Chapter 3: THE INTERROGATION
ELARA'S POV
The shadowed tunnel hissed open behind the cot, a dark, gaping maw that offered immediate, dangerous freedom. Lysander's claw, black and sharp, was still extended, waiting. Every fiber of my being screamed escape. I was terrified, exhausted, and bruised by the brutal, sudden loss of my home. My logical mind, the part trained by Thane to survive any odds, shouted that trusting a rogue, especially one who admitted to hunting me, was insane. Yet, the presence of the Shadow-Weaver, his voice a silken, tempting poison, was a sudden, jarring counterpoint to the glacial rejection radiating from the Alpha above.
My choice was immediate and definitive. I didn't move.
The mate bond, raw and freshly ignited, was still screaming its desperate warning, a possessive, territorial snarl that echoed through the stone of the Keep. Kaelen Thorne, the Alpha who considered me a complication and a weapon, was demanding my presence. If I fled now, I confirmed every suspicion the Obsidian Claw held. I would become an enemy hunted by two of the most powerful forces on the continent. I chose the cage. I chose the gamble of temporary, ruthless protection over certain, immediate flight.
"I'm not a desperate pup, Shadow-Weaver," I whispered into the darkness of the open passage, my voice trembling only slightly, laced with all the cynicism nineteen years of hiding had bred. "I don't take orders from claws reaching out of walls. The one who brought me here will be the one who kills me, or the one who saves me. You wait your turn."
The claw paused, then slowly, deliberately retracted. A soft, chilling laugh echoed down the passage before the stone hissed shut, sealing the darkness once more. Lysander was gone, but his presence, like a chilling mist, lingered in the cell, a promise of future trouble.
I stood up, shaking off the lingering fear and the oppressive scent of the rogue. I took a deep, shuddering breath of the cold, clean air of the cell, steeling myself. The mate bond, though unwelcome, was a thread that anchored me to this dangerous place. Kaelen had felt Lysander's claim; he would react. He wouldn't leave me here long.
The wait was unbearable, measured by the heavy, rhythmic tread of the guards pacing the corridor above. It was a wait that forced me to confront the physical reality of my terrifying circumstances. I lifted the fabric on my wrist, staring at the angry red pulsing beneath my skin. The Chimera mark—a delicate, intricate knot of intertwined scale and fur patterns that looked like a magical scar—was still radiating heat. The sheer power of Kaelen Thorne, the purist Alpha, was what made it flare. I quickly covered it again, knowing that if I survived the night, I would need a permanent, powerful glamour to conceal it.
Finally, the silver-barred door clanged open, and Rylan, the Second-in-Command, stood there, flanked by two immense, stone-faced warriors. His expression was still stoic, but his eyes were filled with a wary curiosity that unnerved me more than hostility.
"The Alpha is ready for you," Rylan said, his voice low. "The Elders are present. Remember your claim, Elara. There is no room for mistakes in this Keep."
I nodded, pushing past him and walking toward the stairs. I needed to move with confidence, projecting the image of a necessary ally, not a pathetic refugee. As I ascended the steps, the noise and warmth of the Keep returned, only to be replaced by the oppressive, suffocating tension surrounding the Hall of Elders.
The interrogation chamber was not a dark room with a single bare bulb. It was a formal, intimidating setting: a semi-circular council of massive, ornate chairs, all carved from the same black obsidian stone that gave the pack its name. In the center, on a raised, imposing throne, sat Kaelen Thorne. He was flanked by six ancient wolves, their faces stern and lined, their eyes milky with age and power.
I was led to the center of the arc, the focus of dozens of hostile, assessing eyes. The sheer combined Alpha power in the room was a physical weight, pressing down on my shoulders, trying to force me to my knees. The urge to submit, to drop my eyes and lower my head, was overwhelming, a primal instinct that the wolf in me desperately wanted to follow.
But my wolf was only half of my soul. The Chimera core, the part that defied nature, pushed back. I held my stance, back straight, eyes meeting Kaelen's silver gaze with defiant, unwavering focus.
"You stand before the Council of the Obsidian Claw, outlander," Kaelen's voice was like grinding stone, entirely devoid of the brief connection we'd shared earlier. "You have made a grave claim: that an enemy long thought eradicated is active, and that this enemy seeks our most sacred artifact. We require absolute truth. Swear on your life and your wolf that your words are sincere."
Swear on your wolf. The command was designed to trap me. I couldn't swear on something I couldn't fully manifest.
"I swear on the burning ash of the Northern Refuge, the memory of my Alpha, Commander Thane, and on the blood that runs in my veins," I stated clearly, my voice ringing with a conviction born of desperation. The oath was vague enough to avoid exposing my fatal defect but serious enough to sound absolute.
The Elders exchanged murmurs of dissatisfaction, but Kaelen silenced them with a sharp look. He accepted the oath, though his eyes narrowed, knowing I had skirted the custom.
"Your first piece of intelligence was the identification of the Lion Shifter as the enemy leader," Kaelen continued, leaning forward, his posture predatory. "How did you confirm this? Lion Shifters have no scent signature recognizable to a modern wolf."
I knew this. Thane had drilled me on the lore of Chimeras, the blends of bloodlines, and the enemies they faced.
"I didn't need scent, Alpha," I answered. "I saw the shift. It was witnessed by Thane and confirmed moments before his death. The male was massive, golden, and moved with a terrifying, unnatural speed that no pure wolf could match. Thane called him a Lion Shifter in his final moment, and his warriors confirmed the description before they, too, fell."
