Chapter Eleven: Lines Drawn in Silence
Liora POV
She opens her mouth. Then she bites down.
Hard.
The sound is wet and sickening.
Blood pours down her chin as she collapses instantly, body hitting the stone with a dull finality.
Dead.
I stare at her, horror and disbelief tangling in my chest.
Before I can process it, the door slams open.
Kael bursts into the room like a storm made flesh, breathing hard, eyes glowing, his face twisted with something dangerously close to terror.
His gaze locks onto me.
Alive. Breathing..Barely.
For one heartbeat, his expression cracks.
Relief, raw and undeniable, floods his features. His hands twitch at his sides, like he's about to reach for me.
Then his walls slam back into place.
Relief flashes through his eyes for a fraction of a second before it hardens into something else entirely.
Anger.
Soldiers flood the doorway behind him, weapons half-drawn, voices overlapping as they take in the scene.
"Elara!" someone shouts.
She pushes through the soldiers, face pale. "I came as soon as I heard—"
Elara is already moving.
She rushes to my side, carefully avoiding the dark stains spreading across the stone, slipping an arm around my waist to steady me as my knees threaten to give out.
Her eyes flick to the blood on my nightgown, the remnants on my lips.
Her face tightens when she sees the body, the burns she knows too well.
"Easy," she murmurs. "I've got you."
Kael's gaze locks onto me.
"Can't you even take care of yourself?" he snaps.
The words hit harder than the poison.
"What?" I whisper, disbelief stealing my breath.
"You're wolfless," he continues coldly. "You haven't even slept for a night and you think you can survive here without consequence?"
My hands curl weakly into Elara's sleeve.
"Aren't you supposed to investigate this," I shoot back, voice shaking with fury, "instead of blaming me?"
His jaw tightens.
"I'll investigate no one," he says harshly. "If you can't take care of yourself, you might as well have died tonight."
The room goes very, very quiet.
"What?" The word slips out of me, hollow.
Something inside me fractures.
My legs give out completely, strength finally abandoning me as the aftermath crashes down all at once. Elara catches me just before I hit the floor, arms tightening around me as darkness creeps into the edges of my vision.
Kael doesn't reach for me.
The last thing I hear is his sharp intake of breath.
And the bond, raw, bleeding, furious, howling between us.
When I wake again, it isn't to pain. It's to weakness.
The kind that sits deep in the bones and makes even breathing feel like effort.
For a moment, I don't move. My body feels heavy, like it doesn't quite belong to me. The ceiling above me is unfamiliar stone, darker than Ebonvale's, colder somehow. I stare at it, trying to anchor myself.
Then memory returns in pieces. The tea. The burning. Blood.
I inhale carefully. No copper. No choking.
Alive.
There's a faint rustling sound to my right. I turn my head slowly and see Elara slumped in the chair beside the bed, her chin tilted toward her chest.
She's asleep. Not properly. The kind of sleep someone falls into after forcing themselves to stay awake too long, after convincing themselves they're not tired until their body betrays them.
I shift, trying to sit up, the mattress dips.
Elara jolts awake immediately, her hand instinctively going to the dagger strapped at her thigh before her eyes find me.
"My lady," she breathes, standing so quickly the chair scrapes against the floor. "You shouldn't be moving."
"How long?" My voice sounds rough, unused.
She hesitates, just slightly. "Three days."
Three.
The number settles heavier than I expect.
"You collapsed shortly after the incident," she continues, already reaching for a glass of water on the side table.
"The pack physician came. The Alpha remained for some time before being forced back to council matters. You've been unconscious since."
I take the glass but don't drink yet. The coolness seeps into my palm.
"You were here the entire time?" I ask.
"Yes."
"You didn't sleep."
Her mouth tightens faintly. "Not much."
She turns toward the door. "I'll inform the Alpha you're awake and call for the physician—"
"No."
The word comes out sharper than I intend, but I don't take it back.
She pauses mid-step.
"I don't need the entire fortress in here," I say more evenly. "I can breathe. That's enough for now."
Elara studies me carefully, measuring whether I'm stable enough to refuse help. Her eyes scan my face, my posture, the way I'm holding the glass.
After a moment, she nods and steps back.
I take a small sip of water. My ribs ache faintly. I don't need to look to know the burns are there. I can feel the tightness beneath the fabric of my gown.
Three new scars added to the others.
Thirty-three now. I've stopped counting out loud.
"Elara," I say quietly, "why were you reassigned that night?"
Her brow furrows. "Reassigned?"
"You weren't here. Another maid brought the tea."
Understanding dawns slowly on her face, followed by something colder. Something sharper.
"I was not reassigned," she says firmly. "I left briefly to inspect the evening meal preparations in the lower kitchens. I returned to find you already… unwell."
My fingers tighten slightly around the glass.
"So you didn't send her."
"No." Her voice is steady now. Controlled.
"Who was she?"
Elara hesitates. And I notice it.
"Speak."
"She belongs to Lady Isolade's household—the daughter of Lord Valerius, council member, and long-time companion of the Alpha. Many believed she would become Luna."
The name means nothing to me.
"Isolade?"
" Lord Valerius. One of the most influential lords within Blackmoor. He oversees internal governance alongside Lady Seraphina."
Seraphina. Kael's aunt.
"And?" I prompt when Elara seems reluctant to continue.
"lady isolade has… long harbored affection for him," Elara finishes carefully. "The pack believed the bond would eventually form between them. Until the Alpha began marrying brides from other territories."
A quiet beat passes between us.
"Why didn't he marry her?" I ask.
Elara shakes her head slightly. "No one knows. The Alpha has never explained his reasons. Not even to the council."
A mystery.
One that left a powerful woman humiliated in front of an entire pack.
I set the glass aside.
"And the previous Lunas?" I ask. "The nine before me."
Elara's expression shifts. Not fear. Not exactly. But caution.
"Rumors are dangerous things, my lady."
"I survived poison in his chamber," I reply calmly. "Danger is already here."
Another pause.
"Some believe," she says slowly, lowering her voice, "that Lady Isolade and Lady Seraphina were aware of more than they admitted regarding the deaths of the previous Lunas."
Aware. Not responsible. Careful wording.
"And what do you believe?" I ask.
Elara meets my eyes directly this time. "I believe nothing in Blackmoor happens without someone powerful knowing."
"But?" I press.
She hesitates again. "The previous Lunas were all from powerful packs. Their deaths caused political complications. Investigations. Tensions."
"And I'm different."
"You're from a weakened pack," Elara says carefully. "No allies. No leverage. If you died… no one would demand answers."
The truth settles cold in my chest.
"I'm easy to kill."
"You were supposed to be."
Silence settles between us.
So the wolf without power had already made enemies.
I lean back against the pillows, forcing myself to breathe evenly. If Isolade's maid brought the poison, then this wasn't random. It was deliberate.
Personal.
But something about it doesn't fit.
If she truly wanted me dead, she would have ensured it. She would have watched. Confirmed.
Instead, the maid bit her own tongue and died before interrogation.
A pawn.
Someone moved her.
"Elara," I say softly, "send word to the Alpha that I'm awake. But tell him I requested privacy until evening."
Her eyes flicker, surprised by the request.
"As you wish."
I need time to think.
My chest tightens as the bond thrums violently between us. Kael will come but will he stop it, or let me pay the price for surviving alone?
I lean back against the pillows, forcing myself to breathe evenly. The pawn is dead but the player moves still. And somewhere, the hand that sent her watches