Chapter 65

Chapter 65
Isolde

"But my blood—" I began, my mind racing with possibilities.

"Could be explained by any number of medical anomalies," Dorian countered, though his tone lacked conviction. "Genetic mutations occur in humans all the time. It doesn't mean she has werewolf ancestry."

"The Silver Moon Guardians weren't like other werewolves," Aiden argued, his voice remaining calm and scholarly. "The texts describe them as being able to mask their nature completely—it was part of what made them such effective protectors. They could walk among humans without detection, even by other supernatural beings."

The library door burst open, shattering the scholarly quiet. Elissa bounded in, her energy a stark contrast to the somber atmosphere.

"There you all are! I've been looking everywhere!" She paused, taking in the scene before her—the three of us huddled over the ancient tome. Her eyes widened when she saw the open book. "The Tripartite Chronicles? Serious research indeed. Last time Aiden had that out, he didn't sleep for three days."

She quickly joined us, peering at the ancient pages with unabashed curiosity. I watched her expression transform as Aiden summarized our discussion.

"Wait," she said, excitement making her voice rise. "Are you saying Isolde might have Levin blood?" She turned to me, eyes sparkling with the thrill of discovery. "That would be amazing! It would explain your immunity to Alpha influence and your healing abilities!"

"Elissa—" Aiden cautioned, but she was already building on the theory, her words tumbling out in enthusiastic bursts.

"Maybe you're not just a human after all, Isolde! Maybe you have Levin blood in you!" She clasped my hands in hers, her grip warm and surprisingly strong. "If that's true, you and we would be kindred! Aiden would be thrilled—"

She stopped abruptly, glancing at Dorian whose expression had darkened considerably. The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees as his amber eyes flickered with unmistakable possessiveness.

"It's pure speculation," Dorian said firmly. "There's absolutely no evidence that Isolde has werewolf heritage. We should be focusing on the contamination issue, not chasing ancient legends."

"But the Silver Moon Guardians were different," Elissa persisted, undaunted by Dorian's disapproval. "The texts say they walked between worlds. Some accounts even suggest they could appear completely human until they chose to reveal themselves."

She turned to me with conspiratorial excitement. "Have you ever experienced anything unusual? Heightened senses during the full moon? Inexplicable healing? Aversions to certain metals?"

"Elissa, enough," Aiden said gently. "We shouldn't overwhelm Isolde with speculation."

I stood silent, my mind reeling with possibilities. Who was I really? My entire life I'd been Isolde Beck, adopted daughter of Sarah and Robert. I'd built my identity around being human, normal, explicable. Now I was Isolde Hawke, human wife to a werewolf Alpha. But could I be something else entirely? Something even I hadn't known about myself?

I thought back to childhood incidents—my uncanny ability to sense others' emotions, the way animals had always seemed drawn to me, how silver jewelry had always left faint rashes on my skin. Details I'd dismissed as coincidences now took on new potential meaning.

"I was adopted," I said softly. "I've never known my biological parents. All my mother would say was that they died in an accident when I was an infant."

Elissa's eyes widened. "That's it! The timeline fits perfectly. The last known Levin Guardian disappeared about twenty-five years ago during the Great Conflict."

"That's enough, Elissa," Dorian said, his voice carrying an edge of command that made everyone in the room stiffen. "This isn't a game or a puzzle for your entertainment. This is Isolde's life and identity we're discussing."

He turned to me, his expression softening. "Whatever your heritage might be, it doesn't change who you are now. You don't need ancient bloodlines to be extraordinary."

His words wrapped around me like a protective embrace, but they couldn't entirely dispel the questions swirling through my mind.

---

The Stone family hosted a formal banquet that evening to celebrate the successful treatment of all twenty-three silver poisoning victims. I sat beside Dorian at the high table, wearing a midnight blue dress Elissa had lent me, receiving respectful nods from werewolves who had barely acknowledged my existence days before.

"They're looking at you differently now," Dorian observed quietly, his hand covering mine on the table. "Not just as my mate, but as someone who saved their pack members."

"It feels strange," I admitted. "Just days ago, some of them wouldn't even meet my eyes."

"Werewolves value actions over words," he replied. "You've proven yourself not just through your medical skills, but through your willingness to use your own blood to help them."

My phone buzzed with an incoming call. Seeing my father's name on the screen, I excused myself and stepped into a quiet alcove to answer.

"Isolde? Where the hell have you been?" My father's voice, sharp and accusatory, filled my ear.

"I've been working, Father. There was an emergency—"

"I don't care what emergency you think justifies disappearing and moving your mother without consulting me. You had no right—"

"I had every right," I interrupted, steel entering my voice. "I'm her medical proxy."

He made a dismissive sound. "That may be, but as her husband, I should have been consulted."

"Husband?" I couldn't keep the bitterness from my tone. "You haven't acted like her husband since you moved Abigail into our house."

"Watch your tone, young lady. I've been patient with your rebellion, but there are limits."

I took a deep breath, fighting to maintain my composure. "What do you want, Father?"

"Well, regardless of your poor decisions, you need to return immediately. Rachel's engagement party is this weekend, and your absence would be noticed. We need to present a united family front."

I nearly dropped the phone. "Rachel's engagement? To whom?"

"Malcolm Pratt, of course."

I stuuned. Malcolm Pratt—my ex-boyfriend—was marrying my step-sister.