VALORIA WILDEROSE
I’m grateful for the fact that the very next day we begin packing up to leave this place I once called ho. Finally.
It no longer has anything left for , not for a while.
Due to Father’s involvent in plotting against the crown and committing treason, all his assets are to be seized and absorbed by the crown; the servants are to be let go, and my siblings—each of my sisters, for being tied to the once-prestigious Wilderose house—are all to be taken into custody.
All but myself, for no longer having ties with them, and Sister Lyra, due to her ties with the Temple of the Moon Goddess.
In one night, the prestigious Wilderose family crumbles into nothing by the hands of one man.
"You! You ruined this family, you worthless whore!" Father screams as he’s being led out of the house, to be transferred to the castle prison.
I finally see what Marcella had ant last night, and truly, he’d be better off dead right now.
His skin is pale and dry, white floss hair with most of his muscle mass completely nonexistent.
Only skin and bone—like he’s been hit by a wave of mysterious illness that has aged him significantly and terribly.
Sothing I imagine Azrael had a huge play in, considering what he had done to Ronan right in front of .
"You’re going to be abandoned and die just like she did. You will never have any aning or happiness," he spits, venomous curses spilling as he struggles with the guard dragging him toward the truck that will be transporting him and everyone else.
I flinch against my will, trying not to let the words affect anymore, finding the lies in them—but despite my bravery, they sting.
I wish I could take back the years I desired and craved his love, the years I crawled and begged at his feet to look at with an ounce of affection, and even the little part of that still clings to him now.
But my wishes never co true.
Hands cover my ears all of a sudden, blocking out the rest of his crass, degrading words before I can hear them.
I look up instinctively, eting the displeased look on Azrael’s face as he watches Father being dragged off.
"That’s enough bullshit for a lifeti, don’t you think?" he speaks, now looking at with a boyish grin that begs for my attention instead.
It’s too contagious not to smile too, but I stop myself after a second and pull away from him.
"I guess I should be saying thank you?"
"That’s what anyone would typically do." His shoulders rise, prideful, waiting for to do the needful.
I lose control over my lips entirely, and the smile returns wider and stronger.
"Thank you, Azrael. Although I know that most of this wasn’t specifically done for . It has sothing to do with your mission, doesn’t it?"
"You catch on."
"It was easy to piece so things together, especially after Ronan’s transformation."
I recall his reaction—surprised, yet sohow expecting to be surprised by sothing in general. Just not witnessing Ronan die and beco so undead, mutated Lycan.
"There are a few blank spots I haven’t figured out yet, like what you ant when you said ’you didn’t make him.’"
"I can make werewolves into Lycans. Haven’t done it in a century, but it’s sothing I did before." He blurts it out from nowhere.
I freeze, not expecting the sudden confession. I’m used to him revealing things to without hesitation, but still... it’s almost as if he’s compelled to answer everything I ask.
"Like a vampire?"
"Sothing like that, but without the ’needing blood to survive’ and ’crumbling underneath sunlight’ parts. It requires my blood and a spell. The process is very detailed."
I have a lot of questions.
Like how he does it, and how he even knows how to do it in the first place—but I get the feeling it will all lead down a rabbit hole of lore and gore I’m not ready for right now.
I assu the fact that he seed disturbed by it ans this particular lore restricts the ability to make a Lycan from a werewolf solely to Azrael alone—the first and only Lycan created by a god.
"Well... if you didn’t make him, and you haven’t turned a werewolf in centuries, then who did?"
This ti he hesitates. A deep frown creases between his eyebrows as he turns serious.
"That is what I intend to find out, and what you shouldn’t involve yourself in. Whoever they are, they’re dangerous enough to dabble in things they have no idea about."
I stare at him, speechless, offering a quiet nod.
I know that the few tis Azrael isn’t laughing or making a joke of serious things, it often ans whatever he’s referring to is dangerous.
Dangerous enough to leave soone with infinite power like him spooked.
"Are you ready to leave?" he asks.
I take a final glance toward the big extravagant life and reminisce on fleeting mories before I nod, whispering, "Yeah."
Both of us move toward the waiting car, past the guards and the maids about to leave, and they all form a path, bowing their heads.
For the first ti, their heads remain down even as I pass closely behind him.
I spot Sister Lyra again in the far back, and the priestess who has been absent this whole ti watches us get into the car.
