Chapter 4 WHISPERS OF THE BLOOD

The storm had passed by morning, but the cold clung to the manor like a second skin.

Eira sat alone at the long wooden dining table, cradling a half-finished mug of tea between her hands. The fire crackled in the hearth behind her, but its warmth felt distant, unable to touch the chill that had settled into her bones. She hadn't slept. Her dreams had been restless, a blur of glowing eyes, mournful howls, and a woman cloaked in winter fire who wore her face.

The First Luna hadn't looked at her with warning or pity.

She had looked at her with expectation.

Eira didn't want to consider what that meant.

The manor was eerily still. No footsteps, no low murmurs, not even the sound of Cale's heavy boots thundering through the halls.

She took another sip of her tea and grimaced. Cold now.

"Thought you'd want something stronger."

Eira turned to find Maren standing in the archway, arms crossed, a single brow arched. Her thick braids were pulled back loosely, and a silver dagger hung at her side like it belonged there.

"I didn't hear you," Eira said.

"I'm good at not being heard."

"I've noticed."

Maren crossed the room and slid into the seat across from her. She placed a small flask on the table and nudged it forward.

"What's this?"

"Willowroot," Maren said. "Warms the blood. Calms the nerves. Tastes like hell."

Eira managed a soft laugh and took a sip, then coughed, eyes watering. "That's awful."

Maren grinned faintly. "Told you."

Then her smile faded.

"You went into the grove, didn't you?"

Eira didn't answer.

"I've only seen it once," Maren said quietly. "Most of us stay away. There's old magic there. Dangerous, buried deep. But you walked straight into it like something was calling."

"It was," Eira murmured. "And I answered."

Maren's gaze sharpened. "You saw her."

Eira nodded slowly. "And I think she saw me."

Maren exhaled. "Then it's real."

"What is?"

"You're not descended from the Luna line," Maren said. "You are the line."

---

Far from the dining hall, Lucien stood in the watchtower, scanning the snowy expanse beyond the trees. Everything below looked untouched, clean and serene but he could feel the shift beneath it. The moment Eira had touched the Moonstone, something in the land had stirred. Magic old enough to be forgotten had opened its eyes.

And through it, he could feel her.

Eira. Her presence was a thrum at the edge of his senses, not yet a bond, but something close. Unspoken. Untamed.

He should cut it before it grew deeper.

Before it anchored him.

Before it undid him.

Footsteps approached.

"You're avoiding her," Cale said.

Lucien didn't turn. "I'm watching the border."

"You're always watching the border. That girl walked into sacred ground, touched the Moonstone, saw the First Luna, and walked away glowing. You're seriously not even curious?"

Lucien's voice was cold. "I'm cautious. That's not the same."

"You think she's a danger?"

"She is a danger," Lucien snapped. "Not just to us. To anyone who wants to claim her."

Cale folded his arms. "Including the Hollow Pack."

Lucien finally looked at him. "She's not ready."

"She better get ready," Cale said. "Because the world's already watching."

---

That afternoon, Eira found herself in the manor's oldest wing, the library.

It smelled of parchment and time, lined with towering shelves that stretched to the ceiling. Books in English, Latin, and other languages she couldn't name, though some she could oddly feel.

At the far end, tucked beneath a stone arch, stood a locked glass case. Inside, a single book rested-bound in pale hide, marked with a silver crescent.

The moment her eyes landed on it, her chest tightened.

Without thinking, her hand lifted.

The lock clicked open.

She stared in disbelief, then slowly lifted the glass. The book was cold, colder than the air around it, as though it had been waiting in ice. When she opened it, the first page shimmered with ink that shifted and pulsed like liquid starlight.

Eira of the Old Blood.

The page turned on its own.

Bloodline: Luna Reclaimed.

She sank to the floor as more pages flipped, not written, but revealed, like memories spilling onto paper.

Visions flooded her mind; wolves howling beneath crescent moons, women cloaked in bone and frost, silver-eyed queens ruling not by dominance, but by instinct and bond.

And beneath it all, was conflict.

Always conflict.

Always war.

Her hands shook.

"You weren't supposed to find that."

Lucien's voice made her jump.

He stood in the doorway, unreadable.

Eira didn't look up. "It called to me. Like everything else here."

Lucien walked toward her, his tone unreadable. "The Luna Codex doesn't call to anyone. Unless it remembers you."

She finally met his eyes. "So what am I?"

He looked at her for a long moment.

"Dangerous," he said quietly. "To them. And to me."

---

That night, the wind carried a different sound. Something sharper. Wilder.

Eira stood at her window again, unable to sleep. The mark on her back had begun to burn-not painfully, but persistently, like a flame pressed to skin. She stepped toward the mirror, lifting her shirt.

The crescent glowed faintly.

But now, something else had appeared.

Frosted lines, branching like cracks in glass, fanned out beneath the mark. They pulsed softly in time with her heartbeat.

She staggered back, panic gripping her.

She didn't understand it.

She didn't want to.

But she couldn't escape it.

Throwing on her clothes, she slipped from her room and padded barefoot into the moonlit courtyard behind the manor. The snow shimmered under the light, untouched and silent.

She stepped into the center of the yard.

The air thickened.

Her skin felt too hot.

Her body vibrated with something she couldn't name.

And then, she screamed.

The sound tore from her throat, rage, confusion, grief, all crashing at once.

Snow exploded outward around her in a perfect ring, a burst of energy that cracked the air. Trees groaned. Windows rattled. And far off, a wolf answered.

She dropped to her knees, panting.

"I don't want this," she whispered to the night. "I never asked for any of it."

"I didn't either."

The voice was soft. Familiar.

Lucien stood just beyond the edge of the frost ring, his expression unreadable.

He approached slowly.

No judgment.

No fury.

Only understanding.

"You were born to this," he said gently. "Just like I was."

"It feels like a curse."

"It is. And a gift. One always comes with the other."

She looked down at her trembling hands. "I feel like I'm unraveling."

Lucien crouched beside her, reaching out.

"You're not unraveling. You're remembering who you are."

Their eyes locked.

The air between them pulsed, full of something unnamed.

"You don't have to face this alone," he said.

Tears stung her eyes. "I don't know how to be what they need."

"You don't have to be anything..yet. Just breathe."

She inhaled shakily. "And if I can't?"

Lucien's hand curled around her wrist, warm and grounding.

"Then I'll breathe for you."

---

Far beyond the warded woods, a figure emerged into the moonlight.

The Hollow Alpha crouched in the snow, inspecting a barefoot trail.

Female.

A slow smile curled his lips.

"So the Luna lives."

He straightened, eyes glowing, and let out a guttural, predatory howl.

A call to his wolves.

A call to war.