The hall was a cathedral of shadows, its vaulted arches swallowing the whispers of the night. Isabella pressed herself against the stone, the wolf cub warm and trembling in her arms. From the half-open door, the voices lashed through the silence like whips—sharp, merciless, unforgiving.
Owen's voice thundered first, though beneath its command trembled the quiver of a desperate man.
"She must never be exposed. The council cannot know, the alphas must not know who her mother was. If the truth escapes these walls, Isabella will be hunted, caged by her own bloodline. My silence is her shield."
A rumble cut through his words—Theodore. His fury rose like a storm breaking through mountains, every syllable burning with the weight of an Alpha's wrath.
"
Shield?" His tone cracked like fire against iron. "Do not twist your cowardice into protection, Owen! She is my Luna—my mate, my wife. Her blood will run through my heirs, her legacy will thread itself into mine. And yet you would shackle me in ignorance? Tell me what blood she carries—tell me now—or your silence will be your sin."
The air in the chamber trembled. The gathered alphas shifted, their tempers igniting like kindling. Murmurs became growls, growls became voices:
"He is right—what blood does she bear?"
"If secrets are harbored, what darkness festers in her veins?"
Owen's fists slammed against the table. "Enough!" His voice cracked with desperation. "You will not drag her into this. I will not have her name poisoned by your suspicions"
Then, another voice unfurled—ancient, commanding, brittle yet razor-sharp. It cut through the chamber like a blade dipped in winter.
"
Owen."
The alphas fell silent. Isabella's blood froze in her veins. She knew that voice. Her grandmother's.
From within the chamber, the matriarch of the Crimson Blood Pack rose, her presence like shadowed fire.
"You cannot bury this truth, not now. She is the heir of Crimson Blood—the bloodline that even the moon itself remembers. If she bears that fire, then it belongs to all of us to know, for silence will only seed ruin."
Owen's breath broke, and Isabella felt her chest collapse with his. Tears pooled in her eyes, slipping down her cheeks like glass. The cub whimpered softly, nudging her with its small muzzle, as if to comfort her grief with its fragile warmth. She pressed her lips to its head, stifling her sobs, her heart cracking at every word.
Inside, Theodore's voice thundered once more, violent and unforgiving, a vow forged in wrath:
"Then speak, Owen. No veil shall remain. I will not lie beside my Luna in darkness. If her blood bears fire, let me burn with it. If it bears shadow, let me bleed with it. But I will not suffer ignorance in the name of love."
The hall roared with the echo of his fury. And in the shadows, Isabella trembled, clutching the cub, the truth dragging her closer with every breath.