008

The doors to the Oracle opened with a low, echoing creak that seemed to vibrate through Elowen’s chest.

The space beyond was vast, colder than the rest of the house, and filled with a kind of silence that didn’t feel empty—it felt watchful.

She stepped inside slowly, her heels brushing against the polished stone floor, each step sounding louder than it should have.

The aisle stretched long before her, leading to a raised platform where three figures sat in stillness.

Two women flanked an elderly man at the center, their presence commanding in very different ways. The woman on the left looked younger, her posture elegant, her gaze sharp and observant. The one on the right was older, her face lined with age, her eyes completely white, unfocused yet unsettling, as though she saw far more than anyone else in the room.

Elowen swallowed and forced herself forward.

As she walked, her eyes flickered to the sides, and that was when she noticed them—the chairs. Ten of them, five each on eaither sides of the hall, towering and carved with intricate detail, elevated just enough to assert dominance without words. And they weren’t empty.

The alpha brothers sat in them. They occupied the five chairs on the left, according to their birthright.

Zevrian sat closer to the elders, composed as always, his attention already on her. Draven beside him, leaning slightly forward, his expression unreadable but intense. Kaelen further down, relaxed in a way that felt wrong given the setting, his posture almost careless. Sorrian sat with one leg crossed, his gaze fixed on her with something she refused to name. And Ellion… Ellion looked tense, his hands clasped together as if he were bracing for something.

Elowen’s steps slowed for a fraction of a second.

Then she forced herself to keep moving.

She stopped at the end of the hall, just before the raised platform, her back straight, her hands clenched at her sides to keep them from shaking.

The silence lingered.

Then the man in the center leaned forward slightly and inhaled sharply, his nose wrinkling in clear distaste.

“Why,” he said slowly, his voice rough with age but still carrying authority, “have you brought a human into a sacred place?”

Elowen’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t speak.

Zevrian’s voice came from beside her, calm and measured. “We do not have an answer to that, Grandfather. But we believe it may be the will of the Moon Goddess.”

The old man’s expression darkened immediately. “The Moon Goddess?” he repeated, his tone laced with disbelief. “And why would she allow such an unholy, filthy creature into our home?”

Elowen’s fingers curled tighter.

“And why,” he continued, his gaze settling on her with open disdain, “would a human be considered for Luna?”

Before the tension could escalate further, Zevrian stepped slightly forward. “This is Elowen Thorne,” he said, his tone steady, almost diplomatic. “Grandfather, you may address her as such.”

He turned his head slightly toward Elowen, his voice lowering just enough for clarity. “The man before you is Grand Alpha Sylas, former Alpha of this house. The woman to his left is Lady Isla, descendant of the first human-wolf mate. The last of her kind since the war. And the one on the right is Mother Elvya, an ancient seer.”

Elowen gave a small nod, acknowledging them without lowering her gaze.

Grand Alpha Sylas let out a scoff. “I have no interest in starting another line of human-wolf abominations,” he said bluntly. “My apologies, Isla, but I will not accept this.”

Lady Isla didn’t look offended. If anything, she looked tired. “Whether you accept it or not does not change the fact that the Moon Goddess permitted it,” she replied calmly. “And if she allowed it, then there is reason.”

Sylas waved a dismissive hand. “Reason or not, I do not agree.”

Zevrian spoke again, cutting through the tension. “Elowen has something to say.”

Sylas leaned back slightly, unimpressed. “It hardly matters,” he muttered. “I already have a plan that will benefit us far more than whatever you believe she wants. But she may speak if she insists.”

Zevrian’s gaze flicked briefly to Elowen, a silent signal.

Now.

Elowen inhaled slowly, forcing her nerves into something steadier. This was her chance. The only one she might get.

“I’ve made a decision,” she said, her voice clear despite the pressure pressing in from every direction.

Sylas raised a brow. “Oh?”

“I have decided to choose an alpha,” she said.

The room shifted instantly.

Sylas’s expression hardened. “No,” he said flatly. “You will not.”

Draven leaned forward sharply. “That’s not even possible.”

“It is,” Lady Isla interjected calmly. “That is a loophole.”

Mother Elvya tilted her head slightly, her blank eyes fixed in Elowen’s direction. “It is possible,” she said slowly. “But it comes with a price.”

Ellion stood abruptly. “Elowen, you don’t even know us well enough to make that kind of decision,” he said, his voice tight with concern.

