Chapter 89

Chapter 89
Evelyn

The storm had passed long ago, but the world still sounded like it was holding its breath.

When I woke, the light filtering through the curtains was pale and washed out, the color of milk poured over ash. My body ached in quiet places I didn’t know could hurt, behind my eyes, under my ribs, deep where the pulse of life stirred inside me. The scent of the Alpha’s mansion pressed around me: oak smoke, old stone, and the faint metallic tang of healing herbs.

For a few seconds I didn’t know where I was. Then I felt the warmth beside the bed, a steady, familiar presence that anchored everything back into place.

Trevor.

He sat in the chair to my right, elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely but tight enough that his knuckles had gone white. His hair was damp from the night’s rain, his shirt unbuttoned at the throat. There was a streak of soot along his jaw, and the muscles in his forearms tensed every time I shifted.

“Evelyn,” he breathed, relief cutting through the exhaustion that dragged at his voice. He was on his feet in an instant, every movement carrying that Alpha control that never quite hid the man beneath it. “Thank the Moon—you’re awake.”

My throat scraped dry when I tried to speak. “How long…?”

“Since dawn,” he said, reaching for a cup of water on the side table. His hand shook just slightly as he passed it to me. “You fainted after the collapse. You’ve been drifting in and out for nearly a day.”

I drank greedily. The water was cool, sharp. It burned a path down my throat and pulled me fully back into the world.

“Did we—?”

He knew what I meant. “The wards held,” he said softly. “The Gate’s sealed again. For now.”

For now. Those two words settled between us like stones.

I pressed a hand to my abdomen. A low hum answered me from within, not sound exactly, but a vibration that rose through skin and bone. The twins. Their presence pulsed steady, reassuring. Alive.

Trevor’s eyes followed my hand. He knelt beside the bed and laid his palm over mine. His skin was rough, warm, trembling. “They’re strong,” he whispered. “Stronger than any healer expected.”

“They saved us,” I said, voice barely audible. “When the light broke, I felt them push back. Like something inside me refused to be taken.”

He nodded, but his jaw tightened. “And now whoever sent that message knows it. The markings on the nursery door, they’re still burning.”

The memory struck sharp and sudden. Fire curling over carved letters, the smell of scorched wood, the words etched in crimson: Bring the mother alone.

Fear uncoiled slow and cold through my chest. “You saw it again?”

“At dawn.” His gaze flicked toward the window, toward the courtyard beyond. “I stationed guards at every entrance, doubled the patrols. Owen’s reading through the old records, trying to trace the sigils, but nothing matches. It’s not witchcraft. It’s older.”

Older. The word made the air feel thinner.

I swallowed hard. “Maybe they think I’ll go willingly.”

Trevor’s head snapped back toward me, eyes flashing that Alpha amber that warned everyone else to stand down. “You’re not going anywhere near that door, Evelyn.”

“Trevor—”

“No.” The single syllable cracked through the quiet like thunder. Then his voice softened, breaking under its own weight. “I can’t lose you. Not after everything. Not after almost losing you last night.”

The space between us filled with silence and the sound of our breathing.

He reached up, cupping my face with both hands. His thumbs brushed the dried salt of tears I hadn’t realized were there. “You should’ve seen yourself,” he murmured. “The light pouring out of you. I thought it was killing you.”

“It was protecting us.”

He shook his head slowly, eyes locked on mine. “You don’t understand what it did to me, standing there helpless while you burned like that.”

My heart twisted. “You’re the Alpha. You can’t afford helpless.”

“I’m still a man,” he said quietly. “And you’re still the woman who terrifies and saves me in the same breath.”

The words hit harder than they should have. I leaned forward until our foreheads touched. His scent filled my lungs, wolf, smoke, rain. He kissed me once, a brief press of lips meant to steady, not to claim.

Outside, a low rumble of thunder rolled over the hills.

“I need to see it,” I said.

“No.”

“I have to, Trevor.” I drew back enough to meet his eyes. “Whatever they want, it’s tied to me. To them.” My hand pressed against my stomach. “If we don’t understand the message, we can’t stop what’s coming next.”

He hesitated, torn between instinct and reason. I could see the conflict ripple through him, the Alpha who commanded obedience, the mate who couldn’t deny me. Finally, he exhaled and stood.

“Ten minutes,” he said. “And I’m not letting you out of arm’s reach.”



