The mist swallowed them whole.
One moment Elara stood on the ridge, staring down at the valley below. The next, she was surrounded by white—thick, damp, alive—pressing against her from all sides. She couldn't see Dace. Couldn't see the ground. Couldn't see anything except endless, swirling grey.
"Elara!" Dace's voice came from somewhere to her left, muffled by the fog. "Don't move. The mist is enchanted—if we get separated, we might never find each other."
She froze. Her heart hammered. The marks on her chest blazed with sudden heat.
The palace knows I'm here, she realized. The magic is responding.
"Dace." Her voice was steady despite her fear. "Take my hand. Don't let go."
His fingers found hers in the mist. Warm. Solid. Real.
"Now what?" he asked.
Elara closed her eyes.
And listened.
Not with her ears—with something deeper. The seal. The wolf. The blood that had waited two hundred years to come home.
Where? she asked silently. Where do I go?
The marks burned.
And suddenly, she knew.
"This way." She tugged Dace forward, trusting instincts she didn't understand, following a pull that had nothing to do with sight. "Don't let go."
They walked.
The mist swirled around them, thick as wool, cold as death. Elara couldn't see her own feet, couldn't tell if the ground was solid or whether they might step off a cliff at any moment. But the pull was undeniable—a thread of silver light visible only to her, leading deeper into the valley.
Home, it seemed to whisper. Come home.
They walked for what felt like hours.
Then, suddenly, the mist parted.
---
The Silver Palace rose before her.
Even in ruins, it was breathtaking. White stone walls gleamed in the pale sunlight, carved with wolves and moons and stars. Towers reached toward the sky, some crumbling, others still proud. A great courtyard stretched before the main entrance, its stones worn by centuries of weather but still beautiful.
And at the center of the courtyard, a fountain—dry now, cracked with age—carved in the shape of a silver wolf howling at an absent moon.
Elara's knees gave out.
She fell to the ground, staring at the palace, tears streaming down her face. She didn't know why she was crying. Didn't understand the grief that overwhelmed her. All she knew was that this place—this broken, beautiful place—was hers.
Dace knelt beside her. Said nothing. Simply waited.
After a long moment, Elara found her voice.
"They died here." It wasn't a question. She could feel it—the echoes of violence, of terror, of loss seeping from the very stones. "My parents. They died here."
"Yes." Dace's voice was quiet. "My grandmother wrote about it. The final battle. The Queen's last stand." He paused. "She said the Queen fought for hours. Killed dozens before they brought her down. She was buying time—time for you to be carried to safety."
For me.
They died for me.
Elara pressed her hand to her chest, where the marks blazed with heat. Through them, through the bond, she could feel something else—a presence, ancient and watchful, waiting in the depths of the palace.
Elder Morwenna.
"She's here." Elara climbed to her feet. "The elder. She's still here."
"How do you know?"
"The same way I knew how to walk through the mist." She looked at Dace. "The palace knows me. And it's showing me what I need to see."
They walked toward the entrance.
---
The great hall was a tomb.
Bones littered the floor—hundreds of them, some wolf, some human, all silent witnesses to the massacre that had happened here. Elara walked among them carefully, her heart aching for the lives lost, the stories ended, the future stolen.
At the far end, a throne sat on a raised dais.
Silver. Intricate. Alive with faint light.
Elara approached it slowly.
Sit, something whispered. Claim what's yours.
But she couldn't. Not yet. Not without—
"Elara."
The voice came from the shadows beside the throne.
An old woman emerged—ancient beyond measure, with skin like parchment and eyes that held centuries of grief. She moved slowly, painfully, leaning on a staff carved from silver wood.
But her eyes.
Her eyes were the same silver as Elara's marks.
"You came home." The woman's voice cracked. "After all these years... you came home."
Elder Morwenna.
Elara couldn't speak. Couldn't move. Could only stare at this woman who had waited—waited—for two hundred years.
Morwenna crossed the distance between them. Reached up with trembling hands to touch Elara's face.
"You look like her." Tears streamed down the ancient cheeks. "Your mother. You have her eyes. Her courage. Her—" She touched Elara's chest, where the marks blazed beneath her clothes. "Her power."
"The seal," Elara managed. "It's breaking. The Blood Moon is in three days. I don't know how to—"
"I know." Morwenna's voice was gentle. "I've been waiting to help you. Preparing for this moment since I carried you from this hall as a screaming infant." She smiled through her tears. "You were so small. So perfect. Your mother made me promise—promise—to keep you safe. To guide you when the time came."
She knew, Elara realized. My mother knew this day would come.
