Chapter 56 Uncle's Tales
LIRA POV
I stared at the man claiming to be my family. Every instinct screamed this was a trap, another manipulation. But those eyes—gods, those eyes were familiar.
"I don't believe you." The words came out harsh. "Everyone related to me from Silvermoon is dead."
"Not everyone." Dmitri pulled out a worn photograph. "I was on patrol when the attack happened. By the time I got back, the pack was burning."
Dmitri." I traced the faces in the photo. "You said your name is Dmitri Blackwood, but my father was Dmitri Ashborne."
His expression flickered with old pain. "My real name is Nicolas Ashborne. Dmitri is... a nickname. One I took after your father died."
"You took his name?" My throat tightened.
"To honor him." He looked away. "And to confuse the coalition hunting me. They were looking for Nicolas Ashborne, brother of the slain alpha. Not Dmitri Blackwood, a nameless rogue."
"So you've been hiding." I studied him closer. "For twenty years."
"Surviving." He corrected me. "So I could find you to protect you. The way I couldn't protect your father. Blackwood isn't even a real name?" "It was our mother's maiden name." He pulled out another photograph of an elderly woman with kind eyes. "Your grandmother. She died before you were born, but she would have loved you."
I stared at the woman who shared my features. "Why didn't you just tell me the truth from the start?"
"Because trust has to be earned." His eyes met mine. "And I needed you to choose to believe me, not because of a name, but because of proof. Because of family."
I took the photo while shaking hands. A woman with my face smiled at the camera, one hand on her swollen belly. Beside her stood a man—tall, dark-haired, laughing. And behind them, younger but unmistakable, was Dmitri.
"This could be fake." But my voice wavered. "Photoshopped."
"Look at the date stamp." He pointed to the corner. "Three months before you were born. Before digital cameras were common."
I studied it more closely. The paper was aged, yellowed. The edges worn from handling.
"Where did you get this?" My throat tightened.
"Your mother gave it to me." His voice was gentle. "Made me promise that if anything happened, I'd find you. Protect you."
"Took you long enough." I set the photo down, anger replacing shock. "Twenty years in a cellar. Where the fuck were you?"
He flinched like I'd struck him. "Trying to stay alive long enough to reach you."
"A convenient excuse."
"The coalition that destroyed Silvermoon has been hunting me." He moved to the window, watching the darkness. "Five alphas who coordinated the attack. They know I survived, and they're terrified of what I might reveal."
"Five alphas?" I echoed the words Garrick had spat that day rushing back at me. But hearing them from family—from someone who lived it—made them real in a way no confession ever could. "Garrick said."
"Garrick's a liar." Dmitri's voice hardened. "He helped plan the massacre. Convinced the other alphas that the Moonblood prophecy was too dangerous to risk."
"You're saying Garrick" I couldn't finish the sentence.
"Orchestrated your family's death." He turned back to face me. "Then imprisoned you to keep you powerless. All while pretending to protect the pack from a curse that never existed."
The room spun. I gripped the table for support.
"But Kael..." I tried to think through the fog. "When we went to Silvermoon, we found my mother's journal."
"You encountered Elias." It wasn't a question.
My blood went cold. "How did you know?"
"Because Elias Thornfield has been tracking your movements since the moment Kael marked you." Dmitri's expression turned grim. "He's one of the five. The one who claimed Silvermoon territory after your parents died."
I remembered that day. The ruined temple, my mother's pendant. And then Elias appeared with his rogues, all polished charm and hidden menace.
"He tried to take me." The memory came back sharp. "Said I had no claim to Silvermoon. That the land belonged to him now."
"And Kael fought him off." Dmitri watched me carefully. "Marked his territory, declared you under his protection."
"You know a lot about my mate." Suspicion crept back in. "For someone who just arrived."
"I've had spies in Darkfang for years." He didn't sound apologetic. "Watching. Waiting for the right moment."
"To do what exactly?" I crossed my arms despite my aching ribs. "Save me? Train me? Or use me?"
"To teach you." He pulled out a small leather-bound book. "Your mother's combat journal. Every technique she mastered, every secret of Moonblood magic. She wanted you to have this."
I reached for it, then stopped. "Why now? Why not when I was still in that cellar?"
"Because Garrick had protection spells woven into that prison." Dmitri's voice broke slightly. "Ancient magic that would kill you if anyone tried to break in by force. I had to wait until you were free. Until you'd awakened your wolf."
"So you've just been watching me suffer." I laughed bitterly. "Some fucking uncle."
"I've been watching you survive." He set the journal on the table between us. "And preparing for this moment. When I could finally give you the tools to reclaim what's yours."
"I don't want Silvermoon." But even as I said it, I knew it was a lie.
"Don't you?" He tilted his head. "Don't you want to stand on your mother's land? To rebuild what was stolen? To make Elias pay for wearing a crown that belongs to you?"
"It's been twenty years." I picked up the journal, running my fingers over the worn leather. "The pack is scattered. The territory is cursed."
"The pack is waiting." Dmitri moved closer. "Those who survived the massacre scattered, yes. But they've been in hiding. Raising children, building strength. All waiting for their rightful alpha to return."
"I'm not an alpha." I looked up at him. "I'm barely a Luna."
"You're Vera Ashborne's daughter." His eyes blazed with conviction. "You have alpha blood running through your veins. Moonblood power in your soul. You are exactly what Silvermoon needs."
"And what do you need?" I challenged. "Really?"
He was quiet for a moment. "Revenge. Justice. A reason to keep fighting."
"At least you're honest." I opened the journal carefully. My mother's handwriting covered the first page—neat, precise. "When do we start?"