Oona's Quarters
Oona's private quarters were nothing like the rest of Furstone's fortress. While the rest of the Council Wing stood tall in cold, grey stone and sterile formality, her chambers breathed seduction and strategy.
Thick velvet drapes in midnight blue and deep crimson lined the walls, dimly lit by golden candelabras that flickered as if alive. A scent of crushed herbs and slow-burning incense hung in the air—wolfsbane, yew root, and something darker Maelin couldn't name. Books and scrolls lay in ordered chaos, and above the fireplace, a large tapestry wove the tale of the Three Moons, their silver thread dancing like smoke.
Maelin stood near the edge of a low, circular table, his fists clenched.
"This wasn't the plan," he hissed. "Rufus is growing impatient. Reckless. And now the Council has wind of the uprising. How?" His eyes burned. "Andrew's already assembling warriors. That boy is always five steps ahead!"
Oona didn't answer right away. She sat languidly in a high-backed chair near the fire, cloaked in shadows, sipping something blood-red from a crystal glass. Her eyes, bright as a predator's, studied him with calm amusement.
"You're too loud when you panic, Maelin."
Maelin exhaled sharply, pacing. "If this falls apart, we're exposed. Rufus moved too early. And that idiotic skirmish at the border? Worst executed distraction I've ever seen!"
That earned a devious, soft laugh from Oona.
Maelin snapped his head toward her. "What's funny?"
"Calm down," Oona murmured, swirling her glass, her tone lazy but lethal. "This is all part of the plan."
The plan she wanted him to know.
Maelin squinted. He didn't trust that smile. She always knew more than she let on.
"Nobody is getting caught or anything," she continued, eyes glinting now. "Haven't you noticed? My source tells me Andrew barely has time for Jamie anymore. The perfect distraction."
She leaned forward, voice like silk over steel. "You and I both know we must separate those two. Jamie is growing stronger. And if we don't weaken him before the trial in two days—"
"He could survive," Maelin cut in, the words bitter in his throat.
Oona tilted her head, lips curving.
"You don't believe he can, do you?" he asked. "What if it's not a curse after all? What if it's the will of the Goddesses? Then we're all doomed, Oona."
She rose slowly from her chair, the hem of her black dress whispering along the floor like a storm cloud. "Then we make sure it doesn't stand," she said, voice cold.
"How?" Maelin demanded. "Even your magic can't sway the trial. You know that. It's sacred. Pure. It's done under moonlight and bound by blood."
Oona smiled at him so darkly it made his skin crawl.
"We always have a moment before the trial moment, don't we?"
Maelin went still. Something in her voice made the hairs on his neck rise.
He studied her. The curves of her smile. The deliberate calm. The way her hands never trembled. She wasn't just playing a game—she was the one who set the board.
"Well," he muttered, unsettled, "all the same, I can't wait to see my son take his rightful place. The Jackson bloodline must end—and soon."
Oona's voice came softly, like a lullaby forged from venom.
"Patience, Maelin. Patience."
******
Jamie's POV
I followed Ann down a narrow stone corridor I never even knew existed. We'd slipped past the guards near the Council Chambers under the cover of moonlight, and now we were ducking through low arches and winding halls lit only by mossy lanterns and a silver glow that seemed to emanate from the very stones.
"I still can't believe this place exists," I whispered.
Ann didn't turn. "Furstone was built over an older pack stronghold. This was their archive."
Roots pushed through cracks in the ceiling, and ancient glyphs lined the walls, flickering under torchlight. It felt like walking through someone else's memories. I couldn't help but wonder if Andrew had planned to meet me tonight. If he was disappointed, I never showed.
Was he angry?
I didn't have time to dwell on it.
I crashed into Ann's back.
She spun on me, eyes wide. "What are you doing?!" she mouthed, then pointed. "Be careful. Look!"
I winced and mouthed "Sorry," just as we reached a narrow crevice low enough to crawl through. On the other side, the air changed—thicker, older, damp with the scent of mildew and magic.
We emerged into a cavernous room filled with rows and rows of towering shelves. Books bound in bark and bone. Scrolls tied with golden twine. Sigils glowing faintly in the air like stardust. It felt like stepping into a forgotten world.
"The Library of Old," Ann whispered.
"What now?" I asked. "How do we find it?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. We just… try, I guess?"
I sighed. "Ann, we don't even know what we're looking for. We don't know how it looks, or even if it's real."
She gave me a look. "You wanted to come."
"I want answers," I muttered.
So we searched.
In silence. Pulling dusty tomes from shelves, flipping through brittle pages. Some were written in tongues I couldn't understand. Others in blood-red ink that shimmered under moonlight. Time melted. My hands ached. My brain fogged.
Until Ann made a sound.
"Jamie," she breathed. "Here."
I hurried over as she lifted a thick, timeworn book. Its cover was cracked, almost disintegrated. The title, The Book of Nivorien, shimmered faintly like a memory.
"This is it," I whispered. "It has to be."
We started flipping through it together, hearts racing, when we heard it.
Footsteps.
We froze.
Ann's eyes locked on mine.
Then came the voice—sharp, smug, and familiar.
"Patrol, halt."
Cassian.
I nearly dropped the book. The sound of his voice sent ice down my spine.
"Due to the rumours of an impending attack, all chambers are under sweep," he barked. "No blind spots. Let's go."
Panic thudded in my chest.
"He can't see me," I hissed.
Ann nodded. She could walk away from this. I couldn't. I didn't belong here. And knowing Cassian, he'd make hell out of it.
"First, we hide," she mouthed. "Then we run."
We ducked behind shelves, hearts pounding. I clutched the book tightly. My wolf stirred—closer than ever—thanks to training. Adrenaline sang through me.
Cassian paused nearby.
"…That scent," he muttered. "Familiar. But I can't place it."
His guards fanned out. Searchlights from enchanted orbs flickered. Shadows danced.
Ann grabbed my hand.
We ran.
Quiet as we could. Through aisles. Around corners. But we couldn't go back the way we came. The path was blocked.
More footsteps.
Ann and I bolted down the hall, only to skid to a stop. Dead end.
My chest was heaving. "No—no no no."
"Shhh!" Ann hissed beside me, her eyes wild.
The steps were getting closer. Louder. Almost on top of us.
Then, something moved in the shadows.
A hand. Strong. Swift.
Before I could react, it grabbed us both and yanked us into a narrow gap between two stone pillars. I struggled, my instincts firing on pure adrenaline—until the scent hit me.
The Earth. Pine. The woods.
Andrew.
My mate.
I froze, heart slamming for a whole new reason. His eyes—those impossible blue eyes—met mine. Worry. Disbelief. That quiet storm that always pulled me in.
He pressed a finger to my lips, eyes sharp, furious, whispering only with his glare:
What the hell are you doing here?
I swallowed hard.
I had a lot of explaining to do.
Ann took one look at us and made a call. "Take him. Get him out. I'll handle this."
"Ann—" I started.
"No time."
She slipped out from the shadows just as Cassian rounded the corner.
"Carla?" he asked, eyeing her.
"It's Ann," she snapped.
"Alone?" Cassian's tone was sceptical. "Strange place for a stroll."
Ann shrugged. "You're here."
"I'm doing my job."
"So am I."
His eyes narrowed. "Strange… your scent's changed."
Ann smiled like a wolf with bloody teeth. "Maybe I'm just evolving."
Cassian didn't believe her.
But he couldn't prove anything.
Andrew's grip tightened around me as we slipped deeper into the shadows, unnoticed. But I knew—this wasn't over.
Not by a long shot.