Chapter 43: Chapter 42

I’m on the verge of a breakthrough.

Or a breakdown.

I don’t know what to think. Too many stories, too many emotions. Too many hurts staining the past that I’m not sure I can handle one more painful truth.

Malachi had a sister. Dennison and his true mate Krystal had a daughter called Violet before the Luna died, and then he married Seneca who gave birth to Malachi. Violet was then murdered, crushing the already grieving family and pack. This probably drove Dennison into even deeper insanity.

I find it hard to blame him for mistakes and cruel attitudes that had probably originated from a broken heart. Maybe Joaquina and her weird potions had nothing to do with it. Maybe he always had an arrogant streak, but the tragedy of losing both his mate and daughter drove him to be heartless in his pride and dominant tendencies.

And as if that wasn’t enough to think over, I’m holding books and journals in my lap that tell of battles with demons. I’m looking at pictures that don’t really resemble my visions, but are close enough. Perhaps demons are shapeshifters like us. Maybe no two people see them in the same light. Or darkness. I assume the shadows that conceal them are meant to hide their true shape and intentions.

I’m so tired of this. Resting my head back on the arm of the love seat and stretching out my legs like a kitten bathed in warm sunlight, I close my eyes and force myself to relax. Malachi still has to work, and I have to be ready to bite my tongue when he comes home unwilling to share anything.

But he has. He has shared so much with me last night and this morning, and I am grateful. Finally, he is opening up to me. In bits and pieces, snatches over the last few weeks, he has told me things, let me see his emotions that I’m sure no one else has.

My mate is so layered, so many levels and facets of complexity, I am beginning to comprehend the lifetime it will take to unwrap his heart.

And I am earnestly looking forward to it.

We just need to put a stop to the brutal murders going on, and find out just what our dreams of death mean before a battle with supernatural beings breaks out.

Nothing big.

Nothing we can’t handle together.

Together…

As the warm rays of light dance on my skin, I remember the warm touch of Malachi against me all night, his body etching mine in security and mystery. I can still smell his toasty chestnut scent that lingers on my jacket, and I pull the collar up and breathe it in. Wrapped in this cocoon, my mind wanders to the beautiful future we envisioned together last night.

I can only pray that those dreams come true, and not the horrible ones keeping us both awake at night.

The house is empty as I lie here, lost in Malachi’s scent and the quietness of the morning. But wait… is it? A new awareness slinks in, or perhaps it is just a muffled voice, full of tension. I sit up and tune my ears, deciding I am definitely hearing something.

I tiptoe out of the office to investigate. After going down the hall and up the curved staircase, I realise I am still being silent and holding my breath. I feel foolish for sneaking around in my own home, and throw my shoulders back. However, only moments later as I approach the wing where I don’t normally go, I realise it is Seneca’s voice, muttering low and angrily with someone. I automatically go back to creeping, keeping my footsteps as light as possible.

As I reach the end of the hall that opens into Seneca’s suite, and I hesitate.

“It wasn’t meant to happen like this…”

I catch some of her words, and strain to hear more.

“I know what you wanted, but this was unforeseen, you have to agree. She wasn’t meant— I know, I’m trying.”

My throat goes dry from not breathing and holding my body so still as I stand just outside the double doors that are ajar.

“I’m dealing with it, just give me more time…. You’re right, it is the next sign. I couldn’t forget.”

Peering around the corner, I watch as Luna Seneca paces back and forth on the dark grey carpet of her parlor, a settee against one wall and a desk running perpendicular. The decorative touches are vintage, or perhaps just ancient, and monochrome. The path she treads on the floor is well-worn, her movements graceful and practiced. She rubs her forehead while staring down, her brows knitted together and her voice coming out harsh as her steps become agitated. Whoever she is conversing with is beyond my line of sight.

“It will be as you ask, my Prince. I will not fail you.”

She stops and lifts her head, her eyes falling closed as she raises her hands and inhales deeply. As she exhales, her eyes open and meet mine.

My heart stutters to a stop.

Glowing with red crimson flecks, her eyes are obsidian black. And they’re staring right into me, digging my soul around in my chest without words, without motion. I don’t even recognise my own body as it moves forward, my hand pushing the door open as my feet carry me in.

Seneca continues to stare at me, her head tilting to one side, black hair tumbling in waves over one shoulder. Her black dress falls gracefully to the floor, a silken cape draping her pale shoulders with elegance and class.

“Dear Ariella, are you always so inquisitive?” her lips curve up in a smug expression. She knows I’ve been listening, watching her.

