LUNA BY MISTAKE BOOK 3

After the Blood Gate, Aria had thought the next war would wait at least one night.

She was wrong.

The Ash Road called Killian before dawn.

Not with thunder.

Not with blood.

With Eira’s voice.

Aria woke because the bond went cold.

One second, she was half-asleep in the healer’s wing, curled in a chair near the window with Killian’s cloak around her shoulders.

The next, her heart kicked hard enough to hurt.

Killian was gone.

His cloak still covered her. His scent still clung to the wool. But the place where he had been standing against the wall was empty.

Aria sat up too fast.

Pain cut through her ribs.

She ignored it.

Across the room, Eira slept beneath three blankets, silver hair loose over the pillow, the raw burn around her throat still red from the broken collar. Selene slept in a chair beside her, one hand resting near Eira’s wrist as if touch alone could keep her cousin in the world.

Ronan was asleep near the door with a blade across his knees.

Of course he was.

Even unconscious, the man looked irritatingly prepared.

Aria stood.

Her legs complained.

Her ribs complained.

Her mark complained loudest of all.

It pulsed once.

Cold.

West.

Aria stopped breathing.

No.

A voice moved through the stone.

Soft.

Female.

Broken.

“Killian.”

Aria froze.

The voice came again.

“Killian… come back to me.”

Eira’s eyes snapped open.

Selene jerked awake with a gasp.

Ronan’s blade was in his hand before his eyes fully opened. “What happened?”

Aria was already moving.

“Killian.”

Ronan stood so fast his chair hit the wall. “Where?”

“West.”

That one word changed the room.

Eira tried to sit up. Pain crushed her back against the pillow. Selene caught her shoulders.

“No,” Eira rasped.

Aria stopped at the door.

Eira’s face had gone white.

“That is not me,” she whispered.

The voice slid through the stone again.

“Killian. Please. I’m cold.”

Aria’s stomach twisted.

It sounded like Eira.

Not the weak Eira in the bed.

Not the Eira who had warned them about Gates.

This voice sounded younger.

Softer.

Full of the kind of pain that could make a guilty man forget every promise he had made.

Ronan cursed under his breath.

Selene looked like someone had cut her open and left her standing. “The Ash Road.”

Eira gripped the blanket with shaking fingers. “It opens through what the living cannot release.”

Aria’s mark burned cold.

Killian had released many things.

But not Eira.

Not fully.

How could he?

The woman he had buried was breathing twenty feet away from Aria now.

Wounded.

Alive.

Not alive enough.

Not dead enough.

The kind of wound no heart knew where to put.

Aria ran.

The corridor outside the healer’s wing was dark except for low wall torches. Two guards stood at the far end, both staring blankly ahead.

Aria stopped in front of them.

“Did Killian pass here?”

One guard blinked slowly.

Too slowly.

“He heard her,” the man whispered.

Aria’s blood turned cold.

Ronan came up behind her and slapped the guard hard across the face.

The guard gasped.

Aria shot Ronan a look. “Was that necessary?”

“He was spell-drifted,” Ronan said. “Now he is less spell-drifted.”

The guard shook, eyes clearing. “Luna?”

“Killian,” Aria said. “Where did he go?”

The guard pointed with a trembling hand.

“West stair.”

Aria ran again.

Ronan stayed beside her, blade drawn, bare feet silent on stone. Behind them, Selene shouted orders. Somewhere farther back, Eira was coughing and trying to call them back.

Aria did not turn.

The western stair curled down through the oldest part of the Citadel.

The stones here were darker.

Colder.

Less polished.

The air smelled of ash.

Aria had never been this way before.

That made her hate it immediately.

“Why does this fortress have so many cursed directions?” she panted.

Ronan glanced at her. “Because our ancestors were dramatic and badly supervised.”

“Add that to the official history.”

“If we survive.”

They reached the lower arch.

The door stood open.

Beyond it, a narrow passage ran beneath the west wall. Wind pushed through, carrying snow, smoke, and something that smelled like old funeral wood.

Aria stopped.

At the end of the passage, Killian walked barefoot into the dark.

No cloak.

No weapon.

No shirt.

Only dark trousers and bare skin marked by silver scars.