The corridors of the mansion smelled of smoke and sage. Guards bowed their heads as we passed, eyes wary. No one spoke. The memory of last night’s chaos still clung to the walls: shattered vases, scorch marks where spells had flared too close.

When we reached the nursery wing, my pulse stuttered. The door stood at the end of the hall, barricaded with chains of silver and salt lines drawn thick across the threshold. Even through them, the letters glowed—a slow, pulsing red that brightened whenever I stepped closer.

Bring the mother alone.

The words seemed to breathe, alive in a way no carving should be. The air around them shimmered, carrying a faint hiss like whispering voices just below hearing.

Owen stood nearby, exhaustion carved into his features. “Alpha,” he greeted, nodding toward Trevor before turning to me. “It reacts to her energy. The closer she gets, the stronger the glow.”

“Any idea what language this is?” Trevor asked.

Owen shook his head. “Closest I can guess, pre-Lunar script. The kind used before the packs splintered into clans. Half the runes are missing. It’s like a sentence torn out of an old curse.”

Trevor’s hand hovered at my back, steady but firm. “Stay behind the line, Evelyn.”

But the hum under my skin urged me forward. The twins stirred, restless, sending small ripples of heat through my veins. I stepped until my toes brushed the salt line. The scent of iron blooming like fresh blood.

A voice, not loud, not audible, but inside—murmured a single word. Soon.

I flinched.

Trevor caught my arm instantly. “What is it?”

“She’s calling again,” I whispered. “The same voice from the ruins.”

Every muscle in him went rigid. “We’re sealing this entire wing.”

Owen nodded, already motioning for the guards. Chains clinked, charms hissed. I couldn’t tear my gaze from the burning letters. The rhythm of the glow matched the beat beneath my ribs—no, not mine. The twins’.

They were answering.

When Trevor led me back to our quarters, dawn had begun to pale the horizon. The sky was washed in thin gold, the color of weary hope. He closed the door behind us and leaned against it, eyes shadowed.

“You’re shaking,” he said quietly.

“I’m fine.”

He gave me that look that said he didn’t believe me for a second. “You’ve never been fine after something like that.”

I moved toward the window, watching the courtyard below. Wolves patrolled in pairs, silver wards gleaming on their armor. The mansion felt less like home and more like a fortress waiting to be tested again.

“They won’t stop,” I said. “Whoever she is, she’s patient.”

Trevor crossed the room and pulled me gently against him. “Then she’ll learn patience doesn’t win against me.”

His certainty was a warmth I wanted to believe in. I rested my head against his chest, listening to the rhythm of his heart. Strong. Steady. But even through the beat, I could hear the faint hum from within, a third rhythm intertwining with ours, small but insistent.

Trevor kept his arms around me until my breathing steadied. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, careful.

“Something moved when you touched that door,” he said. “I felt it. The whole house did.”

I nodded. “It wasn’t just a voice. It was… awareness. Like it saw through me.”

His hand moved over my back, a slow, protective rhythm. “You think it was the same presence from the ruins?”

“Yes. Only stronger. Smarter.”

Trevor stepped away, dragging a hand through his hair. “Then it’s learning.” His eyes lifted to mine, that Alpha steel back in place. “I won’t let it test you again.”

“You can’t promise that,” I said quietly. “Not when we don’t even know what it is.”

“I can promise it won’t reach you through that door again.”

I almost smiled. “That’s not the same thing.”

He sighed, then turned toward the hearth, tossing a handful of herbs into the flames. They caught with a hiss, filling the air with the scent of pine and sage.

“Until we understand the sigils, no one goes near that wing without my order.”

I sat on the edge of the bed, watching the firelight move across his face. The Alpha mask looked heavy tonight. I wondered if anyone else saw the man underneath it, how the corners of his mouth softened when he looked at me, how his shoulders only relaxed when my heartbeat brushed his senses.

“You’re carrying too much again,” I murmured.

He looked over, one eyebrow raised. “That’s what Alphas do.”

“That’s what you do,” I corrected. “The rest of us are supposed to help.”

Before he could answer, a knock came at the door sharp, urgent. Trevor’s head snapped toward the sound.

“Enter,” he called.

The door opened just wide enough for Owen to step in, rain dripping from his cloak. “Alpha,” he said, breath clouding in the cool air. “We found tracks at the northern border. Fresh. Not human, not wolf either.”

