Chapter 276 Mark

Chapter 276 Mark

Ella's POV

Just a few short sentences, yet they sent chills down my spine. The witch returns? Bloodline awakening? What does this even mean? The full moon night must be referring to the upcoming Full Moon Festival. Their plan is set to unfold so soon!

My gaze continued downward, landing at the bottom of the letter. There was no signature, only a small, intricate mark drawn with a peculiar, faintly shimmering silver ink.

It was a very complex mark, composed of intertwined vines and a roaring wolf's head.

The moment I saw that mark, my mind went blank.

I had seen this mark before.

I glanced again at the wax seal I hadn't paid much attention to earlier and realized the two marks were identical.

My breath stopped abruptly, and it felt like all the blood in my body froze at that moment. A chill, even more piercing than what I felt while eavesdropping in the warehouse, shot from my feet to the top of my head.

Impossible, absolutely impossible.

A frantic image flashed through my mind.

The first time I entered Owen's study, I had curiously examined the decor. On the wall of the study hung a large family portrait of the Wildheart Pack's leaders through the generations.

In the bottom right corner of the portrait, the artist's signature was marked with the same silver ink.

I remember clearly, I had asked Owen what it was.

He had smiled and told me, "This is our family's oldest mark, older than the Pack's history. Only the head of the family can use it."

Only the head of the family can use it.

And the current head of the family is my brother, Owen.

This realization struck me like a bolt of lightning.

The letter in my hand felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, almost too heavy to hold.

Mason immediately noticed my distress. He steadied me by the shoulders and asked softly, "Ella? What's wrong? Do you recognize this mark?"

I struggled to lift my head and look at him, my lips trembling, unable to utter a single word. I used all my strength to hand the letter to him.

Mason took the letter, his gaze falling on the silver mark, and his brows furrowed deeply. Though he didn't recognize the mark, my reaction had clearly given him a clue.

"This mark," I finally found my voice, but it was dry and broken, like it had been scraped with sandpaper, "I've seen it... in Owen's study. Owen said it's a mark that only the heads of their family can use."

After saying this, I felt utterly drained.

Our previous assumptions, the theory we had just built that Owen was innocent and deceived, were shattered by this mark.

Leo wasn't the mastermind; he had a superior.

And this "superior" used the unique family mark that belonged to my brother Owen.

A terrifying thought gripped my heart.

Could the mysterious "superior" be Owen?

Leo's disdain wasn't because he was plotting a conspiracy, but because Owen treated him as a pawn, a disposable pawn?

Or was this "master" someone who could freely enter Owen's study and steal the mark? But who could do that? In the heavily guarded estate, right under his nose?

No. No matter the possibility, it all pointed directly at my only family.

The hope that had just risen was instantly extinguished.

In its place was a deeper, bottomless despair and confusion.

I staggered back a step, leaning against the cold tree trunk. The massive oak, once sacred, now felt like a silent witness to all the dirty secrets, suffocating me.

"Mason," I murmured his name, my voice filled with helpless pleading, "tell me this isn't true."

He didn't speak, just stepped forward and held me tightly, tightly in his arms. His embrace was still warm, but it couldn't dispel the coldness that gripped my soul.

I clung to his shirt, my knuckles white from the force. I didn't cry; the extreme shock and sense of betrayal had dried up my tears.

We had found a breakthrough, intercepted a secret letter. But this clue led us to the cruelest truth I least wanted to face.

The forest was eerily silent, the fog of conspiracy not only remained but thickened, trapping me in the center. And this time, standing at the heart of the fog was my blood-related Owen.

My world was torn apart in that instant by the small silver mark. Sound vanished, colors faded, and the ancient, sacred aura of the forest turned into a cold, sticky mockery, enveloping me, making it hard to breathe.

The Owen who would smile gently at me, patiently explain the Pack's history, and call me "Ella" with warmth in his voice.

The Owen who pulled me from despair when I thought I was alone, telling me "Welcome home."

"Ella?" Mason's voice seemed to come from far away, piercing through the heavy ringing in my ears that isolated me from the world.

His hand steadied my trembling shoulders, that solid strength the only lifeline I could grasp at the moment.

I struggled to lift my head, my vision blurred, unable to focus.

I saw his furrowed brows, his deep eyes reflecting my pale, paper-like face.

I opened my mouth, wanting to say something, to refute, to scream, to tell him this must be a mistake, a huge, absurd misunderstanding. But my throat felt cemented shut, unable to make a sound.

I just trembled, using all my strength to hand the letter to him.

Mason's gaze fixed again on the silver mark.

I saw a cold, sharp glint of killing intent flash through his usually calm blue eyes.

His chest was broad and solid, his chin resting on the top of my head, one hand gently but firmly pressing the back of my head, the other arm around my back, completely encircling me protectively in his world.

His embrace was still warm, carrying his unique, reassuring cool scent. But this time, that warmth couldn't dispel the coldness deep in my soul.

I clung to his shirt, my knuckles pale from the excessive force, my bones aching faintly.

I didn't cry. The extreme shock and sense of betrayal felt like a sudden drought, evaporating all my tears. My chest was blocked by a huge, heavy mass, making it hard to breathe, and impossible to cry.