Magic wasn't meant for wolves. That was something told in every story, every law, every fear drilled into him since childhood. Wolves had the moon. Humans had magic. The two did not mix. And yet, here he was, an omega no pack wanted, feeling power in his veins that could rival a spellcaster's.
He clenched his hands, forcing the light to fade. His palms tingled, the glow retreating reluctantly.
"Devon?" Elias tugged at his sleeve, looking up with sleepy blue eyes. "Are you okay?"
Devon smiled weakly, brushing the boy's hair back. "I'm fine, little one. Just tired."
He stood, carrying Elias back inside as the night breeze whispered around them. But the moment he crossed the threshold into the hall, the light of the enchanted lanterns along the walls flared brighter, reacting again. He didn't see it.
Lucien did. From his hidden vantage point above, the Alpha's eyes narrowed slightly, his mind working in secret calculation.
"His power strengthens every day," Rowan murmured. "Whatever it is, it's feeding off something here."
Lucien's gaze lingered on Devon, on the gentle way he carried his son, on the faint shimmer that followed his every step.
"No," he said finally, voice low and thoughtful. "Not something. Someone."
Rowan frowned. "You think..."
Lucien cut him off. "It's tied to Elias. The first time the magic manifested was when my son was in danger. And now, it grows stronger the longer they're together."
The Beta was silent for a long moment before saying, "That's either a blessing… or a curse."
Lucien didn't answer. His expression was unreadable, part caution, part wonder. He turned away from the window, his cloak brushing softly against the floor.
"Keep this between us for now," he said. "No one else is to know the boy's connection to him."
Rowan inclined his head. "Understood."
As they walked down the corridor, Lucien's thoughts lingered on the rogue, the omega who shouldn't have survived, whose touch stirred the mansion's wards and calmed his child's tears. An omega who carried magic.
It defied every law he knew. Every truth he believed. And yet… he could not shake the feeling that Devon Albert's arrival was not fate's mistake, but its design.
Meanwhile, alone in his chamber, Devon stared at his hands in silence. The faint afterglow still lingered beneath his skin, beautiful, terrifying. He didn't know what it was. He didn't know what he had become. But deep down, one thought echoed in his mind, quiet and certain.
If this power could protect Elias, even once more, then he would learn to control it. Even if it costs him everything.
The night had long passed into silence, but the Alpha of Ravenmoon did not sleep. Deep beneath the mansion, past the grand halls and silent corridors, there was a stairway few dared to tread, a spiral descent that led to the Sanctum Arcanum, the oldest chamber of the pack's history.
Lucien's boots echoed softly against the stone steps as he descended, a single torch in hand. Dust stirred in the stale air, disturbed for the first time in years.
He passed carved walls etched with the marks of generations, names, sigils, records of alliances and wars, until he reached a towering iron door bound with silver runes. He placed his palm upon the center rune, and the old magic within the metal pulsed in response.
"Lucien Hale, Alpha of Ravenmoon," he spoke quietly, his voice steady. "Blood and duty grant me passage."
The runes flared, reading the truth in his bloodline. The ancient door groaned open, exhaling a breath of cold, musty air. Inside, the chamber was filled with relics, tomes bound in dragonhide, scrolls wrapped in cloth, and artifacts sealed in glass that shimmered faintly with residual spells. The air vibrated with age and power.
Lucien set the torch upon a sconce and began to search. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, only that his instincts screamed Devon was not natural.
"Wolves with magic…" he muttered under his breath, running his hand across a shelf of old histories. "That should be impossible."
He stopped before a section older than the rest, one that hadn't been touched in decades. Its shelves sagged under the weight of forgotten knowledge. He brushed the dust from a cracked spine and pulled a book free.
The Bloodlines of the Moon.
He flipped through the pages, old handwriting, faded ink. His eyes scanned accounts of pureblood Alphas, hybrid wolves, and cursed lineages long erased from history. And then he found it.
A single passage, written in darker ink, as if added after the rest of the text.
There was once a line of wolves born not of the Moon's light, but of its shadow, the Lunaris Veil. They bore no rank in the packs, born weak in body, marked as omegas… yet within them flowed the remnant of the First Magic, the bridge between wolf and witchblood. Their existence threatened the balance. The packs feared them, hunted them. Until the last of their kind was thought to be extinct.
Lucien's breath stilled.
A wolf born weak… an omega, rejected by his own kind. Yet capable of wielding magic strong enough to bend the wards of a mansion.
He turned the page carefully, finding an illustration, a wolf surrounded by a pale aura, silver light dripping like mist from its fur. Around it were the words Lunaris-born.
"Shadow of the Moon…" Lucien whispered, tracing the drawing with his gloved hand.
The torches flickered suddenly, a sign that the magic in the chamber recognized the truth spoken aloud.
Rowan entered quietly behind him, drawn by the faint tremor in the air. "You found something."
Lucien didn't look up. "The answer to what Devon might be."
Rowan approached, squinting at the old text. "The Lunaris Veil? I thought that was a myth. A bedtime story to scare pups."
"So did I," Lucien murmured. "But myths always begin with truth."
He closed the book slowly, expression darkening. "If he truly is one of them… then his presence here isn't a coincidence. It's fate... and danger."
Rowan's brows furrowed. "Danger to whom? To the pack?"