Luna Everleigh's POV
***
The silence in Nalia's study was suffocating.
The air smelled of aged parchment and dried herbs, but beneath it was something heavier—a tension so thick it felt like it was pressing down on my chest.
I sat across from her, my hands clenched into fists on my lap, my mind still reeling from Damian's words.
They're looking for you.
Rhydian stood near the window, arms crossed, his jaw tight as he stared outside. I could feel the tension rolling off him in waves, his anger barely restrained.
And then there was Nalia.
She looked at me like she was seeing something more—something I wasn't sure I wanted to understand.
"You knew," I finally said, my voice quiet but sharp. "Didn't you?"
Nalia exhaled slowly. "I suspected."
My heart pounded. "Suspected what?"
She hesitated for only a moment before reaching for a thick, worn book on the table beside her. The leather cover was cracked with age, the edges frayed from years of use.
She turned the pages carefully, then rotated the book so I could see.
A faded illustration stared back at me—an ancient drawing of a woman with long, flowing hair and eyes that seemed almost too bright, even on paper.
My stomach twisted.
"She looks like me."
Nalia nodded. "Because she was your ancestor."
I swallowed hard. "Who was she?"
Nalia's gaze didn't waver.
"A woman who was both revered and feared. A woman who was said to hold the blood of something older than even the first wolves." She paused, her voice dropping lower. "A woman who was called a curse upon our kind."
Something inside me turned to ice.
I shook my head. "No. That's not—"
"You are her last descendant, Luna."
The room seemed to tilt.
I gripped the armrest of my chair, trying to steady myself. "That doesn't mean anything. That doesn't—"
"It means everything," Rhydian said suddenly, his voice rough.
I looked up at him, my pulse thrumming.
His golden eyes burned with something unreadable—something that looked an awful lot like fear.
—
To be continued...