I can’t speak. I wouldn’t be able to even if I had something to say. The very breath is stolen from my lungs as I have stepped in the room and stand in Seneca’s consuming presence. She consumes my thoughts, jumbling them into a pool of logic so twisted I can’t even straighten my fists that have curled in on themselves. I tell myself it is a defensive posture, my cowered shoulders and locked knees.

But I know it is out of fear.

Chills run down my spine, but the temperature isn’t cold. Now that I think about it, it isn’t warm either. The atmosphere is...I can’t feel it. I don’t feel anything. No temperature, no water vapour, no air pressure. It is as if the vale of reality has been sucked dry, leaving a vacuum. I shudder, and wrap my arms around myself.

There is a void, where if I take one wrong step, I might fall into its greedy oblivion. My body feels light and soft. I am weightless. Unravelling. It feels as if I am one breath away from disintegrating into a zillion particles. With nothing tethering me to this world, I don’t know what would become of me.

Is this the Interealm? Is this the emptiness between the planes of reality where nothing real exists? But how can I sense it? How can I feel it and breathe it when normally it is beyond mortal awareness? What has dragged the Interealm so close to the surface of my reality that I can almost taste its emptiness?

“Who were you just speaking to?” I push the question past my lips, my tongue finally obeying the screaming in my mind.

One of her perfectly shaped eyebrows rises. “My master. My Prince. You’ve probably heard stories of him.”

Her answer does nothing to make things clearer in my mind, besides wonder if perhaps she really has gone insane. Perhaps she is suffering from another migraine. She finally looks somewhere other than me as her slender fingers flutter across her forehead, rubbing at the lines caused by the grimace on her face.

The movement belies that she is deeply bothered, despite her calm and composed outward demeanour.

As she paces in front of the hearth, I begin to notice things more clearly. It isn’t a cape she is wearing, a black piece of material hanging from her shoulder. But something more defined and shaped. Feathers drag on the floor behind her. Course, black feathers.

This is the same image I saw of Malachi in my nightmares, in the forest where he stared at me with black soulless eyes and was draped with wings like a raven. Wings of a demon.

But I am not disgusted by a terrible appearance that I would expect for this creature, finally seeing one up close. Seneca is stunning and beautiful in an entirely sinful way.

“What are you?” I breathe, so quietly yet I am sure she hears every whisper.

“Oh Ariella,” Seneca laughs lightly, stalking closer with deliberate steps and that unmistakable red glint in her eyes. “Something tells me you already know.”

I move to take a step back, but something keeps me frozen in place, a vice around my ankles that I can’t see, can’t feel.

She has a grip on me that transcends even my special sight.

“Come, sit.” Abruptly, she turns and sinks gracefully to the gold burnished settee, and pats the space beside her. “You have many questions.”

I move without thought and take my place next to her. Besides the skin-tingling awareness of her presence and this extra-sensory void of the Interralm, I don’t sense her. I can’t smell her scent, hear her heartbeat, or even feel her body’s warmth. She is here, yet she is not.

Maybe I’m not even here.

If someone like Harlow where to enter the room, would they even see me?

“Can you read my mind?” Of course I have lots of questions, and this is the first in response to Seneca’s statement.

“No need to read your mind when I can read your face,” she replies simply, as if the answer was obvious.

I lift my hands to my cheeks in a self-conscious action. “I always was bad at hiding my emotions.”

“You’ve done well these last few weeks. No one would guess you have so many dreams and visions spinning around, psychedelic images imprinting on your mind.”

But to answer your question—yes, I can sense every little thought in that innocent mind of yours.

I hear her words, yet her lips don’t move. The tilt of her head and piercing gaze are the only outward signs she is communicating. I’ve had voices in my head before, my parents and Alphas using the mind link, but this is something entirely different.

I feel it in my bones. Her voice resonates in my liquid blood and echoes in my brain cells.

She is in my head, speaking to my mind.

“So...is this how you always look?” I try to ask this as politely as possible. “I’ve seen pictures and my own visions of demons being…”

“Of being hideous and terrifying creatures? Is that what they’re still teaching in Sunday school?” She gives a little sigh as if vexed by the perpetual idea.

I have no idea what she means by that, so I try a different approach. “You really are beautiful.” I can’t help but be mesmerised by her flawless skin, soft lips, and sparkling eyes.

Her delicate hands fold gently in her lap, the veins glowing blue-green under her smooth skin. “I can be more ugly if you like.”

This thought interests me. “So you can change your appearance? Because some images people have drawn are entirely different to what you are.”

“People will see what they want to see. If they want a hideous demon to hate, that’s what they’ll get.” Her eyes gleam with a thousand words unsaid. I can only imagine the things she’s seen, the stories she could share.

