Elara pov.
The luxurious prison of the East Wing was stifling.
It was the early hours of the morning, and the silence of the Shadowlands mansion pressed in on Elara like a physical weight.
After Cassian's unnerving interrogation, and the discovery of the cryptic entry in the history book.
The Moonfall of the Forgotten King she couldn't sleep.
Her mind, long dulled by Richard's magical suppression, was now humming with frantic, desperate curiosity.
The book in her lap offered no more clues, the Moonfall etching merely a teasing glimpse into a past that might actually belong to her.
She had to find the rest of the puzzle.
The mansion must have a proper library or archives.
Slipping out of the silk sheets, Elara donned the new, simple linen shift.
She moved to the door.
Cassian's words echoed in her mind: "Do not leave the East Wing."
The moment she stepped into the corridor, she saw the change.
Where yesterday there had been one or two guards patrolling casually, tonight the hall was lined with Shadow Sentinels.
They were massive, silent wolves, their backs to the wall, cloaked figures moving only their golden eyes to track the movement in the vast space.
Roland was taking her safety seriously, which was less comforting than it was terrifying.
She recalled the old survival skills she'd honed in Richard's pack, navigating the dark manor to steal scraps of food.
She stayed low, hugging the shadow of the carved paneling, timing her movements to the almost imperceptible shifts in the guards' attention.
The mansion was labyrinthine, but the central scent, a mix of ancient dust and paper, drew her unerringly toward the heart of the main wing.
She found it a room of intimidating grandeur, lined floor to ceiling with books. A great, vaulted space where the air felt thick with knowledge.
Elara felt a rush of adrenaline; she hadn't been this close to unfiltered information since she was a small child.
She moved quickly, searching for the "Lore" or "History" sections.
Her fingers traced the spines.
The First Shifters, Treaty of the Elder Wolves, Pack Lineages of the North.
Then, a voice, sharp and laced with fury, cut through the quiet.
"Stop right there, Luna. You were given a direct order."
Cassian was standing in the doorway, blocking the exit.
His face was a mask of cold displeasure, confirming his suspicion that she was a liar.not weak, not subservient.
"I only wanted to read," Elara said, trying to keep the tremor from her voice.
"You disobeyed the Alpha in his own home," Cassian hissed, taking a heavy step toward her.
"That is not how we operate here.
We will deal with..."
A new scent slammed into the air, dominating Cassian's scent and the old leather and dust.
It was Alpha Roland.
The sharp, smoky spice she remembered from the wedding, overwhelming and possessive, filled her lungs and instantly constricted her chest.
He was close.
Too close.
Alpha Roland pov.
Roland felt the disturbance before he heard it.
The brief, sharp spike of Elara's fear mixed with the stubborn, thrilling pulse of her challenge.the sound of her human heart pumping against the walls of his territory.
He moved instantly, covering the distance from his study to the library in three enormous strides.
He found Cassian frozen, staring at Elara, who was clutching a heavy volume of obscure regional history.
Elara looked small but defiant, her eyes wide and luminous in the dim light.
The scent of her, the intoxicating, specific scent of his mate, currently laced with the adrenaline of rebellion was agonizing.
It pulled his wolf forward, demanding gentleness, demanding protection.
Roland fought the impulse, forcing his expression into a mask of brutal indifference.
He needed to be the Devil.
"Cassian, step away," Roland commanded, his voice deliberately low and devoid of warmth.
Cassian immediately bowed his head and backed off.
Roland advanced until he stood directly in front of Elara.
He towered over her, his shadow engulfing her.
He could feel the fine hairs on his skin reacting to her proximity.
The mate pulled a fire and he had to drown in ice.
"You chose to disobey," Roland stated, tilting her chin up with a single, ungentle finger.
His thumb brushed the soft, pulsing skin beneath her jaw, and he felt her shiver a mixture of fear and the undeniable reaction of their bond.
Elara didn't look away.
"The book I found has a symbol matching my pendant.
It spoke of a 'Moonfall King.' Who was he? Is it about my pack?"
Roland's wolf screamed at him to tell her the truth, to protect the last descendant of the Moonfall line.
But the treaty, the Sun Coven, and the fragile peace he maintained were too important.
He had to extinguish the spark of rebellion, or she would be exposed.
"That pendant," Roland said, his voice hardening into a whip, "is worthless scrap metal from a defeated pack.
You are no longer a slave, but you are still property.
Your curiosity will not be indulged.
The moment your mind is focused on anything other than following my rules, you become a liability.
He forced his touch to be cold.
"You will forget that word.
You will forget that pendant.
You will remember only that you belong to the Shadowlands now, and you exist at my discretion.
He released her chin abruptly, the absence of his touch leaving her skin cold.
"Go back to the East Wing.
Do not leave it again. If you do, I will ensure that the solitude and darkness are far worse than anything Richard imagined."
Elara's face crumpled, not in fear, but in devastating disappointment.
She had risked the order for knowledge, and he had crushed her hopes with a cold, calculated lie.
"Understood, Alpha Roland," she replied, the Alpha in her tone carrying a painful formality that pierced his heart.
She walked out of the library, head high but shoulders bowed, leaving a trail of jasmine and heartbreak behind her.
Roland stood there for a long time, the lie a bitter taste in his mouth.
Cassian approached cautiously.
"Alpha, she seemed genuinely ignorant of her power.
And that book, sir. It has been sealed for generations.
How did she find it?"
"Instinct," Roland growled, his golden eyes blazing in the dark. "Her instincts are awakening.
That is the danger."
Roland walked to the shelf Elara had been browsing.
His eyes fell on the Book of Pack Lineages. He pulled it out, finding a page marked with a single, heavy line of black ink.
The page was a history of the Moonflang Pack, detailing their rise to prominence after the destruction of their rival.
Beneath the title, someone had scrawled a small, desperate note in a tiny, hurried hand: Caleb and Lyra knew too much.
The true enemy is closer than the mountains.
Roland's breath hitched. He knew the handwriting. It belonged to his late father, Alpha Darius.
The secret was far deeper than he had ever admitted.
"Cassian," Roland said, his voice dangerously low.
"We need to know everything Alpha Richard knows. Find the last person to serve Elara in that basement.
Get me Seraphina. Quietly."
Roland is now forced to act on his internal conflict, making a difficult move to investigate Richard's past cruelty, suspecting his own father might have been involved in the Moonfall tragedy.