Elara paced the guest room, her heart racing despite the silence around her. The moonlight pouring through the window felt heavier tonight—like it knew something she didn't.
She stopped suddenly, a sharp pain blooming beneath her collarbone where the mark lay.
She gasped, clutching it.
Visions flashed behind her eyes—images she didn't understand. A woman in white, standing on a cliff under a blood moon. A silver dagger. A wolf kneeling at her feet. And a name whispered in a language she couldn't place, yet understood instinctively.
"Lunaria."
Elara staggered to the floor, breath ragged.
The door burst open. Kael rushed in, his eyes immediately scanning her for wounds. "Elara!"
"I—I saw something," she said, voice shaking. "A memory? Maybe. It felt… old. Like it wasn't mine. But it was."
Kael knelt beside her, gently touching her cheek. "What did you see?"
She told him.
He listened, silent and still, until she finished. Then he stood and went to the hearth, grabbing a worn leather book from a hidden shelf.
"This belonged to the seer who served my father," Kael said, flipping through the pages. "She once told a story of a bloodline born of the moon itself. A daughter of Lunaria would be born once every thousand years, carrying the gift of the moon's voice and the power to awaken the Alpha's soul."
He looked up, eyes locked with hers.
"That daughter bears the same mark you carry."
Elara stared at him, speechless.
"I think," Kael continued, voice low, "you're more than my mate. You're the key to something older than this pack. Older than any of us."
Outside, a lone howl rose—long, low, and mournful.
And from the shadowed woods beyond, eyes watched the
den with hatred burning bright.
---