Sorrian let out a short, bitter laugh. “Of course she doesn’t. Zevrian must have gotten to her first.” His eyes snapped toward his older brother. “You poisoned her mind before she could even think for herself. That’s not fair.”

Zevrian’s expression didn’t change, but his voice dropped slightly. “Watch your mouth.”

Draven stood as well, his gaze sharp as it locked onto Zevrian. “No, he’s right,” he said. “Isn’t he? You told her about the loophole. You convinced her to choose you.” His lips curled slightly. “You bastard.”

“Enough,” Sylas snapped, his voice cutting through the room with authority. “Sit down.”

Draven hesitated, then dropped back into his seat with clear reluctance. “This is exactly why you should not be the only one entrusted with critical information,” Draven muttered, his eyes still on Zevrian. “We all deserve equal access. Just because you were born first does not make you better. You're only older than me with just ten fucking days.”

Sylas’s gaze sharpened. “Mind your tongue.” Then he looked back at Elowen. “Your request is denied.”

The words hit her like a wall. “What?” she demanded, her composure cracking. “Why?”

Sylas leaned forward slightly, his expression grim now. “Because if I allow you to choose one of them… the rest will die.”

Silence.

Heavy. Suffocating.

“What?” Sorrian said first, his voice sharper now. “What do you mean die? No one said anything about dying!”

Ellion’s face drained of color. “Why would we—why would that happen?”

Draven’s gaze snapped back to Sylas, fury building. “When were you planning to tell us that only one of us survives this?”

Sylas exhaled slowly. “That is precisely what I am trying to prevent.”

Elowen’s head turned slightly toward Zevrian, confusion and unease twisting in her chest. He met her gaze, his expression calm, but there was something deeper there now—something he hadn’t told her.

“Grandfather,” Zevrian said carefully, “what are you referring to?”

Sylas’s jaw tightened. “I will not lose more of my family to this cursed prophecy,” he said. “I have buried enough.”

Elowen frowned. “What do you mean?”

Sylas looked at her, and for the first time, there was something almost human in his expression. Something heavy.

“When my son, their father, became Alpha Supreme,” he said slowly, “four of his brothers died. One after the other.”

The words sank into the room like poison.

“And before that,” he continued, “when I ascended… I lost four of my own brothers. It's a curse. Once the Luna conceive, she births five alpha brothers but only one ascend and the rest are doomed to horrible deaths, each worse than the last.”

Shock rippled through the hall.

“I will not watch history repeat itself,” he finished. “Again."

Lady Isla sighed softly. “We should have told you sooner,” she admitted, glancing at the brothers. “But we were trying to find another way.”

“There is no other way,” Mother Elvya said, her voice distant. “This is how it was written. To change it is to invite something worse.”

Draven stood again, pacing slightly now. “So we just accept this?” he demanded. “One of us lives, the rest die? That’s the plan?”

Ellion shook his head, panic setting in. “I can’t—no. There has to be another solution.”

Kaelen, however, remained seated, completely still, his expression unreadable. If anything, he looked… bored.

Sylas raised his hand, silencing the room. “There is one option.”

All eyes turned to him.

“We offer her,” he said, gesturing toward Elowen, “as a living sacrifice to the Moon Goddess. But it comes with a price.”

Elowen’s breath caught.

“And in return,” he continued, “we beg her to release this family from the curse.”

“What?” Elowen whispered.

Sylas’s voice remained steady. “It may break the yoke placed on our bloodline.”

“What is the price?” Zevrian asked.

“Your lineage.” Mother Elvya answered. “You will lose your ability to produce heirs,” she said. “Your bloodline ends with you.”

Draven let out a hollow laugh. “So we either kill each other… or we die out completely.”

Sylas didn’t respond. Instead, he clapped twice.

The sound echoed sharply through the hall.

The doors behind Elowen opened, and several guards entered, pushing in a wooden board—long, flat, reinforced with bindings.

Her stomach dropped instantly. “What… what are you doing?” she asked, her voice trembling now.

No one answered.

“No,” she said, stepping back. “No, you can’t…”

She turned, ready to run but she didn’t get far.

The guards were faster.

Hands grabbed her arms, pulling her back before she could take more than a few steps.

“Let me go!” she screamed, struggling against them. “Let me go!”

Her gaze snapped toward Zevrian, desperation flashing in her eyes.

But he didn’t move and didn’t say a word.