Chapter 7 - Sera
The ceiling above me is wrong.
I blink at the unfamiliar texture, at the way morning sun slants across beams I’ve never seen before, and for one blissful moment, I can’t remember why I’m not in my own bed. Then everything crashes back—the vision, the kidnapping attempt, and Reeyan’s infuriating ultimatum.
I’m trapped in Grayhide territory with a man who thinks he knows what’s best for me.
My wolf stretches inside me, fully restored now that the suppressor has worn off. She’s restless and agitated, pacing back and forth like she wants something but can’t articulate what. Every time I think about Reeyan, she perks up with interest that makes me cringe.
I push the feeling aside and reach for my phone on the nightstand. Multiple missed messages from my aunt’s office light up the screen, along with three from my sister, Caelan. Guilt twists in my stomach as I scroll through them.
Where are you?
Matriarch Lydia is asking about the eastern border documents.
Sera, please respond. People are worried.
I craft my response carefully, choosing each word with care. I can’t mention the vision—the warning was clear about that. I also can’t reveal the kidnapping attempt without triggering questions I’m not ready to answer or tell the truth without betraying the coercion that brought me here.
Safe and well. Staying with Raegan for a few days to work on an inter-pack research project. Historical documentation related to the regional agreements. Will return soon. Please tell Aunt Lydia I’m sorry for the short notice.
The lie tastes sour, but what choice do I have? Reeyan backed me into this corner with his threats of formal reports and multi-pack scrutiny. Either I play along with his investigation, or I face interrogation from every council in the region.
I hit send before I can second-guess myself.
Caelan responds almost immediately. You’re with Raegan? Why didn’t you tell anyone you were leaving?
Last-minute opportunity. Didn’t want to wake anyone. Another lie. I’m racking them up like points in a game I never wanted to play. I’ll explain everything when I get back.
Be safe. Love you.
Love you too.
I set the phone down and stare at it for a long moment. My sister trusts me. My aunt trusts me. My entire pack trusts me to uphold our values and traditions. And here I am, lying to them while partnering with a Grayhide wolf who manipulated me into staying.
The shower in the guest bathroom runs hot enough to make my skin turn pink.
I stand under the spray longer than necessary, letting the heat work out some of the soreness from yesterday’s fight.
Bruises have bloomed across my ribs and arms in shades of purple and yellow, evidence of how close I came to being taken.
When I finally emerge, wrapped in a towel I found in the linen closet, I realize I have exactly one set of clothes. The ones I was wearing yesterday, now rumpled and dirty and smelling faintly of fear-sweat and blood.
Great.
I pull them on anyway because the alternative is walking out there in a towel, and I’d rather eat glass.
The hallway is quiet as I make my way toward the main living area. Early morning sun streams through windows, painting everything in warm golden tones that make the house look almost cozy despite the clutter.
I find Reeyan exactly where I expect him—surrounded by books.
The dining table has disappeared under stacks of volumes in various states of decay.
Some look ancient, their leather bindings cracked and faded.
Others are newer but still clearly old, pages yellowed with age.
Maps are spread across one end of the table, weighed down with coffee mugs and what looks like a paperweight made from a chunk of Amanzite.
Reeyan sits in the middle of the chaos, bent over his worn journal as he scribbles notes.
His hair sticks up in more directions than yesterday, if that’s even possible.
Dark circles under his eyes suggest he didn’t sleep much, and the empty coffee mug beside him has a ring of dried liquid around the rim.
He hasn’t noticed me yet. The man is too absorbed in whatever he’s reading to register my presence.
I take the opportunity to study him without those intense green eyes tracking my every movement.
He’s changed clothes since last night—clean jeans and a dark blue shirt that fits him well enough to be distracting.
The pendant around his neck glints in the morning sun, with Amanzite catching and reflecting the rays.
The handwriting on the pages is dense and small, cramming as much information as possible into limited space. Every few seconds, he flips back to a previous page to cross-reference something, then returns to his current notes.
“Are you going to stand there all morning, or are you going to help?”
I startle. He still hasn’t looked up from his journal.
“How did you know I was here?”
