57
Diamante wasn’t entirely sure if there was a place for us to sleep on the island. Rumors spoke of an old cottage hidden somewhere in the heart of the forest, but since Gosto was the only one who’d ever been here and, conveniently, unreachable there was no way to verify it. So, the next morning, I packed as if we were heading into the wild: sweats, jeans, sneakers. Enough for at least a week of tent life.
God, I hated camping.
The only two times I’d ever done it were on school trips, both of which had been miserable. The kind of memories you’d rather scrub from your brain. I prayed the damn cottage wasn’t just a myth.
Slipping into the backseat of the car, a fresh wave of doubt rolled over me. What the hell was I doing? I was too bruised, too disoriented, too damn angry to think clearly. But instead of questioning anything, I had latched onto the first breadcrumb of truth tossed my way. A stranger his face hidden under a deep hood told me to seek answers on an island, and I just… believed him. Didn’t ask why. Didn’t hesitate.
Maybe because his words clicked too neatly into place. Alighiero’s cryptic way of addressing me. The strange flickers of power I couldn’t explain. The peculiar traits of my blood. It all lined up in a way that made terrible, beautiful sense. Still, the truth lingered: I had no clue what I was doing. Some hooded man told me I was descended from angels a real angel, not the metaphorical kind and now I was chasing ghosts on an island, hoping to learn more about my so-called heritage. If I said it out loud, even I would question my sanity.
“I’ll drive you to the harbor,” Enea, our driver, said, glancing at me through the rearview mirror. “From there, you’ll take a boat.”
“I know,” Diamante answered flatly, slouching beside me. Then she turned, her mouth curling into a grin. “Don’t worry. I arranged everything. The boat will be waiting when we get there.”
I nodded and offered a thin smile.
God, I hoped this wasn’t a mistake. Then again what could possibly go wrong?
...Right?
Four hours later, we reached the harbor.
Marcus pulled the car to a smooth stop right at the edge of the pier and went to retrieve our bags. True to Diamante’s word, a sleek yacht was waiting for us along with a silver-haired man whose eyes shimmered like molten gold. The captain greeted us with a bow so formal it made me feel like royalty.
“It’s an honor to serve you, Lady Santini,” he said, straightening with a smile.
My lips tugged into a nervous curve. “Thank you for having us,” I replied politely, then caught Diamante’s smirk from the corner of my eye.
She leaned close, lowering her voice. “Mr. Locatelli is a shifter. Pureblooded. Over three hundred years old.”
The mention of his age made something cold stir in me an echo of Alighiero.
“What pack does he belong to?” I asked quietly.
She shook her head. “None. He’s a lone wolf. Loyal only to the Santini family. You don’t need to be afraid of him.”
I gave her a dry smile. “Yeah, and Alighiero treated Gosto and Aronne like sons. Doesn’t mean his loyalty includes me.”
Diamante sighed. “I get it. But Ireneo is different. He’s one of the kindest wolves I’ve ever met,” she said, then motioned toward him with her chin. “And a well of knowledge. He knows everything about this island.”
My interest sharpened.
I watched as two deckhands carried our luggage on board, and soon enough, the yacht was slicing through the water, gliding us toward the island. It would be a three-hour trip. Diamante decided to nap below deck, leaving me the perfect opportunity to speak with the captain.
I found him at the helm, sipping coffee as the sea stretched out ahead of us.
He looked up and smiled, gesturing to the seat beside him. “How may I assist you, Lady Santini?”
I sat. “Please, call me Domitilla.”
“In that case, call me Ireneo,” he offered with a nod.
“Ireneo, can I ask you something?”
He chuckled. “Of course.”
I turned toward him, locking eyes with those striking golden irises. “This might sound strange, but... have you ever heard of spirits dwelling on the island?”
“Not strange at all,” he said warmly. “There’s a cave, hidden deep in the forest. They say ancient souls linger there.”
My heart skipped. “How do I find it?”
His lips curved into a knowing smile. “You don’t. It finds you.”
A laugh escaped me, awkward and uncertain. “But... how?”
He leaned back, exhaling through his nose. “They say the entrance moves. It only appears before those deemed worthy of speaking to the spirits.”
I frowned. “And how do they decide who’s worthy?”
Without a word, he reached for my hand. “May I?”
I nodded, and he took my palm in his. His eyes slipped closed for a moment.
When he opened them again, his voice was softer, almost reverent. “You’re a powerful being, Domitilla. You just haven’t unlocked it yet.” His smirk returned. “Is that why you’re looking for the spirits?”
I slowly pulled my hand back and nodded. “I’m lost. I don’t know who to trust anymore.”
The confession fell out before I could second-guess it. Maybe my instincts didn’t sense any danger in him.
“I believe you’ll find what you seek,” he said, but his expression turned serious. “However…”
I tilted my head. “However?”
He hesitated. “Lord Santini once buried a powerful witch on that island. Her spirit is said to still linger. And given your connection to him... she may not greet you kindly.”
A chill licked up my spine. I could almost feel the ghost of Sibilla’s cold welcome already. “Thank you for the warning. I’ll stay alert.”
His gaze hardened, suddenly protective. “Domitilla, can you control your powers yet?”
“They appear when I’m in danger. Sometimes I can summon them, if I focus.”
“Good.” He nodded. “Then you should start practicing. Because I have a feeling… you’ll need them very soon.”
Ireneo’s warning echoed in my skull as we disembarked. The moment our boots touched Sibilla Island’s damp earth, something shifted.
Neither of us spoke. We simply followed an invisible thread into the forest. Then, like a dream we’d forgotten we were dreaming, the cottage appeared.
A pristine wooden house, tucked perfectly between mossy trees.
Diamante blinked. “How the fuck did we get here?”
I laughed, shaking my head. “No idea. Don’t care. As long as we’re not sleeping in a tent.”
She snorted and darted to the front door. It was unlocked not surprising, considering the island belonged to Gosto and was heavily protected. The inside was a masterpiece of wood and stone, earthy and serene. Just stepping inside made my muscles soften. Light filtered through wall-sized windows, turning the trees outside into living emeralds.
Upstairs, we found four cozy bedrooms. It didn’t matter which we picked they were all equally inviting.
By the time the sun dipped behind the horizon, exhaustion settled over us like a blanket. I don’t remember falling asleep. I only knew that, when I woke up hours later, it was the best rest I’d had in weeks.
Yawning, I stretched and padded downstairs, heading for the kitchen. As I opened the fridge for water, a breath of icy air brushed against my neck.
“Hello, Domitilla.”
The voice froze my blood. I turned toward the window.
There she stood Sibilla. Dressed in a pale, linen gown that clung to her like a memory from another century. The neckline was modest, the sleeves long, like something an ascetic nun might wear. Her eyes were deep, lifeless pools of dark brown.
I swallowed and steadied myself. “Hello, Sibilla.”
She smiled, but her gaze remained frigid.
“Are you ready,” she asked softly, “to learn the bitter truth about your destiny?”