Chapter 88 The green house confession
The room felt lighter once the guards dragged Silas out. Elara watched his retreating figure and felt a strange, uncomfortable twinge. For a moment, Elara actually felt bad for him. His daughter was locked ip, and he had just nearly been choked to death by the man she was obsessed. Or rather, by the thing living inside him.
The violence of it stayed in the back of her throat like the taste of copper.
Ronan didn't say a word as he led her back to her seat. He didn't look at the cracked pillar or the terrified Alphas. He just sat down, his hand still tight on hers, and signaled for the meeting to continue.
Elder Varick stood up, his legs visibly shaking. He cleared his throat three times before he could get a word out.
"The casualties," Varick stuttered, his eyes darting to Ronan’s shadows. "The forced Red Moon was unprecedented."
He paused, glancing at the representative from the Silver Coven. "The witches weren't spared either. Master Aris and several of his high-ranking practitioners were caught in the backlash while trying to stabilize the wards. The silver energy backfired."
Elara’s heart sank. She thought of the kind, clinical face of the Master. "Are they..."
"Injured, but stable," Varick corrected quickly. "Master Aris is currently under intensive care. Many of the witches suffered severe magical exhaustion and physical burns from the lunar silver. While the injuries are extensive across the board, the goddess was merciful. No deaths were recorded among the Coven or the Shifters. But we are crippled, Your Highness."
Ronan’s voice was cold and professional. "The Nosferu didn't just attack. They were coordinated. They knew exactly where our perimeter was weakest while the moon was high. They wanted to bleed our magic dry."
The Alphas nodded in a frantic wave of submission.
Ten minutes later, the hall was empty.
Ronan didn't take her back to the Royal Wing. Instead, he led her toward the greenhouse. The air there was humid and smelled of damp earth and jasmine, a sharp contrast to the cold stone of the Council chambers.
They sat down on a wrought-iron bench. The silence wasn't awkward, but there was a weight to it. Elara stared at a cluster of white orchids, her mind racing. She had so many questions, but one was burning a hole in her heart.
"Ronan," she said softly.
He looked at her, his expression instantly turning tender. The lethal King was gone, replaced by the man who had cried at her bedside. "What's on your mind, Elara?"
"Did you know…” For some odd reason, Elara hesitated. “Did you know Hector was alive?"
The shift was instantaneous. Ronan froze. He didn't blink, didn't breathe. That split second of stillness gave him away completely.
Elara bit the inside of her cheek. She felt a sharp, bitter sting. "Your reaction says everything."
"I wanted to tell you," Ronan started, his voice low.
Elara smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Of course. I should have known. I was so blinded by grief that I didn't even put the pieces together. When I went to the grave back then, I didn't see the oak tree. I didn't feel him in the ground. I just wanted to believe he was gone so the pain would have a place to sit."
She looked at her hands, her voice trembling. "But hearing that he’s alive... it makes me terrified. If he's out there, he could be a target."
Ronan reached out, taking her hand in his. "I am sorry, Elara. I wanted to be absolutely sure of where he was before I told you. I didn't want to give you hope just to have it crash if I was wrong. I was trying to protect you."
"I know," she whispered, leaning her head against his shoulder. "But I don't need protection from the truth. Not anymore."
Ronan rubbed her hands, “I promise. I’ll look into the matter.”
She went quiet for a moment, watching the moon through the glass ceiling. "In the two days I was out, I wasn't just asleep. I went to the Obsidian Spire."
Ronan’s head snapped toward her. He looked completely stunned, his grip on her hand tightening. "The Spire? Elara, that is the heart of the vampire realm. How?"
“I… I’m not sure.” Elara sighed as the scene replayed itself in her mind. "I met him, Ronan. I met Cyprian. My great-grandfather. The Vampire Sovereign."
The name acted like a physical blow. Ronan’s face went pale, his features sharpening into a mask of hard flint. In the silence that followed, Elara couldn't hear Fenrir, but she felt himThe gold in his eyes flared, blinding and predatory.
"He told me things," Elara continued, her voice dropping to a whisper. "The vampire bloodline... it’s awake now. I can feel the others shifting in the dark. I think the representatives are coming, Ronan. All of them. The Wolf, the Witch, and the Vampire. All three parts of me are awake."
Ronan didn't hesitate. He pulled her into him, his arm wrapping around her shoulders like an iron band, anchoring her to the spot. "It doesn't matter who comes," he rasped, his breath hot against her skin. "I don't care if it's the Pale Mother herself. I am not letting you go. Not after you stood in that room and claimed me in front of the world."
He leaned down, his lips brushing against her temple.
The heat of him was overwhelming, a stark, grounding contrast to the freezing void she’d touched in the Spire. Elara leaned into the contact, a rush of belonging hitting her so hard it made her chest ache. She looked up at him, her pulse jumping as she voiced the request she’d been carrying like a secret.
"Ronan?"
"Anything," he whispered, his gaze locked on hers.
"I want to meet him," she said, her voice turning into a shy, lethal silk. "Not the King, and not the Shadow. I want to meet your wolf. Properly."
Ronan’s eyes darkened, the gold swirling into a deep, heavy amber. A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face—the first time he’d looked truly alive since the forest.
"He’s been clawing at my ribs just to get a scent of you," Ronan said, his voice dropping into a husky, low-frequency growl. "But be warned, Elara. He’s much less disciplined than I am. He doesn't know how to let go once he's found what's his."