“Your heartbeat changed when you entered the room. And you smell like my soap.” He finally glances at me, and something in his expression makes my stomach flip. “Cedar and pine. Good choice.”
Heat creeps up my neck. “It was the only option in the bathroom.”
“I wasn’t complaining.” He gestures to the chair beside him. “Come look at this. I found something.”
I should stay where I am. Should maintain the distance between us and make it clear I’m only here under duress. But curiosity wins out over pride, and I find myself crossing the room to peer over his shoulder at the book he’s examining.
The text is old, written in a formal style that marks it as at least two centuries old. The page he’s focused on contains a passage about Llewelyn pack traditions.
“What am I looking at?”
“Historical records from the Ambersky archives. They kept detailed documentation of all pack activities in the region, including observations about neighboring territories.” He taps a specific paragraph. “This entry is from 1724. Read this section.”
I lean closer, squinting at the faded ink.
“The Llewelyn females have undergone a remarkable transformation in recent memory. Where once they were known for passion and fierce emotional bonds, they have now adopted a reserve that borders on coldness. Their new matriarch speaks of strength through independence and the necessity of emotional control. Many attribute this change to cultural evolution, but some among our elders whisper of darker explanations.”
My skin prickles. “Darker explanations.”
“Keep reading.” Reeyan flips to a marked page in another volume. “This is from the Hysopp Coven’s records, dated 1721. Three years earlier.”
The messy handwriting on this page is harder to decipher, but I manage.
“A binding was commissioned by parties unknown. The nature of the work remains classified, but the magical signature suggests emotional suppression on a scale rarely attempted. Payment was substantial. The coven’s leadership debated the ethics of such work but ultimately accepted the commission.
May the gods forgive us for what we have wrought. ”
The room tilts, and I have to grip the edge of the table to steady myself.
“You found evidence of a curse,” I whisper. “It’s real. What I saw was real.”
“It appears so.” Reeyan stands and moves to the map spread across the other end of the table.
“Something happened around 1721 that changed Llewelyn fundamentally. A magical working commissioned by unknown parties, executed by the Hysopp Coven, that resulted in emotional suppression affecting an entire pack.”
“But why?” I follow him to the map, my mind racing. “Who would do this? And more importantly, why would my ancestors agree to it?”
“That’s what we need to figure out.” He points to several marked locations on the map. “There are two potential sources for more information. One is Isla Moonwhisper, your pack’s elder and keeper of oral histories. If anyone knows the truth about what happened three hundred years ago, it’s her.”
“Isla barely speaks to anyone outside formal ceremonies. She’s older than dirt and twice as stubborn. Getting her to share oral histories with an outsider would be impossible.”
“Which is why you’d have to be the one to ask her.” His green eyes lock onto mine. “She’s your elder. Your pack’s keeper. If you approach her with genuine questions about Llewelyn’s past, she might be willing to share.”
The idea of going back to Llewelyn, even briefly, makes my heart race with excitement. It’s exactly what I wanted. But facing Isla with questions about curses and magical bindings? That’s not something I’m thrilled about.
“What’s the other option?”
“The Hysopp Coven’s restricted archives.” Reeyan taps another location on the map. “They documented the magical working. If we can access those records, we might find details about who commissioned it and why. The specific nature of the binding, and potentially, how to break it.”
“Coven archives aren’t exactly open to the public.”
“No, but they maintain relationships with all the packs in the region because of the inter-regional agreements. As someone investigating a potential supernatural threat under treaty authority, I could request access. Especially if I’m accompanied by a Llewelyn pack member who has direct knowledge of the situation. ”
I turn away from the map and pace to the window. Outside, the desert landscape stretches in all directions, so different from the tundra I grew up in. “You researched all of this overnight?”
“I don’t need much sleep when I’m focused on a problem.” His voice comes from directly behind me now, close enough that I can feel his body heat seeping into my back. “And this is a problem worth losing sleep over.”
“Why?” I spin to face him and immediately regret it because he’s standing much closer than I expected. “Why do you care so much about a curse affecting my pack? About what happens to Llewelyn women you’ve never met?”
He doesn’t step back. Doesn’t create distance even though we’re standing close enough that I have to tilt my head to meet his eyes.