Aria's POV
The early chapters detailed Thorne's founding of the pack, the battles with rogues, the alliances forged in blood. Later entries spoke of prosperous times, of strong Lunas and healthy heirs—until the curse.
There it was in script: the story of Alderic and Lyanna, the betrayal, the witch's dying words. The author had recorded the exact phrasing of the curse, the prophecy about light and shadow.
I read it slowly, heart thudding.
Then came the generations of Alphas who had tried—and failed—to break it. Mothers, sisters, lovers lost. Hearts stopped. Lives cut short.
And finally, the entry on Raine.
It was brief.
Alpha Raine Blackthorn ascended at twenty-three following the death of his father. Known for his strategic prowess and unwavering protection of the pack. The curse remains unbroken. No heir yet claimed.
I closed the book for a moment, staring at the crest on the cover.
I was about to open it again when the library door creaked softly.
I looked up.
Ivan stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, that familiar half-smile on his face.
He stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind him, and held up a small cloth-wrapped bundle.
"Bread, cheese, and a couple of apples," he said. "Figured you might be hiding out here and forgetting to eat again."
I set the heavy chronicle down on the table and smiled, genuinely touched. "How did you know that I'd be here?"
Ivan shrugged, pulling up the chair across from me and unwrapping the food. "I might have suggested to Cara that she lighten your Luna workload today. The pack will survive if you don't tend to every need every minute. Besides, you need some free time for yourself."
I blinked, warmth spreading through my chest. "You did that for me?"
He handed me a piece of bread topped with cheese. "Someone has to look out for you. You're too busy looking out for everyone else."
"Thank you," I said softly, taking the bread. "Really. I didn't realize how much I needed a break until I had one."
He waved it off with an easy grin. "Don't mention it. Eat."
We shared the simple meal in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the only sound the rustle of pages when I flipped through the herbal guide.
Glancing at the shelves, he asked me,. "Is there anything you're particularly interested in? While we're here, I mean."
I looked up at him. "History, mostly. The old stories. Nightshades got more than most packs." I nodded toward the thick chronicle still open on the table. "I was just reading some of it. I'd love to learn more—if you're up for telling."
His eyes lit up. "Always."
He pulled his chair closer, resting his elbows on the table.
"Nightshade's story starts with Thorne Blackthorn, like you probably read and I've told you about before: Exiled, half-starved, but stubborn as stone. He carved this territory out of nothing—fought rogues, rallied strays, built the manor with his own hands. The early years were brutal. No alliances, constant threats. But he made it a sanctuary for wolves who had nowhere else."
I listened, leaning forward.
"Then came the generations after him," Ivan continued. "Strong Alphas, fierce Lunas. The pack grew. We had peace for a while—trade routes, festivals under every full moon. But the curse… it started with Alderic."
He lowered his voice, as if the name itself carried weight.
"Alderic was young, proud. The pack was recovering from a plague, and he sought help from a witch of the Moonveil Coven—Lyanna. She healed them, stood beside him, and they fell in love. She carried his child. But the elders feared the power of a half-witch, half-wolf heir. They called it unnatural. Demanded the child be destroyed."
My throat tightened. I knew this part, but hearing it told aloud made it feel real.
"Alderic chose the pack," Ivan said quietly. "He betrayed her. Ordered the child killed. Lyanna's grief turned to fury. She cursed him with her dying breath: any heart that loved a Blackthorn would cease to beat. And only when light met shadow willingly could it end."
He paused, letting the words settle.
"After that, every Alpha tried to break it. Some avoided love altogether. Others fell anyway. Take Calder Blackthorn—three generations after Alderic. He fell for a healer from a distant pack. She moved here, became Luna. They were careful, never spoke of love openly. But one night, during a feast, she toasted to his heart. Her own stopped before the cup left her lips. There was also Garrick—he loved a warrior from a neighboring pack. She died the night he confessed. Then Ronan, who married for duty but grew to love his Luna slowly. She wasted away over months. One by one, lovers, wives, even sisters who dared speak affection aloud—gone. "
I swallowed. "Its… cruel."
Ivan nodded. "It is. The pack survived, but the line suffered. Each Alpha carried the weight heavier than the last. They protected us fiercely because they knew the cost of letting anyone close."
He paused for a bit, letting the silence stretch before continuing.
"And now, down to the present," he said. "The current Alpha carries the same weight. Strongest leader we've had in centuries—kept the borders safe, rebuilt after lean years, never lost a fight to rogues. But the curse doesn't rest. It waits."
I stared at the open page in front of me, the faded ink detailing the same tragedies.
"All those lives," I whispered. "Just because of one betrayal."
Ivan reached across the table and closed the book gently. "History's full of mistakes we can't undo. But it's also full of people who keep trying anyway."
I met his eyes. "Do you think it can ever be broken?"
He held my gaze for a long moment. "I have to believe it can. Otherwise, what's the point of any of this?"
The library felt quieter after that, the weight of centuries pressing in from the shelves around us.
But sitting there with Ivan, sharing bread and stories in the fading light, I didn't feel quite so crushed by it.