The Mark

CHAPTER FIVE

THE MARK

ORLENA’S POV

I did not sleep that night.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the marriage contract lying on the table in front of me, my name written beside Drayven’s as though the decision had already been made.

I kept telling myself that I was not going to sign it.

I did not know Drayven, and I had no reason to trust him simply because he had given me a place to stay. Xavren had taught me that promises could sound beautiful when they were spoken, only to become weapons when the person making them decided they no longer needed you.

Drayven had not promised me love.

He had not pretended that he wanted me because his heart had chosen me.

He had simply told me that I was useful to him.

Strangely, that honesty frightened me less than Xavren's promises ever had.

At least I knew what I was dealing with.

I turned onto my side and stared through the window at the dark forest beyond the pack grounds. The moonlight fell across the trees, making everything look strangely peaceful, but there was something unsettled inside me that refused to disappear.

I reached for the mark on my body.

The moment my fingers touched it, a sharp heat suddenly spread beneath my skin.

I gasped and pulled my hand away.

The pain disappeared almost immediately.

I frowned and touched it again.

This time, the burning returned.

“What is happening?”

I sat upright.

The mark had never behaved like this before.

For years, it had been nothing more than a dark reminder of the night I had saved Xavren, a mark everyone else had used as proof that I was cursed.

But now it felt alive.

A strange warmth moved through my chest, spreading slowly toward my arms and shoulders.

Then I heard something.

A voice.

Not outside my room.

Inside me.

Orlena.

My breath caught.

I froze.

I had not heard my wolf speak since the forest.

I slowly closed my eyes.

“Are you there?”

There was silence.

Then I felt her.

Weak, frightened, but undeniably present.

Wake up.

“I am awake.”

No.

Her voice trembled.

Wake up.

I swallowed.

“What do you mean?”

The burning beneath my skin became stronger.

I pressed my hand against the mark.

“Tell me what is happening.”

For several seconds, there was no response.

Then my wolf whispered something that made my entire body go cold.

He knows.

I frowned.

“Who knows?”

Silence.

“Who?”

The answer came so quietly that I almost missed it.

Drayven.

My heart began beating faster.

“What does Drayven know?”

My wolf did not answer.

I opened my eyes.

The room was exactly as it had been before, but somehow everything felt different.

I looked toward the door.

Then I heard three knocks.

I nearly jumped.

“Who is it?”

“It is me.”

I recognized the voice as one of Drayven's warriors.

I got out of bed and walked toward the door.

When I opened it, the man bowed his head slightly.

“Alpha Drayven wants to see you.”

My stomach tightened.

“Now?”

“He said it was important.”

I hesitated before following him.

As we walked through the corridors, I could not stop thinking about what my wolf had said.

Drayven knows.

But what?

And why had my wolf sounded afraid?

We eventually stopped outside Drayven's office.

The warrior knocked before opening the door.

I stepped inside.

Drayven was standing beside the large window, his back toward me.

He turned when he heard the door close.

His eyes immediately went to my face.

“You're awake.”

“I was sleeping before your warrior came to wake me.”

“I know.”

I frowned.

“How?”

He ignored the question.

“Come closer.”

Something about his tone made me hesitate.

Still, I walked toward him.

He studied me carefully.

“You felt something tonight.”

It wasn't a question.

I stopped.

“How do you know?”

His expression remained unreadable.

“Your mark.”

My hand immediately moved toward it.

“You know something about it.”

He said nothing.

“Drayven.”

His eyes narrowed slightly.

“I told you yesterday that I don't believe your mark is a curse.”

“That isn't enough.”

“I know.”

“Then tell me what it is.”

He stared at me for a long moment.

“I am trying to find out.”

I shook my head.

“You know more than you're telling me.”

Before he could answer, my eyes moved around the room.

Something on the far wall caught my attention.

There was a large painting hanging above the fireplace.

I took a few steps toward it.

The closer I got, the more familiar the woman's face became.

My breath caught.

She was standing beside a younger Drayven.

The woman had long dark hair, gentle features, and eyes that looked strangely familiar.

I stared at the painting.

Then I slowly turned toward Drayven.

“Who is she?”

His expression changed.

For the first time since I had met him, I saw something flicker across his face that looked almost like pain.