His head was slightly bowed.

His hands hung loose at his sides.

He moved like a man half asleep.

Or half dead.

“Killian!” Aria shouted.

He did not stop.

The bond between them stretched.

Not bright.

Not warm.

Thin.

So cold.

Covered in ash.

Panic hit her so hard she almost ran straight at him.

Then Eira’s warning returned.

It opens through what the living cannot release.

The Ash Road did not want Killian dead.

Not yet.

It wanted him following.

Aria forced herself to slow.

Ronan caught her arm. “Careful.”

“I know.”

“You look like you don’t.”

“I am aware of my face, Ronan.”

Killian stepped through the outer arch and into the snow.

The western road waited beyond the Citadel wall.

It should have been ordinary.

A stone path.

Black pines.

Snowbanks.

Far hills under a dying moon.

But now a thin grey line ran across the ground.

Ash.

A road made of ash.

It had not been there last night.

It wound away from the Citadel and into the western trees.

No footprints marked it except Killian’s.

Each step he took made the ash glow red beneath his bare feet.

Aria’s throat tightened.

“Killian,” she called again.

This time, his body paused.

Just for one heartbeat.

Hope cut through her.

Then the voice came from the road.

Not behind him.

Ahead.

“Killian… you left me in the dark.”

His shoulders shook.

Aria felt the words hit him through the bond.

Guilt.

Old and deep.

A blade pushed into a scar that had never stopped bleeding.

Ronan muttered, “That thing fights dirty.”

Aria took one step forward.

The ash line hissed.

A black shape rose from it.

Not a wolf.

Not a person.

A memory.

Eira stood in the road.

Not the wounded woman in the healer’s bed.

This Eira wore a silver ceremonial dress. Her hair was braided with moonstones. Her throat was untouched by collars. Her eyes were clear.

Beautiful.

Whole.

Dead.

Aria’s stomach dropped.

The false Eira lifted one hand toward Killian.

“You promised,” she said.

Killian stopped breathing.

Aria felt it.

He whispered, “Eira.”

No.

The word cracked something in Aria.

Not jealousy this time.

Fear.

Because he sounded awake.

Ronan lifted his blade. “That is not her.”

Killian did not seem to hear.

The false Eira smiled sadly.

“You said you would come if I called.”

Killian took another step.

The ash glowed brighter.

Aria felt the bond slip again.

Thin.

Thinner.

No.

She stepped onto the ash.

Pain shot through her foot.

White-hot.

She gasped and nearly fell.

Ronan grabbed her waist. “Do not step on the evil road barefoot. I feel that should be obvious.”

Aria pushed him off. “He is barefoot.”

“He is also half-enchanted and built like a disaster.”

“Move.”

“Gladly. Away from death.”

The false Eira looked at Aria.

For the first time, its face changed.

Not much.

Enough.

The softness sharpened.

“Second Luna,” it said.

Aria lifted her chin. “Cheap ghost.”

The thing smiled with Eira’s mouth.

“You stand where I stood.”

“I stand where I choose.”

“You sleep where I should have slept.”

The words hit.

Ugly.

Accurate enough to hurt.

Ronan shifted beside her. “Do not answer it.”

“I know.”

But knowing did not stop the sting.

The false Eira stepped closer to Killian.

“You loved me first.”

Killian’s eyes closed.

Aria felt the grief open inside him.

Not like a wound.

Like a door.

Ash stirred around his feet.

The road widened.

Behind them, voices shouted from the Citadel. Selene. Taryn. Mara. Guards waking. Wolves coming.

Too far.

Too slow.

The false Eira touched Killian’s cheek.

Or seemed to.

His face broke.

Aria forgot to breathe.

The bond flickered.

Not dead.

Not gone.

But far.

Like a candle behind glass.

Aria’s fear turned sharp.

She could not pull him back with force.

She could not command him.

That was what the road wanted.

A tug of war.

Dead against living.

First Luna against second.

Love against guilt.

No.

Aria stepped to the edge of the ash but did not touch it again.

“Killian Varys.”

His head moved.

Slightly.

The false Eira’s smile vanished.

Good.

Aria’s voice shook, but she made it carry.

