Chapter Seven

The door to my room shut behind me, the click loud in the silence. I leaned against it, my breath shaky, my heart still racing from the dinner. The fire in the hearth crackled, its light dancing on the walls, but it didn’t warm me. Sage Elara’s words kept circling in my head: The cursed wolf. Save or destroy. They felt like a brand, burning deeper than the lashes on my back ever had.

I pressed a hand to my chest, where that strange warmth had stirred during dinner. It was gone now, but I could still feel its echo, like a memory I couldn’t place. My wolf? It couldn’t be. I was twenty-one, too old to be unawakened, too broken to be anything special. But the way it had pulsed when Rex’s arm brushed mine—it was real, and it scared me.

The room felt too big, too soft. The bed with its heavy curtains, the chandelier glinting above, the rug under my feet—it was all wrong. This wasn’t a place for me, the cursed daughter, the girl who’d slept on stone floors and mended her own wounds.

I crossed to the window, the glass cold against my fingers. Outside, the night was thick, stars hidden behind clouds, the forest around the manor dark and endless.

I couldn’t stay here, locked in this room, waiting for answers that wouldn’t come. The sage’s words, the maid’s warning, Cassian’s smile—they were pieces of a puzzle I didn’t understand. And Rex… his coldness, his anger, the flicker of something in his eyes—it pulled at me, even when I wanted to hate him. I needed to know why I was here, what this prophecy meant, what I was to him.

I turned from the window, my eyes catching on the wardrobe. The dresses inside were beautiful, but they weren’t mine. Nothing here was. I slipped off the blue gown, letting it fall to the floor, and pulled on a simpler dress from my traveling box—faded, patched, but familiar. It felt like armor, like the girl I knew how to be. I tied my hair back, my fingers steady now, and opened the door.

The hallway was quiet, the air heavy with pine and that sharp, metallic scent. The portraits on the walls watched me, their painted eyes cold, judging. I moved slowly, my footsteps soft on the rug, my heart loud in my chest. The manor was a maze, all dark wood and endless doors, but I couldn’t stay still. I needed something—anything—to make sense of this place.

A staircase spiraled down to a lower floor, narrower than the grand one in the foyer. I followed it, my hand trailing the cold stone wall. The air grew colder, the light dimmer, candles flickering in iron sconces. At the bottom, a hallway stretched out, lined with doors older than the ones upstairs, their wood carved with wolves and moons. One door was different—smaller, half-hidden in shadow, its carvings worn smooth, like someone had touched them too many times.

I stopped, my breath catching. Something about it pulled at me, like the warmth in my chest had moved to my fingertips. I glanced behind me—no one. The manor was asleep, or pretending to be. I pushed the door, expecting it to be locked, but it creaked open, revealing a small room lit by a single candle.

The air inside was thick, smelling of dust and old paper. Shelves lined the walls, stuffed with books and scrolls, their edges yellowed. A table sat in the center, cluttered with strange objects—a cracked crystal, a dagger with a wolf’s head hilt, a leather-bound book with no title. My fingers brushed the book, and that warmth stirred again, stronger, like a pulse. I opened it, my hands shaking. The pages were filled with handwriting, sharp and slanted, like it was written in a hurry. Words jumped out—Lycan blood, shadow-born, cursed wolf. My heart stopped. I skimmed faster, catching phrases: The unawakened will rise under the blood moon… power to heal or destroy… bound to the Blackfur line. My breath hitched. Blackfur. Rex’s family. Was this about me? Or the “others” the maids had whispered about?

A noise behind me made me jump. The book fell shut, the sound loud in the quiet. I turned, my heart in my throat, and saw Rex standing in the doorway. His red eyes glowed faintly, his broad frame filling the space, his face hard but not angry. Something else was there—something raw, like he’d been caught off guard.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice low, not quite a growl. He stepped inside, the door creaking shut behind him.

I backed up, my hands gripping the table. “I—I couldn’t sleep,” I said, my voice small. “I needed to know… about the prophecy. About why I’m here.”

His eyes narrowed, flicking to the book. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said, but he didn’t move closer. “This room is forbidden.”

I swallowed, my throat dry. “Then why did you bring me to this place? Why me?” The questions spilled out before I could stop them. “The sage said I’m the cursed wolf. The maids said I’m not the first. What happened to the others? What do you want from me?”

He went still, his jaw tightening. For a moment, I thought he’d snap, like my father used to when I dared to speak. But he didn’t. He looked away, his hand running through his dark hair, and I saw it again—that flicker of something human, something broken.

“You don’t understand,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost tired.

“This isn’t about what I want. It’s about what I have to do.”

My chest ached, that warmth stirring again, stronger, pulling me toward him. I hated it. I hated him. But I couldn’t look away. “Then tell me,” I said, my voice shaking but firm. “Tell me what I am to you.”

He met my eyes, and for a moment, the cold mask was gone. His red eyes were raw, like they held a pain as deep as mine. “You’re not like the others,” he said, so soft I barely heard it. “They… they weren’t strong enough.”

My heart stopped. The others. He’d said it. “What happened to them?” I whispered, my voice breaking.

He didn’t answer. He turned away, his shoulders tense, like he was carrying something too heavy. “Go back to your room, Talia,” he said, his voice hard again. “Don’t come here again.”

I wanted to scream, to demand answers, but his tone stopped me. It wasn’t just anger—it was fear, like my father’s face in the courtyard. I grabbed the book, clutching it to my chest, and slipped past him, my heart pounding. He didn’t stop me, but I felt his eyes on my back as I left.

The hallway was colder now, the candlelight dimmer. I hurried up the stairs, the book heavy in my arms, my mind spinning. Lycan blood. Bound to the Blackfur line. The words burned in me, like the warmth in my chest. I reached my room and locked the door, my breath ragged. I opened the book again, but footsteps outside made me freeze.

“Talia?” Cassian’s voice, smooth and sly, came through the door. “I saw you leave the dinner. Not enjoying our hospitality?”

My heart raced. I hid the book under the bed, my hands shaking. “I’m fine,” I called, my voice unsteady. “Just tired.”

He laughed, low and sharp. “You don’t sound fine. Let me in. We should talk—about Rex, about this place. You don’t know what you’re in for.”

I didn’t move. His words were bait, like always. “I said I’m fine,” I repeated, louder this time. “Goodnight.”

He didn’t answer right away. I held my breath, waiting.

Finally, I heard his footsteps fade, but his laugh lingered, like a promise. I sank onto the bed, the book hidden beneath, my heart still racing. Cassian wanted something from me, just like Rex, just like my father. But what?

The warmth in my chest pulsed again, stronger, like a beast waking up. I pressed a hand to it, my eyes burning with tears I wouldn’t let fall. Rex’s words echoed: They weren’t strong enough. I didn’t know what I was, but I knew one thing—I had to be stronger than them. Stronger than the girls who came before. Stronger than the curse I’d carried all my life.