My voice cracked slightly at the memory, a touch of vulnerability I allowed to slip through. It was strategically necessary to appear human, not just a suspicious witness.
An Elder to Kaelen's right, a woman with bone-white hair and a face carved by a thousand years of pack law, spoke up, her voice a dry, rasping whisper. "The Scroll, child. Why would they hunt an ancient, purely ceremonial artifact? Their kind dealt in brute force, not relics."
"It's not purely ceremonial, Elder, and you know it," I countered, my eyes widening slightly, trying to look shocked by her dismissiveness. "The Scroll contains the lineage of all bloodlines, the original contracts with the Goddess, and the weaknesses of the enemy species. If the Lion Shifters are re-emerging, they would need the Scroll to know how to destroy you. Or, more accurately, to know how to use certain bloodlines against you."
I was improvising now, relying on the little I knew about the Obsidian Claw's rigid obsession with history and purity. I steered the conversation away from my bloodline and toward the Scroll's military value.
Kaelen's expression flickered, a sudden, sharp interest replacing the cold assessment. My improvised logic had hit a nerve.
"An astute deduction," Kaelen conceded, the grudging compliment sending a strange, unexpected warmth through the mate bond. "You claim you only survived because Thane sent you to us. You claim he was hunting something."
"He was protecting the knowledge," I corrected quickly. "Thane knew I had photographic recall of everything I saw. He saw me as a living repository of the attack details. He said, 'The Obsidian Claw must know how they found us, Elara. They must know who they serve.'"
I met Kaelen's gaze again, holding it with fierce intensity. "The rogue leader was clearly not working alone. He was too disciplined, too organized. He was a piece of a larger puzzle. Thane believed they served something ancient and powerful—a Shadow-Weaver."
The moment the name Shadow-Weaver left my lips, the council chamber exploded.
The Elders began shouting in an ancient, ritualistic dialect, their fear overriding their rigid control. Rylan surged forward, his hand instinctively resting on the dagger at his hip. The term Shadow-Weaver was clearly a catastrophic word in the Obsidian Claw lexicon. It referred to creatures of myth—masters of corrupted magic who preyed on weak bloodlines.
Kaelen roared once, a sound of pure, terrifying Alpha dominance that snapped the noise off instantly. The Elders sank back into their seats, their faces ashen, but their eyes burning with dread.
Kaelen's silver eyes were now alight with a cold, terrifying fire. He knew. He had felt Lysander's presence near my cell. He knew I was telling the truth about the rogue faction.
"That is enough for tonight," Kaelen announced, rising from his throne, his presence overwhelming the room. "Rylan, confine the outlander to the Guest Quarters, not the cell. But under twenty-four hour personal guard. She is not to speak to anyone except you, me, or the designated Healer. She is now under Alpha Protection—until proven otherwise."
The promotion from prisoner to 'Guest under Alpha Protection' was dizzying. It was entirely based on my confirmation of Lysander's presence, which Kaelen had confirmed via the mate bond.
As Rylan led me away, the Elders' whispered fear followed us.
"Alpha Thorne, you cannot be serious! She is tainted! Her scent is too complicated, too foreign! Do you forget the laws of Darian? Purity must be preserved!"
"Silence, Elder Jora," Kaelen's voice, though lower, was absolute. "I follow the greatest law: Survival. If she is key to fighting this ancient evil, then she is protected. If she is the enemy, I will be the one to end her."
The mate bond thrummed again, a possessive, dangerous vow echoing in my mind. I will be the one to end her.
I was marched out, up another flight of stairs, and into a surprisingly luxurious suite. It was large, richly furnished, and dominated by a massive, four-poster bed. But the window was sealed with iron bars, and the lock was heavy. Rylan personally stationed two immense, silent guards outside the door.
"Elara," Rylan said quietly before closing the door, his eyes holding a conflicted look. "Be careful what you say to the Alpha. He is dedicated to his pack's purity above all else. Your story has saved your life for now, but your blood, if it is tainted, will never be forgiven."
He locked the door, leaving me in the opulent cage. I walked to the mirror and finally dared to look at myself. My eyes, usually a flat, unremarkable gray, were now faintly shimmering with a volatile silver. A side effect of being in such proximity to the Alpha's power. I pressed my hand against the covered Chimera mark on my wrist, feeling the constant, furious heat of the bond.
I was his weapon. I was his captive. And in a terrifying twist, I was his mate.
But I would not be his victim. I was the Chimera, the blend of two ancient foes. If the Lion Shifters and the Shadow-Weaver were rising, then my blood was the key. The Obsidian Claw needed me more than they feared me. And I was going to leverage that terrifying necessity for my survival.
I needed to find the Scroll. I needed to understand the true nature of my blood. And I needed to do it before Kaelen Thorne discovered that the only reason my skin flared with the mark of the Chimera was that his ancestral law, Purity or Extinction, demanded my death.
But first, I needed to know more about the Obsidian Claw. I walked to the bookshelves in the corner, lined with ancient, leather-bound texts. I grabbed the nearest one, a volume titled The Alpha's Hand: Duties and Doctrine. I opened it, intending to read, but my gaze caught the back of the shelf. There, hidden behind the volumes, was a small, crudely carved wooden idol: a half-wolf, half-lion figure. It was a clear, unmistakable effigy of a Chimera...
I stared at the object, my breath catching in my throat. Why would the most purity-obsessed Alpha pack in existence hide an idol of their most despised enemy in the Alpha's own guarded quarters? The complexity of the Obsidian Claw, I realized, ran far deeper and darker than I could have imagined. This was not just an interrogation; it was the opening move in a very deadly game of deception...