CHAPTER 49: TALES OF BLOOD

I hadn’t noticed it at first, when I entered the greenhouse.

The beautiful flowers, the shadows clinging to him, the thorns and vines all around had pulled my focus elsewhere.

But now that he sat across from me, closer than he had been before, I saw them clearly.

Most wolf shifters I knew had two shades to their gaze. Their normal color, and the gold their wolves showed when they shifted. Sometimes, when they touched upon their gifts, the rare abilities passed through bloodlines, their eyes would flicker, burn brighter, or even take on some faint glow.

I had grown up watching it. My late aunt’s eyes had gleamed brighter when she healed wounds with nothing but her touch.

Finn’s, when his fire crackled at his fingertips, burned like embers caught in a storm.

But I got a feeling this was a different case.

I remembered Rion’s crimson eyes last night in his human form. They had burned like bloodlit coals, terrifying and relentless.

But now they were clear, vivid, startling as the sea on a bright day. Not glowing, not flickering with power. Almost normal.

Almost.

Well, at least his gift was no mystery. Shadows clung to him the way wolves clung to the moon.

I had seen them myself—the way they curled, whispered, shivered around him like living things. It was the gift everyone knew belonged to the Alpha of Undercity. The gift that made the world call him devil incarnate.

But was that the only power he possessed?

I couldn’t be sure. If there was one thing I was learning, it was that Rion Morrigan held far more than he revealed.

My gaze lingered on him, unbidden thoughts crowding in.

He was hated by every pack beyond these walls. The Unified Alliance, an entire coalition of Alphas who swore by their so-called peace, wanted him gone. Erased.

They had tried for years, sending their warriors, forging plans in secret.

Yet the Undercity remained untouched. Unscathed. As though their claws and their their fangs could not pierce its walls.

That alone was enough proof of his strength. Of why he terrified them.

And yet, instead of victory, all the Alliance could do was whisper their desperate hopes.

That the Celestial Wolf would wake at last.

The legend had been drilled into me since childhood, told around fires as though it were truth.

A wolf born centuries ago, blessed by the moon itself. She would awaken from her slumber when the time is right, mate with a chosen Alpha, and together their strength would be unparalleled.

The Alliance believed she was their answer. That when she opened her eyes, she would be bound to one of them, and together they would wipe out the Undercity, finally ending Rion Morrigan’s reign.

I almost laughed aloud at the thought.

To me, it had always sounded like a children’s tale.

A bedtime story meant to soothe pups who were frightened of the dark. A convenient excuse for the Alliance to cling to while their warriors kept failing.

If she was real... if the Celestial Wolf still walked this world, why had she not awoken for centuries?

Why let generations rise and fall, wars rage and end, packs crumble, and still lie silent?

My jaw clenched. No, I couldn’t believe in children’s tales. Not anymore.

"My eyes are only the color of blood during the night," Rion’s voice cut through my thoughts.

I jolted slightly, realizing I’d been staring at him too long.

"So..." I hesitated, leaning forward as if clarity would come if I could see them closer. "This is your normal eye color?"

He tilted his head, and that faint smirk curved his lips again, taunting and sensual all at once.

"Both eye colors are normal for me."

He let the words hang, his gaze locked to mine, waiting for me to make sense of it.

Then, slowly, he added, "It’s always been like that in my family."

I tried to think about the stories about I heard about him before. I didn’t pay much attention then.

I searched my memory, clawing at the scraps of rumors I had once heard about him but never cared enough to believe.

They said his bloodline was cursed for striking a bargain with some ancient devil sealed in another realm.

Others whispered that his eyes had turned because he had killed too many, that each life stolen left a mark.

The most absurd tale claimed he bathed in the blood of his victims every full moon, and the demon rewarded him with its gaze.

Exaggerations, no doubt. But stories had to start somewhere.

And now that I was here, I wasn’t so sure where the line between lies and truth was drawn.

The Undercity wasn’t the grotesque pit I had once imagined. Terrifying, yes. But not ugly, not dead. The stone walls shimmered faintly, impossibly beautiful, as though they held starlight within. Even its people, when I observed them at the party, seemed... normal. Laughing, dancing, drinking. Not all were monsters.

But that didn’t erase what Rion and his men had done on Levian lands.

The smoke. The flames. The screams.

I should be grateful, I reminded myself. Grateful that Rion’s fire had created my chance to escape.

But gratitude soured quickly when I thought of the charred houses, the broken families.

If I had stayed with Finn, endured him, would my mother still be alive?

The thought stabbed deep, leaving me breathless.

Maybe it was my fault. Maybe my selfishness had paved the way to her death.

"Are you fascinated?" Rion’s voice, again, cut through the spiral of my thoughts. His sea-green eyes caught the light like polished glass.

"Intrigued," I answered.

He lifted his glass, sipping leisurely, eyes never leaving me. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating, until I broke it out.

"You must have had fun last night," I said dryly.

I couldn’t stand the quiet. Not with his gaze stripping me bare, not with my own thoughts clawing at me. His eyes felt like knives peeling away my confidence.

"Well," I went on, the words spilling sharper, "I figured after you burned my pack’s town, you must have treated it as a gift for yourself."

His chuckle was soft, amused, as though I had told a clever joke instead of spoken of death.

As if lives reduced to ash were no more than entertainment.

My stomach twisted hard, bile rising in my throat. I wanted to ruin the perfect table, to spill it across his fine plates and wipe that wicked amusement off his face.

Anything to shatter that calm.