CHAPTER FOUR

My first thought?

There’s no way I’m looking at my own face from a century ago.

My second?

Why is Portrait-Me hotter than Real-Me?

Seriously. Mira Thornbane has the same sharp cheekbones, the same storm-gray eyes, the same hair that can’t decide if it’s curly or just perpetually haunted but she looks like someone who reads Latin curses for fun and seduces ancient kings on weekends.

Meanwhile, I’m over here breaking into abandoned mansions in sweatpants.

“Love what you’ve done with the place,” I mutter to nobody, aiming my flashlight at a cobweb that could register as a small nation.

Behind me, a door creaks open on its own.

Because of course it does.

Because haunted houses don’t believe in basic courtesy.

The room beyond is circular, walls lined with books, the floor painted in faded runes that tingle under my shoes like static electricity on steroids. In the center stands a lectern, and on it lies an open book.

Always with the creepy books.

I approach slowly, because I have seen horror movies before. I’m not an idiot. (Debatable, but let’s move on.)

As I near it, the text flickers, shifting from unreadable script into crisp black letters that spell:

The Thornbane Prophecy

“When the blood awakens, so too shall the war return.”

War?

No thanks. I barely survived high school. Conflict isn’t really my aesthetic.

A gust of wind slams the door shut behind me and yep, I scream like a caffeinated banshee and spin around, heart karate-chopping my ribs.

Kael stands in the doorway.

Looking like a dark fairytale gone wrong.

“You really don’t listen,” he growls.

“Aw, you came all this way just to lecture me? That’s love.”

His expression flickers. Just for a second. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Gee, thanks for the memo. Maybe next time write it in blood on my mirror, it’ll be clearer.”

He stalks toward me, boots crunching over broken glass. The power of his presence fills the room like a thunderstorm in a bottle. I want to step back but I don’t.

“Lyra, you have no idea what this place is.”

“Try me.”

He stops just inches away. His eyes burn with frustration and something else.

Fear?

Or is it… longing?

Ugh. Emotions. Why must hot men ruin things with feelings?

“This was a Thornbane stronghold,” he says, voice low. “A secret gathering point for their inner circle. It was sealed after the massacre.”

“Massacre?”

He nods. “Your bloodline wasn’t just powerful. It was dangerous. The Council believed if even one Thornbane heir survived, everything we built would burn.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Define everything.”

“The packs. The Council. Peace.”

Okay, so I’m the werewolf version of an unsupervised nuclear bomb. Cute.

“And now that they know I exist?” I ask, quiet.

Kael’s jaw clenches. “They’ll either want to control you… or kill you.”

Welp.

Glad we’re skipping the get-to-know-you phase and jumping straight to assassination.

Before I can crack another joke to avoid feeling literally everything in my chest, the floorboards groan and a third voice breaks the silence.

“Well, this is intimate. Should I come back later?”

Astrid.

Leaning casually in the doorway like she didn’t just apparate out of a fog bank.

Her eyes flick between us, amusement twinkling like a wicked sparkler.

“Kael, if you’re going to sneak off to old ruins with pretty girls, at least don’t use my tracking rune. Very sloppy.”

“You put a rune on me?” Kael snaps.

“Relax. It’s not like I’m watching you change. Not intentionally, anyway.”

“I told you to stay away from this,” he growls.

“And I told you that I don’t take orders from Council puppies.”

“Guys,” I interrupt. “As fun as this alpha pissing contest is, can we circle back to the part where I might be murdered in my sleep?

Astrid crosses her arms. “No one’s going to kill you. Yet.”

“Oh good,” I mutter. “A comforting disclaimer.”

The three of us end up at Astrid’s cabin which is more like a gothic cottagecore fever dream with spell jars and witchy tchotchkes.

She brews tea while Kael looms in a corner like a broody statue.

“So,” I say, sipping something that tastes like regret and lemon balm, “the Council. What’s their actual problem?”

Astrid sighs. “The Council is made up of the oldest alphas from each major pack. They built the treaty after the last Blood Moon War. Their priority is control, unity, and suppressing anything that doesn’t fit their narrative.

“And I’m… inconvenient?”

“You’re the equivalent of a glitch in their perfect system.”

Kael’s voice is gravel. “She’s more than that. If she learns to harness what’s in her blood…”

“She could destroy everything,” Astrid finishes.

“No,” he says, locking eyes with me. “She could change everything.”

The silence that follows is heavier than it should be.

A thick thread of something unsaid.

Hope?

Fear?

Lust?

Okay, definitely not the last one. (Probably.)

Astrid breaks it with a dramatic sigh. “You know they’re going to summon her.”

“Summon?” I repeat.

Kael nods grimly. “The High Council meets at the next lunar rise. They’ll demand your presence. It’s tradition. And politics.”

“And if I say no?”

“They’ll send hunters.”

“Let me guess,” I deadpan. “Not the sexy shirtless kind.”

“Nope,” Astrid says cheerfully. “The rip-your-spine-out kind.”

“Oh, fantastic. Can’t wait to meet them.”

Kael finally steps forward. “You’ll need protection. Training. If you’re going to stand in front of them and survive…”

“You’ll help me?” I ask before I can stop myself.

His jaw tightens. “You need more than me.”

“But I want you,” I say, and instantly regret how that sounds.

He goes still.

Astrid coughs loudly. “On that note, I’ll give you two a moment.”

She disappears into another room, and I turn to Kael, mentally stabbing myself for sounding like I was propositioning the local werewolf equivalent of Batman.

“I didn’t mean it like—”

“Yes, you did.”

His voice is low, dark, dangerous.

But when he steps closer, his fingers brush mine, just lightly.

“You terrify me, Lyra.”

“Same,” I whisper. “I wake up scared of myself.”

He leans down until our foreheads almost touch.

“You have no idea how hard it is to stay away from you.”

“Then don’t.”

We’re so close I can feel the heat radiating from his skin, smell the pine and storm scent of him and then he steps back like I burned him.

“I can’t,” he murmurs. “Not when everything in me is trained to fear what you are.”

And with that, he’s gone.

Astrid pops her head back in with popcorn and no shame.

“Well that was hot. Do it again.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m just saying if the apocalypse is coming, at least flirt your way through it.”