“So what about angels? If you’re real, are they...” I trail off, looking at her earnestly, awaiting her answer. I am brimming with everything I’ve been pondering for ages now.

“Well, of course, my dear. We are virtually the same beings. Brothers and sisters.”

“You’re related?”

“Yes. We were all created by our father, the King, to do his service. At first, we were equal in rank and stature. And beauty.” She runs her fingers down her hair and across her chest in an almost preening gesture.

“So what happened?” I ask. She is still beautiful, yet perhaps not in the same way of the angelic spirits of light.

“The rebellion happened.” Her eyebrows draw together, her eyes squinting as though pained with memories. “Dividing lines were drawn, and we became this,” she lifts a black feathered wing. “We were cursed to hide in the shadows, to haunt dreams instead of grant them. It all depended on how good or bad we were,” she narrows her eyes in a contrite gleam that hints with a flicker of disdain.

“That’s terrible,” I whisper in compassion, instinctively reaching out a hand and laying it over hers.

“It isn’t so bad. I am still free to live and love, and to be loved. I have a family here. This pack has become my home.”

“Love,” I say the word almost reverently, knowing it can transcend chasms and layers of reality. “Do you regret marrying Dennison? You weren’t even mates. Was there ever any love between you?”

She drops her gaze for a moment, before raising it to mine again. “For a time. He was my strong Alpha who saved me. I thought he loved me. But I’m not sure he was capable of true love anymore given all he’d been through.” I nod, remembering the loss of his mate. “But, I didn’t recognise the stifling arrogance until it was too late. Until he had completely dominated me, body and soul.”

“Did you ever try leaving him?” I ask, knowing it is a very personal question but feeling emboldened by our intimate conversation.

“Even if I could have, I wouldn’t have,” Seneca answers candidly. “Dennison became a part of my heart. We married and mated, and the bond we shared was special. Eternal, some would even say. Despite all his flaws, I knew I wouldn’t leave him. Besides, my son needed me here.”

I’m not sure what to make of her response. Even if Dennison never physically abused her, their relationship seemed very twisted and unbalanced according to Malachi. I would run from anything as unhealthy as that, bonded or not. And I’d take my son with me, heir to be Alpha or not.

I move on. “Did Dennison know what you are?”

Seneca gives me a hard look, her saddened demeanor changing entirely from warm affection to cold animosity. “Dennison didn’t care to know the real me. He never wanted to see anything beyond what he could use me for. A woman. A body he could please himself with. A beautiful Luna to stand behind him or hang off his arm. He never knew the real me.” As a tear slips down her face, I wonder if it is from sadness or anger over her dead husband. The conflicting emotions puzzle me, but I have no right to question someone who has been through so much.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my fingers resting on hers as I try to comprehend the hopelessness of what Seneca’s life must have been like.

Seneca tilts her head, looking at me curiously. “You know, you’re the first person to ever say that to me.” She smiles gently. “For what it’s worth, though I loved and hated the man, he gave me something I will always cherish.” A winsome smile crosses her lips and my eyes brighten.

“Malachi.” I say his name with endearment, the image of his brilliant eyes and gorgeous smile that I rarely get to see flashing across my mind. Then I frown. “Does he know what he is?”

“The son of a demon? Of course.” Seneca looks at me puzzled.

“So...what does that mean for him? How can he be an Alpha wolf if he has your genes?”

She shakes her head. “He doesn’t need to be worried about any of that. He knows his destiny.”

“Which is?”

“To serve. And be a powerful ruler.”

“Ruler of who? This pack?”

“Yes, and many other people. Once he understands his full potential, there’s no stopping the rising of his power.”

I think about the word serve that Seneca had mentioned. Serve and rule. Be a servant to earn trust and be worthy to lead. Is that what Seneca means?

“He worries about that. That no one will trust him to be their Alpha.”

“They will. In time,” she says with a clarity of optimism, her face shining with a mother’s pride.

The feeling leaches out and washes over me. “He is an amazing man. I keep telling him to give himself more credit.”

“You are so dear to him, Ariella.”

“Well, of course I am. He is my mate.” I state with conviction, as if there is any other way for me to act towards him.

She gives me another small smile. “I know he can be distant, ever since he lost his sweet sister. But before you even knew him well, you never gave up on him. You’ve always been so loyal.” A shadow crosses her face. “However, loyalty can be dangerous. We must always be careful who we place our trust in.”

My mind races, wondering who she is referring to. “Are you talking about…about the Beta? Hamilton’s father when he trusted Dennison?” I remember the story of how he paid for his undivided trust and respect in the flawed Alpha with his life.

