Chapter 12 Forbidden Blood Records
Lorian’s POV
I’ve always believed that libraries are the most honest places in the world.
Unlike humans. Unlike wolves. Books don’t lie just to survive. They only record. Preserve. Wait—for someone foolish enough, or desperate enough, to open them.
And tonight, I was that person. Desperate, confused, and searching for a truth that wasn’t meant to be found.
The lower castle library lay far beneath the main hall, past stone corridors rarely used by anyone except night guards and… people like me. Those assigned to seek answers that should have remained buried.
The air down here was always colder. Not biting cold, but pressing—like the awareness that this place existed to hold things too dangerous to be left loose in the world.
The enchanted torches along the walls burned dimly, their light steady. They didn’t react to my presence—a sign that I had passed the point where the library still “judged” who entered.
I closed the stone door behind me.
The soft click sounded like a decision that couldn’t be undone. Once I stepped inside, I had to be ready for whatever should never happen.
Towering shelves curved around the room like the ribs of a giant beast. The books weren’t arranged alphabetically or by common subject. They were classified by threat level.
And tonight, I stood in the deepest ring.
The Circle of Blood.
I took a deep breath and pulled a black key from inside my coat. It wasn’t made of metal—it was bone, bleached by time and magic. A gift from Magnus years ago, when he made me his Gamma not just for my strength… but for my mind and precision of logic.
I slid the key into a narrow gap in the innermost shelf.
The shelf shifted with a heavy sound, revealing a stone table and a stack of books untouched for decades.
I didn’t reach for anything right away.
As a Gamma, my role wasn’t to react quickly. My role was to make sure that when the Alpha acted, he knew exactly what he was facing.
And after seeing Evra today… I knew this wasn’t a simple phenomenon. And she wasn’t a simple being.
That woman was… exceptional.
I picked up the first book. I couldn’t say why it drew my attention—it simply did. Its cover was black leather, cracked like aged skin. There was no title. No pack symbol. Only a small mark in the lower corner—a circle with branching lines.
I recognized that symbol.
It hadn’t been used since before the first inter-pack war. Which meant… this book was closer to an ancient compendium than a record.
I opened it.
The pages weren’t yellowed like ordinary old books. Instead, they were dark, as if the ink had soaked deep into the fibers and changed their color entirely.
And there—ancient handwriting filled the first page.
“On the Blood That Must Not Be Named.”
I swallowed before forcing myself to turn the page.
And that’s where I found it.
A term I’d only ever heard in legends—whispers among old witches and censored, sealed archives.
The First Bloodline.
The original blood.
Not wolf blood.
Not human blood.
Not even witch blood as it’s known today.
This was blood from before all those lines split apart.
I read faster, my heart pounding harder.
“The First Bloodline is not a race, but a source. The origin point from which all blood-based magic emerged. A lineage once capable of reshaping the world—not through physical force, but by opening doors that were meant to remain closed.”
I stopped at another paragraph.
“Those who carry this blood do not inherit power passively. The blood sleeps. It waits. And it awakens only when its bearer is called by something old enough to know its name.”
I closed the book slowly, questions flooding my mind.
Called.
The word echoed.
I remembered what the auction handlers had said about Evra—about her energy being non-aggressive, but reactive. About how the seal didn’t collapse because it was attacked… but because her own body rejected it.
I opened the second book.
This one was thinner, filled with symbols that shifted slowly if I stared too long. I had to focus to avoid being pulled into their patterns.
At the center was a diagram.
Overlapping circles. Red lines connecting specific points.
Beneath it, the text read:
“Descendants of the First Bloodline are capable of opening rifts between realms, awakening entities bound to ancient dimensions, and acting as anchors between worlds.”
My grip tightened.
Portals.
Ancient entities.
Anchors.
I closed my eyes briefly, steadying my breath.
This was no longer about Evra as a person.
It was about what could happen through her.
I opened the third book.
This wasn’t an official text, but a collection of personal notes. The handwriting was uneven, as if the writer had been racing against time—or fear.
One sentence immediately caught my eye.
“Our greatest mistake was believing the awakening came from within. In truth, it has always answered a call from outside.”
I froze.
The next line was pressed deeper into the page, the ink dark and heavy.
“If you find a bearer who has begun to hear voices… it means something has started searching for a way home.”
“And any Alpha who claims such a bearer without the ancient ritual will doom his pack and destroy his bloodline. But if the ritual succeeds, the bearer becomes an absolute source of power.”
The air in the room felt heavier.
I closed the book slowly, as if it might scream if I shut it too hard.
So Evra didn’t awaken something.
Something… was awakening Evra.
And just as that thought fully formed, the stone door behind me shifted.
I didn’t turn.
I already knew who it was.
“Lorian,” Dareth’s voice came low, formal as ever. “I have a report.”
“Come in,” I replied.
Our Beta stopped beside the table. I could feel the tension in him—not physical strain, but a wolf’s instinct sounding an alarm.
“Something happened in the western territory,” he said. “A few hours ago.”
I finally looked at him.
“Go on.”
“The sky flickered red,” Dareth said. “Not lightning. There wasn’t a storm. Just… a single pulse of light. Like a massive heartbeat.”
My stomach dropped.
“And in the eastern forest,” he continued, “wild animals suddenly fled the area. Deer, young wolves, even night birds. All moving in the same direction—away from the castle.”
I stood slowly.
“The guards are reporting strange sensations,” Dareth added. “They feel watched. Not from one direction. From everywhere.”
I looked at the books on the table.
Portals.
Entities.
A call.
The pieces were fitting together in ways I didn’t like.
“Does Magnus know?” I asked.
“Not fully,” Dareth replied. “He ordered heightened security, but didn’t ask for details.”
Of course he didn’t.
Magnus always moved on instinct when something touched his territory.
And Evra… had touched more than territory.
I returned to the table, picked up the first book, then the second, stacking them neatly, as if order could contain the horror inside.
“This isn’t a coincidence,” I said at last. “Evra’s energy didn’t awaken on its own. There’s an external resonance triggering it.”
Dareth frowned. “What are you saying, Lorian?”
“It means,” I said quietly, “she’s the key. And something is trying to open a door.”
Silence fell between us.
Dareth finally spoke. “Then Magnus—”
“—is standing at the very center of all this,” I cut in.
I exhaled slowly and pulled my personal logbook from my coat. It wasn’t thick, but every page had carried me through difficult choices.
I sat and picked up my pen.
Black ink touched the paper.
I wrote slowly, my hand steadier than my thoughts.
If the blood awakens, Magnus is in danger… or he may be the one destined to awaken it.
I stopped.
Stared at the sentence for a long time.
Because for the first time since I swore loyalty to Magnus Rivenhall… I didn’t know whether I was protecting my Alpha... Or helping push the world toward something that could no longer be stopped.
I closed the logbook.
And deep within the castle, far from the lower library, I knew, the fire in Evra’s bones was no longer sleeping alone.
It had been called.
And the world was about to answer.
“Magnus… was bringing Evra into the castle a fate that could never be avoided?”