The glow from Alina's pendant did not merely illuminate the library. It bled into the air itself, seeping into corners where shadows once lived, turning the darkness thick and restless. The silver light pulsed like a living thing, slow and deliberate, as if the room were breathing around it.
Stephen stood frozen at the center of the chaos, every instinct at war with itself. The Alpha in him surged forward, teeth bared, demanding possession, protection, claiming. The man in him recoiled, chilled by the meaning of that light. To the pack, that glow was not a blessing. It was a warning. A summons. A declaration of war.
"Cover it," Stephen rasped.
His voice cracked, raw and strained, the sound scraping out of his throat like splintered wood. The words echoed faintly against the high ceilings, rolling over shelves heavy with ancient books and forbidden histories.
Alina stumbled backward, her heel catching slightly on the edge of a rug. Her fingers closed around the pendant, clutching it tight against her chest as though she could smother the light by sheer force of will.
"I do not know how," she said, panic threading her voice. "Stephen, what is happening to me?"
Before he could answer, the massive oak doors groaned open.
The sound was quiet. Still, in the suffocating silence of the library, it landed like a gunshot.
Silas entered first, his movements slow and deliberate, his presence bending the air with the weight of centuries. Marcus followed close behind, broader, heavier, his expression already twisted with disgust. These were not ordinary wolves. They were the bones of the Blackwood Pack. Survivors of bloodshed, guardians of brutal tradition, men forged in an age where mercy was considered weakness.
The silver glow reflected off polished mahogany shelves, stretching Alina's shadow across the wall until it looked jagged and unnatural.
Silas stopped mid step. His ancient, milky eyes widened, locking onto the light beneath Alina's trembling hand. Marcus inhaled sharply, his nostrils flaring as his face contorted into pure revulsion. The scent of dominant musk flooded the room, sharp and oppressive, pressing against Alina's lungs.
"Magic," Marcus spat. The word landed like a curse. "In the heart of the manor."
Stephen moved without thinking.
He stepped directly in front of Alina, his broad back shielding her from their gaze. The decision was instinctive, primal. The Alpha Spark ignited, taking control, positioning itself between danger and what it had already marked as essential.
"Leave us," Stephen commanded.
His voice dropped low, vibrating with a power that made the glass panes in the cabinets hum softly.
"Leave?" Marcus took a step forward, fists clenching. "Stephen, look at her. Look at what you have dragged into our home. That is not a girl. It is an anomaly. It is the very thing we swore to keep out of this valley."
"She is an employee of this estate," Stephen replied, silver gaze snapping to Marcus. "And you will remember your place before your Alpha."
Silas lifted a hand, halting Marcus with a single gesture. His voice was calm, but layered with the weight of countless winters.
"The law of the Blackwood Pack is clear," Silas said. "We are the shield against the unseen. We do not harbor the taint of the old world. If that girl carries a spark, she cannot remain. To keep her here is to invite madness we buried generations ago."
Behind Stephen, Alina's breathing turned shallow. He could feel the heat radiating from her body, warm and strangely floral, a living contrast to the cold fury radiating from the elders.
"She is the anchor," Stephen said.
The words escaped him before he could stop them.
Silence slammed into the room.
Dust motes hung suspended in the silver light. Even the pendant seemed to still, as though it were listening.
Silas narrowed his eyes. "The anchor," he repeated slowly. "You mean the Luna. You believe this carrier of magic is destined to break your curse?"
A hollow laugh slipped from him. "The moon has a cruel sense of humor, boy. If she is the one, then the curse was never meant to be broken. It was meant to destroy us from within."
"She stays," Stephen growled.
The sound reverberated through the floorboards, deep and dangerous. "Under my protection. Under my law."
Marcus stepped into Stephen's space, their chests nearly touching. His eyes flashed dull brown, muddy with old rage.
"The pack will not follow a man who beds the enemy," Marcus said. "They already whisper. The manor has gone quiet since she arrived. They say you are losing your edge. That you traded your teeth for peace."
Stephen's hand shot out.
His fingers closed around Marcus's throat with brutal speed. He slammed him into a bookshelf, wood groaning under the impact as several tomes tumbled to the floor.
"I am the Alpha," Stephen hissed, silver eyes blazing inches from Marcus's face. "I did not take this crown to be questioned by men too blind to see what is coming. She stays. If any wolf touches her, threatens her, or bares a tooth in her direction, I will rip his heart out and feed it to the crows."
Marcus choked, eyes bulging, nodding sharply.
Stephen released him. Marcus collapsed against the shelves, gasping for air. Silas watched with sorrow etched deep into his features.
"You are choosing a dangerous path," Silas whispered. "When the moon is full and the beast demands blood, that girl will not be your cure. She will be your trigger."
They turned and left.
The doors closed behind them with a soft, final sound that felt more ominous than a slam.
Stephen stood there long after, claws partially extended, chest heaving. The chant roared inside him.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
"Stephen?"
Alina's voice trembled. He turned slowly.
The pendant's glow had dimmed, now only a faint shimmer. She looked at him with wide eyes, searching for the monster Marcus had accused him of being.
"What am I?" she asked. "Why do they hate me so much?"
Stephen looked at her and truly saw her.
Not an aide. Not a café girl.
The Outcast. The girl written into prophecy. The one thing standing between him and madness.
"You are a secret that should never have been hidden," he said quietly.
He reached out, hesitated, then let his thumb brush her jaw. The contact sent a deep hum through his bones, grounding him.
"They hate you because you represent power they cannot control," he whispered. "And they hate me because I am the only one who can protect you from them."
She leaned into his touch.
"And who protects me from you?"
Stephen's gaze dropped to her lips, then back to her eyes.
"No one," he said softly. "That is the tragedy, Alina."
He stepped back, rebuilding his walls.
"Go to your room. Lock the door. I will post a guard I trust. Tomorrow, we find out what that pendant is trying to tell us."
She nodded and left.
Stephen turned to the open book on the desk.
The Fruit of Azura.
His thirtieth year was no longer a deadline.
It was the beginning of a war.
And Alina was not just the key.
She was the prize.