“You told me to look at you when grief tried to lie.”

The ash road hissed.

The false Eira turned fully toward her now.

Wrong.

Too smooth.

Too empty.

Aria ignored it.

“You told me I was not the cage,” she said. “You told me I could open and close.”

Killian’s hand twitched.

The bond sparked once.

Small.

Gold.

Still alive.

Aria’s chest tightened.

“There you are,” she whispered.

The false Eira’s mouth twisted.

“He wants me,” it said. “He always will.”

Aria looked at Killian.

Not at the ghost.

At him.

“Maybe,” she said.

The word hurt.

She let it hurt.

“Maybe part of him always will.”

The false Eira paused.

Ronan looked at her like she had lost her mind.

Aria kept going.

“But wanting to save someone is not the same as following a lie into the dark.”

Killian’s eyes opened.

They were black at the edges.

Ash had crawled up his ankles.

Aria wanted to scream.

She did not.

She held out her hand.

Not across the road.

Not touching the ash.

Just open.

Waiting.

Like he had done for her.

“Killian,” she said softly. “Come back because you choose to.”

The whole road went silent.

The false Eira stared at her.

Then it laughed.

The sound was not Eira anymore.

Too deep.

Too old.

Too hungry.

“Choice,” it said. “The sweetest leash.”

Aria’s mark flared.

The ash road answered.

Red light cracked through the grey dust, running west into the trees. Far away, under the hills, something opened one red eye.

Mara reached the arch behind them, breathing hard, staff in hand.

“Do not let him take another step!”

Aria did not look back. “What happens if he does?”

Mara’s voice dropped.

“The Ash Road will show him every dead voice he has failed. If he follows one to the end, it will not kill him.”

Ronan looked over. “Then what?”

Mara’s face was grim.

“It will bring him back empty.”

The false Eira placed both hands on Killian’s chest.

“Come with me,” it whispered.

Killian took one breath.

Then another.

His foot lifted.

Aria’s heart stopped.

“No,” she whispered.

The bond snapped bright.

Not from her.

From him.

Killian’s raised foot froze above the ash.

His eyes found Aria’s.

For one terrible second, he looked lost between worlds.

Then he said her name.

“Aria.”

The false Eira screamed.

The sound tore through the snow, through the trees, through every wolf on the wall.

Killian staggered back one step.

Only one.

But one was enough.

Aria lunged.

Ronan caught her before she hit the ash fully, but her hand reached Killian’s.

Their fingers locked.

The bond exploded with heat.

Gold and silver fire burst between them, burning the ash under Killian’s feet. He gasped like a man dragged from deep water.

The false Eira split down the middle.

Not flesh.

Smoke.

Ash.

Red light.

Its mouth opened wider than any human mouth should.

Then the old voice spoke through it.

“Alpha King remembers.”

The ash road pulled back toward the trees.

Slowly.

Hungrily.

As if it had tasted him and liked the flavor.

Killian fell to one knee.

Aria dropped with him, arms around his shoulders. His skin was ice-cold. His breath came hard against her neck.

“I heard her,” he whispered.

“I know.”

“I knew it was wrong.”

“I know.”

His hand gripped the back of her dress like he was afraid the ground would take her next.

“I still wanted to go.”

Aria closed her eyes.

That truth hurt.

But it was still truth.

“You came back,” she said.

His breath shook.

Behind them, Eira’s weak voice rose from the archway.

“Yes,” she said.

Aria turned.

Eira stood between Selene and Taryn, wrapped in a blanket, pale as death and twice as stubborn.

Her eyes were fixed on Killian.

“You came back,” she repeated.

Killian looked at her like the words might finish breaking him.

Eira’s mouth trembled.

Then she looked at the ash road.

Fear crossed her face.

Real fear.

“That was only the first call,” she whispered.

The ash line had retreated to the trees, but it had not vanished.

It waited there.

A grey scar in the snow.

At the far end of it, something red blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Then the false Eira’s voice drifted from the dark again.

This time, it did not call Killian.

It called Aria.

“Human star.”

Aria went still.

Killian’s hand tightened around hers.

The voice smiled in the trees.

“Your mother is waiting.”

And the Ash Road opened wider.