Chapter 155
Elvira’s POV
The cold of the night seeped through the walls, but I barely felt it. I sat cross-legged on the rug in my room, hands trembling as they hovered over the cracked pendant my mom had given me when I was seven. . I had just found out the reason I had that silver thread on my wrist was because my pendant was triggered by something I couldn’t remember. Mate bond? I couldn’t tell! But the silver thread meant something else. The pendant shimmered faintly beneath my fingers, that strange power I’d been trying to ignore now pulsing stronger than ever.
I hadn’t slept in days. I couldn’t. Every time I closed my eyes, the visions returned — brighter, louder, impossible to outrun. And now, I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
My heart pounded in my chest, the weight of what I’d seen so far pressing down on me. But something told me this wasn’t the end. The truth wasn’t finished revealing itself.
I exhaled slowly, my breath fogging in the cold air.
“Come on,” I whispered, voice cracking. “Show me. All of it.”
The pendant warmed under my touch. And everything changed. I was no longer in my room.
Darkness wrapped me whole, until a distant glow began to rise — firelight. The stench of blood and smoke hit me like a wave, choking the air from my lungs.
I stood on the edge of a vast field. Bodies littered the ground, fur matted with blood, eyes lifeless and staring at a sky choked with ash.
Wolves. So many wolves. But they weren’t just any wolves.
The Morrien crest gleamed on torn banners scattered in the mud.
I turned, heart hammering, and saw them, Jaxon’s ancestors. Normal, black-furred wolves with eyes like burning coals. They tore through a group of silver-furred Lycans, teeth flashing, claws raking through their flesh.
I stumbled back, the horror of it slamming into me.
“No…” I whispered, tears burning my eyes.
And then, the vision pulled me deeper.
I watched as a Morrien Alpha, tall, scarred, his fur streaked with red bellowed an order that echoed across the field.
“Leave none alive! Not a single cursed Lycan breathes when this night is done!”
Was that Jaxon’s father?
The Morrien wolves surged forward, a black tide of strike. The Lycans fought valiantly, their silver pelts shining even beneath the blood and ashes, but they were outnumbered, outmatched.
I could feel their fear. Their rage. Their desperation.
Among them was a woman, tall, fierce, with eyes like molten gold. She turned, as if sensing me, though I knew it was impossible.
And at that moment, I knew her. My mom. The younger her. And they were being slaughtered by the ancestors of Jaxon.
The scene shifted. Fire consumed the battlefield, the screams of the dying fading into a low, thrumming chant.
I stood at the foot of a great stone throne carved with ancient runes, high atop a mountain where the stars burned bright and close.
And seated upon that throne was… me. Or a version of me.
Crowned in silver and black, a circlet that seemed to pulse, my hair whipping around me in the storm’s wind. Wolves, massive, majestic, silver as moonlight, knelt at my feet, heads bowed.
The chant grew louder.
“Queen of the Lycans. Queen of the true bloodline. Alpha of all.”
My vision-self lifted her gaze, and for the first time I saw it, the truth that I had been running from for weeks.
I’m not a Morrien wolf, I never was.
I was a Lycan. Lycan royalty.
“No…” I gasped, stumbling back from the vision.
But it didn’t let me go.
The memories, the images, crashed down on me like a wave. The slaughter, the betrayal, the lies, all of it, buried beneath centuries of false histories, now screaming for me to see them.
My knees hit the floor. My hands trembled so violently I couldn’t control them.
“How could they—?” I choked out, my voice breaking. “How could they hide this from me? Why?”
Cassian’s warnings echoed in my head. His cryptic words. The way his gaze lingered when I spoke of my lineage.
He knew. And Jaxon…my heart cracked.
Did he know? Has he always known?
The room spun. I collapsed fully, my cheek pressing against the cold floor, tears spilling hot and fast.
The ground felt like it was splitting beneath me, opening to swallow me whole.
I let it.
Somewhere, in the haze of my mind, the dark voice returned.
“How does it feel,” it purred, “to know your parents lied to you all these years?”
I sobbed, unable to answer.
“How does it feel to know the man you trusted, the man you bled for, comes from the bloodline that butchered yours?”
“Stop…” I whispered, but the voice only laughed.
“There is no stopping this, queen. There is only the truth. And what you do with it.”
I don’t know how long I lay there.
When I finally stirred, the room was dark. My body ached, my head throbbed, but worse was the heaviness in my chest, the knowledge that nothing would ever be the same.
I forced myself to sit up, wiping the tears from my face.
I had to decide. What would I do with the truth?
Would I run? Or would I rise?