“Of course, that’s what I’m talking about,” she responds after a moment’s hesitation, then shakes her head, willing me to drop the subject. “You have nothing to worry about. That is in the past.”

I nod, then take a deep breath. “One more thing.” I hate to ask, but I have to. I can’t forget the visions I’ve seen of Malachi, cloaked in darkness and despair. “Malachi. He’s… he’s not a demon too, is he?”

“Oh, dear God, no,” Seneca immediately shakes her head. “Just because he is born of a dark spirit, doesn’t mean he carries the curse. No, he is a wolf to the core. Because, after all, he is the son of a strong Alpha male.”

Relief consumes me and I loosen a deep sigh. “Good. It’s just, I’ve seen visions of him as a demon and an angel, which is completely confusing, but maybe not so…” I consider what she said about the spirits being related. Why is my mind spinning with so much information, so many puzzle pieces I’ve been searching for, yet they still won’t settle into place in my head?

“Maybe that’s just what you want to see him as,” Seneca lifts an eyebrow knowingly. “A moody Alpha not exciting enough for you?”

“Oh no, that’s not it!” I feel my cheeks heat up in a blush. “I want a normal, peaceful life more than anyone. But…” my fingers twist together, a shudder of nerves overtaking my body.

“What is it? You know you can talk to me,” Seneca prods, and I am lost in her tender gaze as her hand pats my shoulder.

“I’ve seen him die.”

“Oh dear,” she frowns, and my heart slams in my chest, waiting for her next words. “He won’t be dying. Not yet, anyway.” Seneca tilts her lips in a smile as if I asked a silly question with an obvious answer. Then she speaks firmly. “But enough talk about painful subjects. Let’s think on something brighter, shall we?”

I slowly nod, relinquishing my fears, and watch as she tilts her head.

Such dark thoughts for a pretty mind. She lifts her hand and runs a finger down my cheek, her nail sliding behind my ear as she tucks some hair behind. My thoughts slow down, the worry escaping from my mind and a relaxing calm taking its place.

“Would you like some lunch? I was just thinking of making salad and sandwiches.” I suggest, grateful for this conversation and feeling much better about everything.

“That sounds lovely, Ariella. But I am not yet hungry. You go ahead and I’ll help myself later.”

“Sure,” I smile as she leads me from her rooms, feeling lighthearted and at ease.

After making some food for myself and heading out in search of company, a cold sensation settles in my bones despite the warm conversation with Seneca.

With a demon.

What did I expect her to be like? Did I want her to deny it, or to truly be like the terrifying creatures from my nightmares? How am I supposed to react to the revelation that she is a spirit that can move in the Interealm, but also inhabit our world, love, and give life like any ordinary person?

“Whatcha doing, girl?”

Devanshi falls into step beside me as I jog around the training field. Exercise feels good, stretching my muscles and unwinding the tension in them. It also clears my head so I can think. There is always something so smothering and numbing while in Seneca’s presence. Maybe now I know why.

“I’m just thinking,” I answer Devanshi once I remember she asked me something.

“About?” she prods, and I nudge her with my elbow.

“Are you always this nosy?”

She shrugs, unoffended by my sharp tone. “Are you always this sullen?”

I sigh, and decide to share, “I just found out some things about Malachi and his family. It might take me a while to deal with. I’m not sure how I should feel about it, or if I should feel anything at all. It’s just all so confusing.”

Devanshi breathes in slowly and loops her arm through mine, “Our pack is very complicated. Lots of bad history to make anyone want to run instead of staying in place as Luna. But if anybody can love Alpha Malachi and lead us beside him, it’s you. Despite the fear and mistrust, there’s goodness in the heart of the people.”

“I see the goodness in you, Devanshi. You’re a true friend.”

“Then trust me when I say, we need you as Luna.”

I wrap my arms around Devanshi, grateful to have her support.

“Vanshi! Are you coming over for dinner after work?”

I look up and see a woman approaching us. She is heavily pregnant and glowing with excitement in her eyes.

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss my own sister’s famous lamb koftas. Ariella, this is my elder sister Sharniya,” Devanshi introduces us and I smile at the beautiful shewolf who could pass as a twin to Devanshi.

“Nice to meet you. Devanshi has told me many stories of you all growing up together. Your family is wonderful.” I grasp her outstretched hand.

“Did she tell you about the time we snuck out one night and had a crazy party with the guys from the neighboring pack?” Sharniya wiggles her eyebrows at Devanshi.

“You didn’t!” I give her an astonished look.

