Chapter 4 CHAPTER 4

The Blackwell Estate wasn’t a house; it was a kingdom. You could not go round it in a day.

Marble columns that reached the clouds, a driveway so long it took five minutes to drive from the gate to the main building, and gardens that looked like they were stolen from Eden itself. The mansion sat high on the cliffs of New Orleans’ private territory, overlooking the river that carried the moon’s reflection straight to its doorstep.

To outsiders, the Blackwells were old-money American aristocracy with French roots. But within the supernatural world, the name Blackwell was legendary.

They weren’t just a powerful werewolf family; they were the bloodline of Alphas.

Descendants of the first wolves who ever shifted under the goddess’s moon. The pack they ruled stretched across continents: Europe, Africa, and America. They handle gold and oil money in Africa, and their influence touches every pack, every council, and every secret dealing in the underworld of the supernatural elite.

The current Alpha, Alexander Blackwell, was a man of iron. His presence alone could silence a room.

He had the kind of power that didn’t need words; his silence was a warning. His wolf, ancient and purebred, was said to have the blood of gods.

He raised Damian with that same cold fire, strict and ruthless, but Damian missed out on being obsessed with legacy.

“Emotions are for the weak,” Alexander would say. “Loyalty to blood comes first, even before the moon.”

Damian had grown up in the limelight, not under that legacy shadow. He saw his father as one built from marble and silver, and he had expectations too heavy to breathe under.

From childhood, he was groomed and forced to learn to take over the empire: private tutors, combat masters, political mentors, and women trained to sharpen his instincts.

By sixteen, he could kill a full-grown rogue with his bare hands.

By seventeen, he’d been to more elite parties than most wolves could dream of.

And by eighteen, he was the pack’s heir, handsome, rebellious, bad, and deadly.

His mother, Seraphina Blackwell, was everything his father wasn’t: soft-spoken and regal, with eyes that saw straight through lies. But even she couldn’t protect Damian from his father’s demands.

She came from a royal bloodline of witches, a union that had been both scandalous and strategic. Her magic strengthened the family’s rule, but it also meant she knew things she was never supposed to reveal.

Lately, Seraphina had been distant, avoiding family dinners and whispering with the elders when she thought no one was listening. Damian caught fragments of her conversations, prophecies, curses, and destinies, but never the full truth.

Then, two nights ago, his father had summoned him into the council hall.

“Your behavior in New York was shameful,” Alexander said, his voice echoing through the chamber. “You are my heir, Damian. You carry the blood of the moon’s first Alpha. You will not taint it with meaningless rebellion.”

Damian clenched his fists. “You called me to New Orleans to keep me on a leash, not to lead.”

His father’s golden eyes flashed. “You will lead when I say you are ready. Until then, you obey.”

Damian wanted to roar, to fight, to show that he was already more than the boy his father thought he could control.

But instead, he walked out, his chest heavy, his pulse wild.

And that’s when the scent hit him.

Faint. Familiar. Silver and moonlight. The memories came sharp and comforted him.

He froze. His wolf stirred violently beneath his skin.

He didn’t know her name, but he remembered her touch. The wildness. The way she had glowed beneath him. The colour of her fur.

He wanted to find her again, but every instinct warned him that she was forbidden. How could her fur be so rare?

Because the Blackwell prophecy was clear:

“When the golden heir binds with the cursed blood, the moon will fall and the empire will burn.”

He had heard it all his life, a prophecy so old, it was carved into the Blackwell throne room walls.

His father had killed dozens of wolves that even resembled the “cursed bloodline.”

Anyone who had the streak of silver was killed, and the bloodline was eliminated, but her whole fur was sparkling silver. Her silver was almost transparent.

And Damian had just mated with one. Shivers ran down his spine.

Unknowingly, he had become the trigger of the very prophecy his father feared.

Now, the golden heir and the outcast girl from the border were bound by blood, lust, and destiny, a bond that could end them both.

He needed to go for a rain run in his wolf form; he craved to run aimlessly in Eden Forest and see the other parts of town, which he did.

As it rained, he ran and let his instincts lead him. They lead his golden eyes deep towards the end of the Eden forest.