"She saw it," Morwenna confirmed, as if reading her thoughts. "The Queen had the Sight. She saw the massacre. Saw your escape. Saw this moment—you, standing here, ready to become what you were born to be." She gripped Elara's hands. "But she also saw the danger. The master. The hunt. The choice that must be made."
"The choice?" Dace spoke from behind them.
Morwenna's eyes flickered to him, then back to Elara. "Your mate. The Alpha who rejected you. Is he worthy?"
Elara's heart clenched. "I don't know. The bond—it's there. He feels it. He's chosen me, again and again. But tonight—" Her voice broke. "Tonight he stayed behind to fight the hunter's hounds. I don't know if he's alive. I can't feel him anymore."
Morwenna was quiet for a long moment.
Then: "The bond doesn't lie. If he chose you—truly chose you—then he's worthy. But worthiness must be tested. And the Blood Moon is the ultimate test."
"What do you mean?"
"The seal will break when the moon rises. Your wolf will emerge. Your power will flood every part of you. And if your mate is not here—if he does not anchor you—" Morwenna's eyes were ancient with sorrow. "You will burn, child. The power will consume you. And the Silver line will end."
No. Elara shook her head. No. I won't accept that.
"Then we need to find him." Dace's voice was firm. "Before the Blood Moon rises. Wherever he is, whatever happened—we need to bring him here."
Morwenna nodded slowly. "There is a way. The palace has ancient magic—paths that can be walked by those with royal blood. If you focus on your mate, if you pull through the bond, you may be able to find him. To bring him here."
"How?"
"Sit on the throne." Morwenna gestured toward the silver dais. "It's more than a seat of power. It's a conduit. A connection to every wolf who ever swore loyalty to the Silver Crown. If your mate is alive—if he's truly yours—the throne will show you."
Elara looked at the throne.
Silver light pulsed along its arms, its back, its legs. Waiting. Welcoming.
She walked toward it.
Sat down.
And the world exploded into light.
---
She was everywhere at once.
The palace. The forest. The battlefield where Kael had stayed behind. She saw it all—saw Cassian, wounded but alive, dragging Lyra toward shelter. Saw the hunter's hounds, dead or dying, their bodies scattered across the forest floor.
And Kael.
He lay at the base of an ancient oak, his body broken, his silver eyes closed. Blood covered him—too much blood. His chest barely moved.
Kael.
Through the bond, she felt it. Faint. Fading. But there.
He was alive.
Barely.
I'm coming, she thought toward him. Hold on. I'm coming.
The throne blazed with silver light.
And Elara pulled.
---
Time stopped.
Space folded.
And suddenly Kael lay before her, on the floor of the great hall, surrounded by the bones of her ancestors.
Morwenna gasped. Dace stumbled backward.
Elara rose from the throne and ran to him.
"Kael. Kael, wake up. Please—"
His eyes flickered open. Silver met grey.
"Elara." His voice was barely a whisper. "You're alive."
"I'm alive. You're alive. We're both alive." Tears streamed down her face. "Don't you dare die. Don't you dare."
A ghost of a smile crossed his bloody lips. "Wasn't planning on it."
Morwenna appeared beside them, ancient hands already reaching for Kael's wounds. "Bring him to the healing chamber. Quickly. The palace remembers old medicine—things forgotten by the packs. If we can get him there, he might survive."
Elara looked at the ancient woman.
"Save him," she said. "Please. Save him."
Morwenna met her eyes.
"For you, little princess? I would move mountains."
---
They carried Kael through halls Elara had never seen, following Morwenna's sure footsteps. The palace seemed to shift around them—walls moving, doors opening, light appearing where darkness had been.
It's responding to me, Elara realized. To my need. To my fear.
To my love.
The healing chamber was a circular room carved from white stone, its ceiling open to the sky. A pool of silver liquid glowed in the center, reflecting the stars above.
"The Moon Pool." Morwenna gestured. "Place him in the water. It will heal what can be healed."
Elara and Dace lowered Kael into the pool.
The silver liquid surged around him—warm, alive, working. His wounds began to close. His breathing steadied. The color returned to his face.
Elara watched, tears streaming, hope and fear warring in her chest.
Don't die, she thought at him. Don't leave me. Not now. Not when we're so close.
Through the bond, faint but growing stronger, she felt an answer.
Here. I'm here. I'm not leaving.
Never leaving.
She pressed her hand to her chest, where the marks blazed with silver light.
Two days until the Blood Moon.
Two days until everything changed.
And Kael, her Kael, was alive.
---
End of Chapter 15🐺