to become nothing but a ghost. But the wind conveyed her m

d, Lysandra. It pours. It

her boot like the