Chapter 10
The wind howled through the trees, carrying the scent of blood and decay. The forest had turned from a battleground to a graveyard, the broken bodies of rogues left in their wake. But it wasn’t the carnage that had Elara’s hands trembling.
It was Kier Alden’s words.
He knew my mother.
The weight of it pressed down on her chest like a crushing stone. The crest on his wrist—she had seen it before, in her mother’s journal.
And if that was true, then this attack wasn’t just about rogues or territory.
It was about her.
Leon stood beside her, his ice-blue eyes locked onto the spot where Kier had vanished into the night. His blade was still clenched in his grip, blood smeared along its length, but his breathing was steady, controlled. He was waiting—for her to speak, to explain, to give him something that would make sense of all this.
Soren, on the other hand, looked pissed.
He wiped a smear of blood from his temple and shot her a glare. “You want to explain why that bastard seemed to know exactly who you are?”
Elara swallowed hard. “Because he does.”
Leon’s head snapped toward her. “What?”
She exhaled, her mind racing. She didn’t want to say it here, not in the open, not while the scent of death still clung to the air. But she couldn’t ignore the truth anymore.
Kier wasn’t just a rogue. He was a piece of the past.
And she needed to know why.
“We need to get back,” she said finally. “Now.”
Leon hesitated, searching her face. Then, with a stiff nod, he wiped his blade clean and sheathed it. “Let’s move.”
Soren grumbled something under his breath but didn’t argue.
Together, they turned their backs on the dead and rode into the night.
\---
**The Blackthorn Stronghold – Secrets in the Dark**
The stronghold loomed before them, a fortress of stone and iron nestled in the heart of Midnight Valley. Torches lined the barricades, casting long shadows against the walls, but the night felt colder than usual, as if the weight of what had just happened lingered in the air.
The moment they passed through the gates, a group of Blackthorn warriors approached.
Elara barely heard their questions, barely acknowledged the concerned glances as she slid off her horse. She was moving on instinct, her mind already ahead of her body.
She needed answers.
Leon grabbed her arm before she could storm off. “Elara.”
His touch was warm despite the cold, his grip firm but not forceful. When she looked up, his expression was unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes burned with something she couldn’t quite name.
“Talk to me,” he said quietly.
She swallowed. “Not here.”
He studied her for a long moment before nodding. “Then where?”
She hesitated, glancing toward the main packhouse. Draven. If he caught wind of what she had learned, he would bury it before she could even begin to understand it.
“My quarters,” she said finally.
Leon’s brows lifted slightly, but he didn’t question it. He just nodded once.
Soren let out a huff. “Fantastic. I’ll just pretend this is normal and go get myself a drink.”
Elara ignored him and started walking.
\---
**Elara’s Quarters – A Truth Unfolding**
The air inside her room was still, but it wasn’t comforting. The moment she stepped inside, she felt the walls closing in, the memories pressing against her like ghosts whispering secrets she wasn’t ready to hear.
Leon followed, shutting the door behind him. The candlelight flickered against his sharp features, casting golden shadows across his cheekbones. He leaned against the desk, arms crossed, waiting.
Elara ran a hand through her hair, exhaling slowly. “Kier had a crest on his wrist.”
Leon’s brows furrowed. “And?”
She moved to the trunk at the foot of her bed, pulling it open. Beneath neatly folded clothes and old maps, she found what she was looking for—her mother’s journal. The leather was worn, the pages slightly yellowed from age.
She flipped through the familiar pages, the delicate scrawl of her mother’s handwriting like an echo of a voice she barely remembered.
Then, she found it.
She turned the book toward Leon, pointing to the sketch on the page.
A crest. The same one Kier had been wearing.
Leon’s expression darkened. He pushed off the desk, moving closer. “That’s—”
“A symbol of an alliance,” Elara said, her voice tight. “My mother wrote about a group that existed in secret—wolves who wanted to change the valley. Who believed in something… different.”
Leon’s jaw clenched. “And you think Kier was part of it?”
Elara shook her head. “No. I think he’s what’s left of it.”
Silence stretched between them, heavy and unspoken.
Leon exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. “If that’s true… if Kier is tied to your mother’s past, then this isn’t just about you.” His gaze met hers, sharp and knowing. “It’s about her.”
Elara swallowed hard.
Leon was right. This wasn’t just about her bloodline.
It was about the choices her mother had made.
And the enemies she had left behind.
\---
**A Moment in the Chaos**
Elara let out a slow breath and closed the journal, pressing her fingers against the worn leather as if it could ground her.
Leon was watching her again, his ice-blue eyes softer now, less guarded.
“You okay?” he asked.
She let out a small, humorless laugh. “Not even close.”
His lips quirked, just slightly. “Didn’t think so.”
For a moment, there was nothing but the quiet between them—the kind of quiet that wasn’t uncomfortable, just… there. A shared understanding neither of them needed to voice.
Then, Leon reached out, his fingers brushing against her wrist. The touch was fleeting, barely there, but it sent a ripple through her chest.
“You don’t have to do this alone,” he murmured.
Elara’s breath hitched.
She wanted to believe him.
But deep down, she knew the truth.
Some battles had to be fought alone.
\---
**Shadows at the Door**
A sharp knock shattered the moment.
Elara and Leon both tensed, their instincts flaring.
Then, a voice.
“Elara.”
Her stomach twisted. Draven.
Leon’s eyes flickered with warning, but she was already moving toward the door, schooling her expression into careful neutrality.
She pulled it open.
Draven stood in the hallway, his dark eyes unreadable, his posture impossibly composed. But there was something in the way he held himself, something too still, too expectant.
“I assume you have something to tell me.”
Elara’s pulse pounded in her ears.
He knew.
Somehow, he knew.
She forced herself to meet his gaze, to keep her voice steady. “Depends on what you’re asking.”
Draven’s lips curled, slow and deliberate.
“Oh, I think you already know.”
Elara’s grip tightened on the doorframe.
Leon shifted behind her, his presence a silent force of reassurance.
But the battle had already begun.
And Draven was waiting to see who would fall first.