Trevor’s expression hardened. “Scouts?”

“They vanished when the fog rolled in. We’re widening the patrol.”

I felt the pulse inside me again, the twins stirring, restless. The same warmth that had flared at the nursery door now climbed my spine. I pressed a hand to my stomach, swallowing the sudden nausea.

Trevor noticed instantly. “Evelyn?”

“They’re… reacting,” I whispered. “Something’s wrong.”

Owen’s eyes darted between us. “Should I call for the healer?”

“No,” I said quickly. “It’s not pain. It’s warning.”

Trevor moved to me in two strides, crouching so our faces were level. “Stay here,” he said softly. “I’ll handle the border myself.”

“Then take me with you.”

His brow furrowed. “Absolutely not.”

“Trevor, if they’re reacting, I can help. Maybe I can sense what’s out there.”

He shook his head. “You’re still recovering.”

“And you’re walking into something blind.” My voice cracked, more from fear than defiance. “You need someone who can feel the magic before it strikes.”

The argument hovered between us, silent and alive. Then, from somewhere deep in the mansion, a child screamed, a sound sharp enough to slice through stone.

Trevor froze. Owen was already halfway to the door.

“Stay here,” Trevor ordered, voice all Alpha now.

But when he turned, I was already on my feet. “That came from the nursery wing,” I said. “The sealed wing.”

We stared at each other for one heartbeat, the same dread reflected in both our eyes. Then he reached for my hand.

“Fine,” he said, voice rough. “But you don’t leave my side.”

“Never,” I promised.

Together we stepped into the hall, the scent of smoke and storm thickening as we moved toward the sound that had silenced the whole mansion.

The corridor swallowed our footsteps as we hurried.  Torches guttered in the draught, light stuttering across the walls.  When we turned the last corner toward the nursery wing, the guards who had been posted there were on their knees, palms pressed to their ears as if trying to block out a sound no one else could hear.

“Report,” Trevor barked.

One of them looked up, eyes wide and glassy.  “It was her voice, Alpha.  We heard the Luna calling.  She was saying our names.”

My stomach dropped.  “I didn’t—”

“I know.”  Trevor’s hand tightened around mine.  He stepped between me and the guards, his presence filling the hall.  “No one opens the door,” he said.  “Not even if she speaks again.”

The guards nodded, trembling.

A whimper drifted from the far end of the hall.  A small boy, one of the servants’ children stood barefoot, clutching a carved wolf toy.  His eyes were rimmed red from crying.  Owen knelt beside him.  “What happened, pup?”

“She said my name,” the child whispered.  “She said, come closer, so I did.  But it wasn’t her.  It was cold.”

The words squeezed the air from my lungs.  I knelt, ignoring Trevor’s protest, and held the boy’s hands.  They were ice-cold.  “You did well to run,” I told him.  “You’re safe now.”

Behind us, the door began to hum again.

The chains rattled, each link trembling against the next.  A red glow bled through the cracks around the frame, brighter, pulsing in rhythm with my heartbeat and with the faint flutter under my palm where the twins stirred.  The scent of iron thickened until it hurt to breathe.

“Back,” Trevor ordered, shoving me behind him.  He drew the dagger from his belt; the silver caught the crimson light.  “Owen, seal it.”

Owen scattered another handful of salt and muttered the closing words of the warding spell.  For a moment nothing happened.  Then the door convulsed, the glow flared once, and went dark.  Silence dropped so suddenly that my ears rang.

No one moved.

The boy sniffled, breaking the spell of stillness.  Trevor bent to him, his voice gentler.  “Go with Owen.  Tell your mother you’re brave.”  The child nodded and ran.

When they were gone, Trevor turned to me.  “Whatever that thing is, it can reach through anyone now. Even a child.”

I nodded slowly.  “Then it’s inside the walls.”

He stared at the sealed door, jaw tight.  “We hold the line until dawn.  After that, we find where it’s hiding.”

I felt the twins shift again, calm now, almost listening.  The silver beneath my skin faded to a soft gleam.  I exhaled and took Trevor’s hand.

“They’re waiting,” I whispered.  “And they’re patient.”

He pulled me close, his voice a vow against my hair.  “Then we’ll be patient too but ready.”

Outside, the thunder had moved far into the hills, leaving only the quiet ticking of rain against stone.  The words on the door were gone, but I could still hear them in my mind—soft, certain, promising return.

Soon.