Kael's POV
I didn't understand why everyone was staring at me like I had uttered something forbidden. Their silence weighed heavier than steel, every gaze sharpened with unspoken tension.
My jaw clenched. "What?" I asked, voice harsher than I intended. "Why the looks? All I asked about was my mother."
Lucas's eyes softened only slightly, but he didn't give me the answer I craved. Instead, he exhaled, controlled and deliberate, as though he was pressing something down. "Not tonight," he said finally. "You need rest. Food. Healing. We will talk in the morning."
Before I could argue, he was already turning away, his presence commanding even in silence. His Luna, Miriam, touched his arm briefly, then turned to the servants. "Take him upstairs," she instructed. "Get the physician to tend to his wound and prepare him a dinner."
I bristled, instinct pulling me to snap, to demand answers here and now. But exhaustion pressed against my bones, and the pain burning through my chest reminded me that I was bleeding more than I wanted to admit. I didn't have a choice.
So I followed.
The servants led me up the sweeping staircase, their footsteps quiet, respectful, though their eyes lingered on me with the same subtle wariness I had felt downstairs.
Every turn, every gilded wall, every shimmering chandelier whispered wealth. I had never pictured my mother as belonging to something like this. A family this rich. A house this powerful. My chest tightened at the thought.
Finally, they stopped at a wide double door. One servant opened it, bowing slightly.
"This will be your room, Alpha Kael," the man said respectfully. "Please, freshen up. Someone will come shortly to tend your wounds."
"Your dinner will be ready soon," the other servant added with a polite nod.
Alpha.
The word made me pause. I wasn't one — not yet — but they said it like it was a simple fact, not a question. I blinked, unsure whether to correct them or just let it go, and settled for a short nod.
I stepped inside.
The room was vast, beautiful. Soft carpets spread underfoot, curtains drawn back to let the moon spill its light across polished floors. A king-sized bed rested against the far wall, the sheets crisp, untouched. A private balcony stretched out beyond glass doors, offering a view of the estate lit faintly under the night sky.
Even though it wasn't as breathtaking as my chambers back in Blackwood, it still put my rented apartment in this city to shame. I closed the door behind me and let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.
For a moment, I simply sat. The sofa beneath me sank under my weight, too soft for my restless body. My mind spun, unable to keep still.
Mother.
The word itself was enough to claw open old wounds.
I was barely nine. I remember everything.
The lash of the whip tearing into her back as she shielded the newborn in her arms. Her body jerking with every blow, but her grip never loosening. She had been flogged mercilessly, humiliated in the court of our kind, because she refused to let them harm her child.
I remember my father's voice, cold as iron, declaring the infant cursed. Born under the rare blood moon, marked with a crescent that glowed like fire on her tiny skin. The moon priestess called it a curse. A bad omen. A demand for sacrifice when the next full moon rose.
But my mother…
She screamed until her throat bled that the child was not cursed, but blessed. That the goddess had given her to us for a reason. Her pleas fell on deaf ears.
I can still hear the chains clinking as they dragged her into the dungeon, the newborn pressed to her chest. They said she would remain there until the full moon, and then both would be executed.
That was the day my father's hatred for me was born.
Because I begged. I threw myself at his feet and pleaded for her life. I didn't care about punishment. I didn't care about shame. All I wanted was for my mother to be spared.
But mercy was weakness in his eyes. He struck me down, called me fragile. My brother, Ronan, had stood silent beside me, his lips sealed, his eyes cold. He didn't beg. He didn't fight. And for that, our father praised him.
The pain of that moment never left me.
Even as she was dragged away, even knowing death awaited her, she clung to her child. Her face was bruised, her back bloodied, but her eyes… her eyes blazed with defiance. She never yielded.
That night, a loyal servant—one whose name I will never forget—risked everything. He unlocked her chains. He helped her escape the dungeon with the baby. But he was caught, and they killed him for it.
My mother vanished into the night, the infant still in her arms.
Father told us again and again that she had abandoned us. That she had chosen her cursed daughter over her sons. That she was selfish. Weak.
Ronan believed him. To this day, my brother spits her name like venom. He speaks of her as though she were the greatest shame of our bloodline.
But I know better.
I remember her eyes. I remember her screams. She didn't choose a curse. She chose to protect what she believed was sacred. And I… I can't hate her for that.
I've prayed for years to see her again. To ask her why. To hear her voice explain what none of us understood.
And now, maybe… maybe this man, this Lucas Thane who claims to be her brother, can lead me to her.
But the way their faces changed downstairs… the way the room froze when I spoke her name… it gnaws at me still.
What aren't they telling me?
I leaned back into the sofa, staring at the ceiling, the past pressing hard against my chest. My claws twitched, my wolf restless, but exhaustion dulled the edge of my anger.
Somewhere, in the quiet of this house, answers waited.
And I would have them.
I closed my eyes, listening to the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. Every second sounded like a countdown. My wolf paced within me, uneasy, sensing that whatever truth awaited me here would not come without pain. Answers, yes—but perhaps not the ones I wanted.