“I’ve left my wild self behind me,” Devanshi tosses her hair over her shoulder and smiles demurely.

“Well, I found my mate that night, so I am grateful for your ‘wild self’ as you call it,” Sharniya playfully swats her sister’s arm. “So Ariella, you’ll join us for dinner? It’s just a small gathering of friends before my mate and I leave to visit his pack and family. Besides, I’d love to get to know my future Luna better.”

“Thank you for the invite, but I think I’ll be spending the evening with Malachi. We have lots to discuss.” I glance at Devanshi and she nods understandingly. “So, when do you leave?” I ask, changing the subject.

“Next week, before the full moon.”

I smile, but immediately have concerns for this vibrant woman. I motion to her unborn baby. “You must be so excited for your precious gift. When are you due?”

“In a couple weeks. It’s our first pup and Adam, my mate, is completely in love with him already,” her hand caresses her stomach adoringly.

“May I?” I ask, my hands drawn to the baby.

“Of course. He’s pretty active right now so I’m guessing he’d like to meet you.”

I place my hands on her swollen abdomen and immediately feel a prickle of dread creep up my arms. A twinge of pain washes over me. “Is he alright?”

“What do you mean?” Sharniya looks at me with a puzzled frown.

“I mean, have you had all your check ups and is he a healthy baby?” I have been around and felt many expectant mothers, sharing in their joy, but this is different. I sense something I never have before.

“Yes, the Doctor said just last week that everything is fine and we don’t need to expect any complications.”

I smile and breathe easy, for their sake. “Well, perhaps it’s best if you don’t travel far anytime soon. Just in case.”

“In case of what? I don’t understand.”

Sharniya looks to her sister who is equally alarmed and staring at me as if I am crazy.

I’ve often wondered if I am. But if my gut instincts have taught me anything these past couple of months, it’s that I shouldn’t dismiss them. “I’ve worked alongside my mom with many pregnant shewolves. Lexi is a midwife, and I’ve learnt a lot from her. Maybe it’s just intuition or something else, but I think you should be careful. I’m sorry for disturbing you.” I see the small amount of anger or perhaps resentment in the mother’s eyes that had been so open and joyous before.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m fine. Everything’s fine,” she holds her stomach again, as if shielding her unborn baby from me and my dire concerns. “I’ll see you later,” she looks to Devanshi with an unreadable expression before walking off, not once looking at me again.

I feel terrible for killing the mood. “Devanshi, I’m sorry—“

“It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong. The doctors have said the baby is okay. It really doesn’t matter what anyone else says,” her big brown eyes pierce mine, daring me with a sad expression to keep doubting and sowing unnecessary fears in her sister. Pregnancy is hard enough, I know, without extra concerns.

She leaves to go back to work, and I trudge towards home. Young Sammy runs up to catch me and begs me to help him and his friends ride their bikes. His father recently got him a second-hand one from another family after Sammy coaxed him for weeks, and now the young pup is anxious to learn to ride. I spend the afternoon with them, grateful for the fun activity to take my mind off darker things.

When I finally make my way home, I spend a short while making dinner then drawing before Malachi gets home later. The sag of his posture and frown between his eyes tells me everything his lack of words don’t.

He is drained, weary, and in no frame of mind to discuss anything serious. We eat then prepare for bed silently, and I do all I can to make him comfortable and at ease.

We share a deeper connection since our time together out under the stars last night, and I know that even in this silence, we are speaking volumes of how much we care for each other.

Malachi holds me close as he falls asleep, and as I place gentle kisses on his forehead, I watch the creases disappear. I watch him as he sleeps, his expression so calm and peaceful like a young child. He looks so much younger and vulnerable in this state, and my heart aches with the misery of all he has gone through, of all the tragedy in his life and his parents’ lives.

Can I blame him for being cold to me? Can I blame the pack for not respecting him or trusting him to be their Alpha?

What can I do to help these old wounds heal?

I lose myself to sleep and dream of Malachi and I walking through meadows of flowers. The horizon is marred by black clouds, but sunshine illuminates the purity and goodness in my mate’s eyes. Yet the darkness creeps closer until it swallows our footsteps and snatches at our breaths.

When I awake suddenly, I am alone and the sun has not yet even neared the eastern horizon. The empty bed beside me intensifies the empty feeling in my chest, and I clutch my warm pullover tighter around me in a protective manner. The temperature has dropped, and I watch outside the window as light flakes of snow fall to the still earth below. With each one that spirals from the dark grey clouds, a heaviness settles over me and constricts my limbs in fear.

I feel it in the depths of my bones, this icky feeling.

Something is wrong.

Terribly wrong.