Watching in particular with a cryptic and almost comforting look in their eyes—free from resentnt for ruining the family, unlike everyone else.
I’m entrapped by it for a mont before prying my eyes away, silently hoping it will be the last ti we have to et.
We leave the manor and the Wilderose pack, and just like before, it takes hours to return.
I enjoy the peaceful silence amidst it, revel in my newfound confidence and my new voice I can now use to speak up for and defend myself.
Azrael remains in his own world, deep in thought. I imagine it has a lot to do with the mysterious person doing Lycan experints underneath his nose.
Unlike before the trip began, the tension that had hung over our heads is but a mory, and I don’t know what it ans or if I want to bother thinking about it either.
For whatever reason, he isn’t as cruel or wicked as he presented himself to be initially. It could be a new ploy, although I feel doubtful that it is.
Which is the next concerning thing: this new interest he has in keeping safe and alive. It feels genuine.
I don’t want to find comfort in it—goddess knows how long it will last before it fizzles and he grows cold again. But then... I don’t want it to end.
I don’t need our conversations anymore to be able to speak without a stutter, but I still want the talks, the banter.
To argue and scream at the top of my lungs and feel like whatever bullshit I say matters.
I hate to admit it, but a part of worries that everything will fade the second we’re back.
His coldness will return and that wall between us will rise again, higher than a tower.
It’s an absurd thing to think like this about soone you believe is pure evil enough to be killed.
So I watch him silently from the corner of my eyes, fully aware of the space he takes up in the back with and the distance between us—constant—until the car rolls into castle grounds.
I’m biting my lips to say sothing and break the hour‑long silence between us until the car parks.
I suck in a breath to speak, but then his door is opened and he steps out without looking back, and my foolish, expectant heart sinks.
Idiot... what were you expecting, a goodbye from the devil?
I ntally smack myself before opening my own door and jumping out as well.
Maids and servants line up, getting our things out of the car, and almost instantly Azrael is busy—speaking with officials, looking at docunts that are being brought to him, things needing his imdiate attention.
Eros stands right next to him, discussing sothing in hushed whispers. We haven’t even settled in, and the entire world has him swept away while I stand there awkwardly.
I pry my eyes away, ignoring the second sting—realizing I’d let myself grow too dependent on his gaze solely because he was a lesser evil, and now I’ll need to wean myself off it.
"Valoria!" a voice screams my na.
I look up toward the main entrance, and Calliope is running toward with her arms open.
I don’t get the chance to react before she collides into , wrapping her hands around in a tight hug, Elodie and Yara following close behind.
"We missed you so much," she confesses, and my heart fills up again.
I reciprocate—hugging back, hugging tighter, with more confidence than I used to. We pull apart, and Elodie takes the chance to step up to my face.
"What was it like far away from castle life? Did you have fun? Did you go sightseeing? Don’t tell you stayed indoors like you usually do?"
"She’s not going to be able to answer if you suffocate her like that," Yara responds, rolling her eyes at Elodie’s eagerness.
"We both know you were just as worried as the rest of us when she stopped responding to our texts yesterday. Stop acting like you have no soul." She quips brutally.
In an instant, they’re locked in a glare, about to throw hands any mont.
"It’s okay. I’m fine, guys." I step between them.
"You hear that, Yara? She’s fine, so you don’t need to act tough and—wait... did you just talk without stuttering?" Her head snaps toward with surprise.
Light bulbs go off over their heads, and they all stare at wide‑eyed.
I’m embarrassed by their intense stares and hide my face away, blushing before I nod slightly.
"WHAT?" they yell in unison, shocked and rushing closer, staring at my face as though all the answers are inscribed on it.
"Oh my gosh... it’s a miracle," Elodie exclaims, overly dramatic.
"What happened to you?" Calliope prods, concern flickering in her eyes.
"It’s a long story," I offer instead, too overwheld to start going into details right now.
"It’s a good thing we’ve got booze and ti, darling. So you can go into the grimy detail."
Suddenly Elodie and Calliope tug forward toward the door for another slumber party with alcohol and gossip—but sothing holds back.
"Wait, I—"
My eyes flicker to the car again, where he was standing with Eros. Held back by the desire to at least say sothing again before leaving and getting swept up in our separate lives.
But he’s not there anymore.
Gone like the wind.
My chest constricts.
I reinforce my smile, facing the three of them again.
"Never mind."
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