[redith].
My breath hitched. Her emotions weren’t just shifting, they were spiralling, even unravelling and becoming more violent.
Then, impossibly fast, she grabbed the nearest object—a ceramic vase, and flung it at my head.
I barely ducked. The vase shattered behind , fragnts scattering across the floor like sharp teardrops.
Her face twisted, completely unrecognizable now as pure rage tore through every feature. "YOU! GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!"
I backed away, my heart hamring as my hands trembled despite myself.
"DON’T TOUCH MY MIND! I WON’T LET YOU! GO! GO! GO!" Her voice rose again, raw and broken.
Her scream hit a pitch that rattled my skull. It wasn’t just anger. This was pure madness, fear, old wounds, and chaos exploding all at once. I had never seen anything like this in my years of existence.
Just then, a second vase sailed straight toward my face—but the door burst open. Draven and Dennis rushed in.
Draven grabbed his mother’s wrist mid-throw, the vase dropping and shattering at their feet. Dennis imdiately shielded with his body, pushing gently behind him.
"Mother—enough." Draven’s voice was firm, controlled, but tense.
Lady Oatrun thrashed in his hold, kicking, clawing, screaming like she was being tortured.
"YOU ALWAYS TAKE HIS SIDE! ALWAYS! I WON’T LET YOU LOCK UP! I WON’T—" Her voice cracked and tore.
Then, she yanked against Draven’s grip with terrifying strength, golden eyes burning with hysteria.
Draven held her tighter with a clenched jaw while Dennis was stiff beside , face pale, but steady.
And I stood frozen and shaken—completely horrified.
My heart ached at the sight of her—broken, lost, trapped inside her own mind. But fear pulsed inside , too, because her earlier clarity hadn’t been madness at all.
It had been truth, secrets she had no reason to hide. Secrets she wasn’t even aware she had revealed. Secrets that could change everything.
Draven glanced at over his shoulder, giving a look. "redith, go. Now." His voice was low, protective, and unyielding.
Dennis gently took my arm to guide out of the room and shut the door behind us.
For a mont, I could still hear his mother screaming on the other side with rage, agony, and confusion blending into a sound that tightened every part of my chest.
My pulse wouldn’t slow.
Dennis turned to imdiately, eyes scanning with urgency. "Are you okay?"
I swallowed, my throat tight. I managed a nod, even though my hands were still trembling.
Dennis exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "I told you not to be deceived by her frail looks.
I just stared at him. He was right, but words refused to form.
My mind was a spinning ss—Lady Oatrun’s voice, her sharp clarity, the horrifying implication about Draven’s bloodline, all of it tangled into a painful knot inside .
Dennis frowned when I didn’t respond. "Why didn’t you shout for us?"
"I..." My voice cracked. "I was too shocked to react."
He let out a sigh of frustration at himself, at the situation, at everything—and then asked gently, "But are you hurt anywhere?"
I shook my head. "No."
He stared at for a mont, longer than necessary, as if trying to confirm for himself that I wasn’t lying, that I truly hadn’t been touched.
Just then, the door opened, and Draven stepped out. His steady and controlled expression fractured the mont his eyes landed on .
He stopped breathing. His entire aura changed, tightening as a bowstring pulled too far.
Then he strode to —fast, purposeful, his eyes scanning every inch of with a level of focus that would have made feel embarrassed if I weren’t still shaking inside.
His voice was dangerously quiet. "Did she touch you?"
I opened my mouth, but nothing ca. Then Dennis answered for . "She didn’t."
Draven flicked his gaze to his brother, his jaw tensing, but then returned it to .
And now I could really see the fear, real fear. Not for himself, but for
He lifted his hand, hesitated for the slightest second, as if afraid I might pull away, then rested his palm on the side of my face.
"My love..." he murmured, voice low, strained. "Are you alright? Look at ."
I forced myself to hold his gaze, and for the first ti since Lady Oatrun whispered those words— ’sothing ancient inside you... Do I look like a werewolf?Draven will rule for a long ti,’ I felt truly lost.
I didn’t know what to think, what to ask, or what to believe. And looking at Draven now—his golden eyes full of worry and hurt.
Because part of feared sothing impossible, feared what he might be. Feared what that would an for us.
"I’m fine," I whispered, managing a small shaky breath. But that was a lie, and Draven, being Draven, didn’t believe it, not even for a heartbeat.
His hand slid down to hold mine. "Co here."
Then he pulled gently into his arms, enough to shield and to anchor so I wouldn’t fall apart.
His heartbeat pressed against my cheek, steady and strong, so different from the hollow confusion twisting inside .
Behind Draven’s shoulder, Dennis watched silently with a clenched jaw and heavy eyes, but he didn’t interfere.
Draven exhaled into my hair. "I’m sorry, redith," he murmured, voice thick. "I shouldn’t have let you stay there with her. I should have known she would turn. She is getting worse. Much worse."
I shut my eyes. My chest ached, but only because I couldn’t tell him the truth. At least not yet.
I needed ti. I needed space. I needed Valmora.
But Draven’s arms tightened around , as if he could sense the storm in without understanding it.
"Let’s go upstairs," he said quietly. "You need to rest. I will figure out the rest later."
I nodded. I needed to get away from here and be alone long enough to ask the question that had been burning through since Lady Oatrun looked in the eyes and said she wasn’t a full werewolf.
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