“Mira.”

I turned back toward the painting.

“She was your Luna?”

He remained silent.

I looked at him again.

“She was, wasn't she?”

“Yes.”

I stared at the woman.

The resemblance was impossible to ignore.

Her eyes, the shape of her face, even the way she smiled looked strangely familiar.

My chest tightened.

“Why does she look like me?”

Drayven's jaw tightened.

“That is what I have been trying to find out.”

I looked at him in disbelief.

“You've been investigating me because I resemble her?”

“That is part of it.”

“Part?”

He did not answer.

I moved closer to the painting.

“Who was she?”

Drayven's voice became quieter.

“She was someone I loved.”

I looked at him.

There was no coldness in his expression anymore.

For a brief moment, I saw something vulnerable in his eyes.

Then it disappeared.

“What happened to her?”

“She died.”

The word hung heavily between us.

“How?”

His gaze shifted toward the painting.

“I wasn't there when it happened.”

I turned toward him.

“What do you mean?”

“I found out after it was already too late.”

There was something in his voice that made me stop asking questions.

I looked at Mira again.

Then I noticed something.

A mark.

It was barely visible because of the way the painting had been made, but there was a dark symbol on the woman's shoulder.

My heart stopped.

I stepped closer.

“Drayven…”

He followed my gaze.

His expression immediately hardened.

“What?”

I pointed toward the painting.

“She has one too.”

He walked toward me.

For the first time, urgency entered his voice.

“Don't touch the painting.”

But it was already too late.

The moment my fingers brushed against the painted mark, pain exploded through my body.

I cried out and stumbled backward.

My hand flew to my shoulder.

The mark beneath my skin was burning.

Not burning like before.

This time it felt as though fire had been poured directly into my veins.

“Orlena!”

Drayven caught me before I fell.

I grabbed his arm.

“I can't…”

My voice broke.

“Something is happening.”

The room blurred around me.

My wolf suddenly screamed inside my head.

Run!

I gasped.

“Why?”

He will remember.

“Who?”

My wolf's voice became frantic.

Drayven.

I looked at him.

His eyes had changed.

They were no longer the dark color I had seen since arriving at the pack.

They had turned a brilliant silver.

Drayven stared at my shoulder.

Then his gaze moved slowly toward my face.

“What did you do?”

“I didn't do anything.”

He stepped closer.

His hand hovered over the mark without touching it.

“Impossible.”

“What?”

He looked almost frightened.

That frightened me more than anything else.

“You know what this is.”

“No.”

His eyes remained fixed on the mark.

“You do.”

He shook his head.

“I have seen this before.”

“Where?”

He looked toward the painting.

At Mira.

Then back at me.

My heart pounded.

“Drayven, tell me.”

He finally touched my shoulder.

The moment his fingers came into contact with the mark, a powerful wave of energy moved through the room.

The windows shook.

The flames in the fireplace suddenly went out.

The painting fell from the wall and crashed onto the floor.

Drayven staggered backward.

I grabbed the table to keep myself standing.

For several seconds, neither of us spoke.

Then my wolf whispered inside my mind.

Remember.

I closed my eyes.

Images suddenly flashed through my mind.

A forest.

A woman running.

A scream.

A strange silver light.

Someone holding me when I was a child.

Then the image disappeared.

I opened my eyes, breathing heavily.

“What was that?”

Drayven was staring at me as though he had just seen a ghost.

“What?”

He did not answer.

“Drayven.”

His eyes moved toward the mark on my shoulder.

Then toward the fallen painting.

His face had gone pale.

I took a step toward him.

“You know something.”

He remained silent.

“Tell me.”

He finally looked directly into my eyes.

“The woman who carried that mark before you…”

He stopped.

My heart seemed to stop with him.

“Who was she?”

His expression changed.

“She was Mira.”

I stared at him.

He continued, his voice barely above a whisper.

“And she died twenty years ago.”

I swallowed.

“What does that have to do with me?”

Drayven took another step toward me.

His eyes remained fixed on my face.

Then he said something that made the blood drain from my body.

“The mark on Mira's body disappeared the night she died.”

He looked at my shoulder.

He stopped.

“What?”

His gaze dropped to my mark.

Then he whispered,

“You were never supposed to survive.”