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The ruins of Lucien’s old study were still scorched at the edges, charred wood and soot-covered shelves lining what remained of the once-proud room. The walls were cracked, and ash coated the floor, but Tiana refused to leave without checking every corner.
She’d been drawn here by something she couldn’t explain. Maybe it was curiosity, maybe it was intuition—but something told her that answers were hidden in this room. Answers no one had ever dared to find.
She dug through a broken cabinet, pushing aside burned papers and shattered glass until her fingers brushed something smooth and leather-bound. She tugged it free from beneath a fallen beam, her heart quickening as she held the object in her hands.
A journal.
The cover was scratched and dark, but still intact. The name was carved faintly on the front: Danielle Silverstone.
Tiana swallowed hard.
Danielle. Eva’s birth mother. The wolf who’d become a myth. A traitor. A ghost.
With shaking hands, Tiana sat on the dusty floor and opened the first page.
The handwriting was messy but strong, inked with emotion.
They left me there. Bleeding. Dying. The wolves I had fought beside… the mate I had loved. Lucien walked away while I begged him to stay. I remember the cold before the pain left me completely. Then I remember him.
Tiana turned the page, her breath held.
Vladymyr found me in the forest. I should’ve been terrified. I should’ve fought. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. There was nothing left to fight with. He looked at me like I was a broken thing worth saving.
He didn’t speak, not at first. He only watched me with those terrible, beautiful eyes. Then, when my heart nearly stopped, he knelt beside me and whispered, “You don’t deserve to die like this.”
And then he bit me. Not out of hate… but obsession.
Tiana’s hands trembled as she flipped through more pages, reading Danielle’s descent into something in-between—between wolf and vampire, between love and madness.
I let him. Because what was left of me wasn’t wolf anymore. My pack had turned their backs. My mate had chosen power over me. So I gave myself to the only one who saw the ashes and called them art.
Tiana’s chest tightened.
He watches the child more than he watches me now. He calls him perfect. He trains him in the dark. I should be afraid. I should stop him.
But part of me believes the boy—our boy—is the only thing still good inside me.
He is fire and shadow. Heart and hunger.
And one day, he will be the end of everything or its beginning.
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