Chapter 237

Olivia

The ornate front door had barely closed behind the departing Elders when the weight of their confrontation settled heavily upon my shoulders.

The room’s oppressive stillness seemed to ripple with leftover energy from whatever strange surge had come from within me, making my skin tingle. My breathing was ragged, and I felt the wetness of unshed tears stinging the back of my eyes.

Angela, always so composed, appeared visibly shaken as she pulled her shawl tighter around herself. My eyes, however, were drawn to Nathan, whose wide, piercing eyes bore into mine with an intensity I had never seen before.

“What... What just happened?” The words slipped out of my mouth, soft and disbelieving.

With a worried sigh, Nathan laid Elliot gently back in his crib, worry etched in his eyes. “You need to rest first,” he murmured, his own brow furrowed in deep thought.

“No,” I said defiantly, narrowing my eyes. “I need to understand what just happened. My… My wolf…”

“We can talk about it later,” Nathan interjected, his voice firm and unrelenting. “And you’re bleeding again.”

Glancing down, I noticed fresh blood seeping through the popped stitches on my leg.

Angela gasped. “Olivia!” she hissed. “You didn’t get involved in the battle, did you?”

I shook my head. “Just popped some stitches,” I murmured, noticing now how my head felt light and fuzzy now that my wolf’s power had receded. Was it a symptom of this strange power, or just blood loss?

Either way, in my distress over the Elders, I had almost completely forgotten about the injury I had sustained while trying to run from the battle. The sharp sting was grounding, pulling me back from the brink of the abyss my mind was teetering on.

Within moments, Angela was by my side, medical kit in hand. She worked deftly, re-stitching the wound. Her touch was gentle, but the pain of each stitch was a stark contrast to the numbness in my head.

“Try to rest,” she whispered, squeezing my hand comfortingly before making her exit.

…

The bedroom, where I had been resting all day, had grown dark, and the weight of the day pressed down on me. Fevered heat coursed through my veins, leaving me restless. A cold sweat was caked to my back, leaving me miserable.

Sleep was a distant mirage, its promise slipping through my fingers each time I tried to grasp it.

Driven by a compulsion I couldn’t understand, I rose from the bed. The twins’ soft breaths echoed in the stillness as I tiptoed to their room. Their peaceful sleep was a balm to my chaotic thoughts.

“Both still here,” I whispered, taking in their peaceful features as they slept. “As it should be.”

Continuing my aimless wandering, the hushed whispers of the past beckoned. My aunt’s hidden library, a treasure trove of secrets buried deep within the recesses of the house, surfaced in my mind.

Drawn to the idea of answers or maybe just a distraction, I found myself at the entrance to the basement.

I paused for a moment, my hand hovering over the doorknob, the promise of knowledge just beyond reach. Taking a deep breath, I turned the handle and descended into the hidden library.

The library was unlike any other room in the house.

Hidden from the casual observer, it was a relic from a bygone era. Bookshelves, ornately carved with intricate patterns, spanned from floor to ceiling, their dark wooden hue contrasting against the pale stone walls.

Candles, encased in delicate silver holders, just waited to be lit. I carefully ignited each one, feeling a strange comfort in the way that the soft amber light illuminated the dusty little room.

Dust hung in the air, illuminated in the candlelight.

“I should really clean this place out,” I murmured to myself. “Do it some justice.”

The air was thick, laden with the scent of musty paper, leather, and a hint of old incense. The gentle hum of the outside world was muffled here, replaced by the soft whispers of turning pages and the distant echo of memories.

I began my search systematically, scouring each shelf, my fingertips gently brushing over the spines of books and the edges of scrolls. Each title seemed more intriguing than the last. “Histories of the Ancient Packs,” “Legends of the Full Moon,” “The Mysticism of the Lycan Bloodline.” But none directly addressed the peculiarity of my experiences.

I pulled out a thick tome bound in faded leather. It seemed old, maybe older than the house itself. The pages were thick, yellowed with age. I opened it gingerly, and the familiar but illegible script of my aunt stared back at me.

“What could possibly hide such a secret?” I mumbled to myself, my frustration evident.

As hours seemed to pass, my dedication wavered. The weight of the day, combined with the fever, was taking its toll. I leaned against the desk, pinching the bridge of my nose.

Just then, a particular scroll, hidden beneath a stack of books, caught my attention. The wax seal that held it was cracked, and the edges were tattered. I picked it up, feeling a strange connection, an uncanny familiarity.

But as I unfurled it, disappointment washed over me. There were symbols, diagrams, but nothing I recognized. Nothing about ancient powers, golden wolves, or visions.

“Ugh!” I groaned, placing my head in my hands. Every fiber of my being ached for understanding.

Why had my wolf shown such strength? Why had she been dormant? My father’s protective spell, the one keeping my wolf dormant, loomed in my mind. Had he known? Had he sought to protect me or, perhaps, to protect the world from me?

The soft sound of footsteps made me look up, and I saw Nathan at the entrance, watching me with a mixture of concern and understanding.

“Couldn't sleep?” he asked softly, stepping into the room, the candlelight illuminating the sharp planes of his face.

I gave a half-smile, shaking my head. “I thought I might find some answers here. But it’s just riddles and stories. And dust.”

He approached, his fingers tracing the spine of a book. “Sometimes riddles and stories hold more truth than we give them credit for.”

I held up the scroll that had piqued my interest earlier. “Like this? It’s just symbols. Nothing about strange powers or bloodlines.”

Nathan took the scroll, his brow furrowing as he studied it. “This isn’t just any script, Olivia. It’s ancient Lycan hieroglyphics.”

I blinked in surprise. “Can you read it?”

He shook his head. “Not fluently. But I recognize some symbols. They speak of a time of rebirth, a new cycle.”

I sighed, passing my hand over my tired face. “So more riddles. Great.”

He pondered for a moment, then met my eyes. “You know, when I first heard about your wolf’s pelt, its unique hue, I thought it might be an exaggeration. But after today…”

He trailed off, and I urged him on. “What is it, Nathan?”

He hesitated, taking a deep breath. “The Ancient Wolf’s fur was golden, Olivia.”

A chill settled in my bones at Nathan’s words. “You’re not seriously saying…”

Nathan nodded slowly. “Olivia, I think you might be the next incarnation of the Ancient Wolf.”