Chapter 3 Truth Comes Wearing Teeth

Sierra Lane's POV

I didn't move, I couldn't.

The man standing in the doorway didn't belong to the marble silence of Dominic's estate. He looked like something that had survived war, bled for power, and come out on the other side more myth than man. Tall. Wire-cut features. Hair like ash before the fire. And those eyes, silver with a touch of madness.

"You're late," he said again. "Priestess."

I stayed seated, one hand still on the journal like it could shield me. "You've got the wrong girl."

He smirked, stepped into the room, and kicked the door shut behind him without breaking eye contact.

"I don't make mistakes," he said. "Your mother did. Cost her, her life. So unless you want to follow in her grave-warmed footsteps, I suggest you open the bag."

My stomach sank. "What's your name?"

"Call me Elias. I'm not here to hurt you, Sierra. I'm here to tell you the truth. All of it."

Elias dropped the satchel at my feet. Leather, and old. The kind of bag people bury things in when they want them found by the right hands and no one else. I hesitated, then opened it.

Inside were photos, documents, burned pages half-charred but legible. Symbols matching my mother's journal, maps, bloodlines.

And a photo.

Black and white. My mother, younger, smiling at a man with those same silver eyes. Elias.

I looked up. "You knew her."

"Loved her," he said. "And I failed her."

The words didn't come like confession. They came like ash in his throat. He sat opposite me, not close, not looming. Just watching. Like a man who had seen too much and didn't believe in comfort anymore.

"She was supposed to disappear," Elias said. "But not like that. She was hiding you. From him."

I didn't need to ask who him was.

"Dominic," I whispered.

Elias shook his head. "Not just Dominic, Alaric Thorne, His father. The real Alpha. The one who started the trafficking. The one who wants to use your blood to crown himself king."

My hands clenched. "Why me?"

"Because you're a Crux. A convergence of bloodlines, human, priestess, and something else we still don't fully understand. Your mother wasn't just a priestess. She carried dormant magic so old, even the wolves fear it, and you inherited it."

"No," I said. "I'm not special. I'm just a journalist who got too close."

"Then why didn't Dominic kill you when he had the chance?" Elias leaned forward. "Why did he offer you a deal?"

I hated the answer. Because something in me called to him. Because I wasn't just a threat. I was a key.

"I don't trust you," I said.

"Good," Elias replied. "You shouldn't. But if you want answers about your mother, about why you were marked since birth, you'll follow the trail I left in that satchel. Start with the letter addressed to Ava Lane. Your mother wrote it before she died."

I reached inside again, pulling out the envelope sealed with wax. My fingers trembled as I broke it open and read.

My Sierra,

If you're reading this, I'm already gone. But not lost. I left you pieces enough to survive what's coming. You'll be hunted, you'll be lied to, but your blood is not a curse. It's a promise and promises bind.

He will come for you. He'll wear charm like a mask, power like perfume, but behind his eyes is ruin.

Do not trust the one who walks in two skins.

Trust only the one who gave up his teeth for your mother's heart.

Love always,

Mom.

I folded the letter slowly, my chest hollow.

Two skins... That could only mean Dominic, but Elias had fangs behind his words too.

"I don't need a babysitter," I said.

"Not here to babysit," Elias said. "I'm here to protect what's left of your bloodline."

"You mean control it."

"I mean survive it."

Footsteps echoed down the hallway.

Elias stood, fast like a soldier smelling war. "He's coming."

I grabbed the satchel and shoved it under the bed. "If Dominic sees you-"

"He won't. I don't stay where I'm not welcome."

And just like that, Elias vanished through the terrace door, swallowed by shadow.

The door opened.

Dominic stood in the doorway, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled, eyes sharp as razors. "You're up late."

"So are you."

"Couldn't sleep," he said, stepping inside.

"You always walk into people's rooms without knocking?"

"Only when I hear voices and smell bloodlines waking up."

I turned toward the window, pretending to fix the curtain. "What do you want, Dominic?"

He paused. And when he spoke, his voice wasn't steel. It was almost soft.

"I came to warn you. Cassandra isn't your biggest problem."

"Alaric," I said.

His eyes narrowed. "Where did you hear that name?"

"Your walls talk," I said. "And I listen."

He walked toward me. "You think you're clever, but you're not ready. That journal? It's a spark in a room full of gas. If you light it, you burn."

"Maybe I want to know what fire tastes like."

He stopped inches from me. The tension cracked between us, dangerous and magnetic. His hand brushed a lock of hair from my cheek. "You have no idea what you're waking up."

"Neither do you."

I stepped back.

And Dominic, Alpha, billionaire, beast let me.

"Tomorrow," he said. "You meet the Council. Don't ask questions. Don't show fear, and don't mention your mother."

"Why?"

"Because some names still bleed when spoken."

He left.

I collapsed onto the bed, breath shaky, heart louder than it should've been. I reached under the frame, grabbed the satchel, and zipped it shut.

Tomorrow, I would play along. Smile, nod and pretend I didn't know anything.

But tonight, I read.

And what I read turned my blood cold.

One of the photos in the satchel shows a symbol, carved into flesh. The same one as my birthmark, but it's not on me. It's on another child, a girl, my exact face. My exact eyes.

And she is standing next to Alaric Thorne.