Chapter 4 Chapter 4: The Lost Bloodline
The vision shattered.
Amanda stumbled backward. Her breathing was ragged.
Her birthmark still burned, but the heat was fading now.
What was that?
She'd never had a vision like that before. Never felt her gift react so violently.
The silver wolf. The chains.
Amanda pressed her hand against her collarbone. She felt the residual warmth beneath her fingers.
The wolf had called her name.
She needed answers.
The Kingswell library was empty at this hour.
Everyone else was either asleep or pretending Amanda didn't exist. Both worked in her favor.
She moved through the shadowed stacks. Her fingers trailed along leather spines. Her family kept an extensive collection, though she doubted anyone actually read half these books.
They were just another display of wealth and status.
Amanda pulled down volumes on pack history, on Alphas and bloodlines. She needed to understand what she was walking into.
Finally, she found it. A leather-bound book of newspaper clippings, carefully preserved.
The Nightfang Chronicle: Twenty Years of Leadership.
She carried it to a reading table and opened it carefully.
The first clipping showed a young boy, maybe ten years old, holding up a trophy. His smile was bright and fearless.
Derek Livingston Wins Junior Pack Championship.
Amanda turned the page.
More clippings. More photos.
Derek at fifteen, leading a successful hunt. Derek at eighteen, defending Nightfang borders against rogues. Derek at twenty-one, standing beside his father at a formal pack gathering. He looked every inch the future Alpha.
He'd been magnificent.
Strong. Confident. Admired.
In every photo, his gray eyes blazed with certainty. Like he knew exactly who he was and where he belonged.
Amanda traced her finger over one image. Derek was mid-shift, caught between man and wolf. Pure power radiated from every line of his body.
This was the man everyone mourned. The golden heir who'd fallen.
She turned another page and found the last clipping.
Tragedy Strikes During Ritual Hunt: Heir's Wolf Mysteriously Bound.
The photo showed Derek being carried from the Sacred Grove. His face was twisted in agony. His father's expression was shattered.
After that, nothing.
No more newspaper features. No more celebrations.
Just silence.
Amanda closed the book slowly.
They were both broken in different ways, she realized. Derek had lost his wolf, his identity, everything that defined him. And she... she'd never been allowed to have those things in the first place.
The cursed heir and the invisible daughter.
Maybe they were more alike than anyone knew.
Miles away, at Nightfang Pack, Derek sat in his study. A thin folder lay open on the desk before him.
Amanda Kingswell's file.
He'd been staring at it for twenty minutes, and it hadn't gotten any more impressive.
Age: 24. Wolf form: Russet-brown, smaller than average. Notable achievements: None listed.
Pack standing: Daughter of Alpha Lucian Kingswell. Younger sister to Lena Kingswell.
That was it. That was everything the Kingswells deemed worth mentioning about their own daughter.
Derek leaned back in his chair. His jaw was tight.
They were sending him scraps. A daughter so unremarkable they couldn't even fill a single page about her.
A knock sounded at his door.
"Come in," Derek called, not looking up.
Silas entered and closed the door behind him. He glanced at the open folder and raised an eyebrow.
"Your future bride?"
"Apparently." Derek shoved the file across the desk. "Take a look. Tell me if you see anything worth marrying."
Silas picked it up and scanned the contents. His expression remained neutral, but Derek caught the slight downturn of his mouth.
"Well," Silas said finally. "At least she's pretty. In a plain sort of way."
He turned the file around, showing Derek the single photo attached.
Amanda Kingswell stood in what looked like a pack gathering photo. She was positioned slightly behind her sister. Her chestnut hair was pulled back. Her hazel eyes looked somewhere off-camera. She wore a simple dress that did nothing to distinguish her from the background.
She looked like someone trying very hard not to be seen.
"Pretty," Derek repeated flatly. "That's your assessment?"
Silas set the file down. "What do you want me to say? That she's going to solve all your problems? That this marriage is anything other than a political transaction?"
"I want you to tell me why I'm doing this." Derek stood abruptly and paced to the window. "Why I'm letting them parade me around like I'm worth something when we both know I'm not."
"You're worth more than you think."
"I can't shift, Silas." Derek's voice was raw. "I can't protect this pack. I can't lead them. And now they're forcing me to marry a woman who's probably as disappointed in this arrangement as I am."
"She might surprise you."
Derek laughed. The sound was bitter and sharp. "Look at that file. There's nothing there. No accomplishments, no strength, nothing. They're sending me their leftover daughter because I'm their leftover son."
Silas was quiet for a moment. Then he moved closer. His voice was careful.
"Maybe that's not such a bad thing. Maybe someone who understands what it's like to be overlooked is exactly what you need."
Derek wanted to throw something. The file. The desk. Himself out the damn window.
Instead, he grabbed the folder and hurled it across the room.
Papers scattered across the floor. Amanda's photo landed face-up. Her hazel eyes stared at nothing.
"I don't want a pity bride," Derek said quietly.
Silas bent down and gathered the papers. "Then don't treat her like one."
He placed the reassembled file back on Derek's desk, gave him a long look, and left.
Derek stood alone. He stared at the scattered remnants of Amanda Kingswell's unremarkable life.
Two weeks until she became the complication he didn’t need.
Two weeks until they were both trapped in a marriage neither of them wanted.
Amanda returned to the library the next night. She was drawn by questions she couldn't answer.
The vision haunted her. The silver wolf. The chains. The way it had called her name.
There had to be something in these books about curses. About binding magic. About why her gift had reacted so strongly.
She pulled down volumes on ancient magic, on bloodline abilities, on pack curses throughout history.
Most of it was dry theory. Nothing that explained what she'd experienced.
Amanda was replacing a particularly useless tome when she heard footsteps.
She froze.
"Well, well." Lena's voice cut through the silence like a blade. "The little mouse has come out to play."
Amanda turned slowly.
Her sister stood in the doorway, wearing a silk robe tailored to perfection. Her blonde hair fell in perfect waves. Her smile gleamed with practiced precision.
"I'm just reading," Amanda said.
"Reading." Lena strolled closer. Her eyes scanned the books Amanda had pulled down. "About curses? About magic? Let me guess. You're planning to fix your broken husband?"
Amanda's hands clenched. "That's none of your business."
"Oh, but it is." Lena picked up one of the books and flipped through it carelessly. "Because it's pathetic. You can't even fix yourself, Amanda. You're nobody. You have nothing. And now you think you're going to save Derek Livingston?"
"I never said..."
"You didn't have to." Lena dropped the book back on the table with a thud. "Everyone knows you're being thrown away. Used. You're a bargaining chip, nothing more. And Derek? He's getting exactly what he deserves. The cursed heir and the useless daughter. It's almost poetic."
Heat flooded Amanda's cheeks. "At least I'm not cruel."
"No, you're just weak." Lena leaned in close. "Enjoy your loveless marriage, little mouse. I'm sure you and your broken Alpha will be very happy together in your mutual misery."
She swept out of the library. Her laughter echoed behind her.
Amanda stood trembling. Her fists were clenched so tight her nails bit into her palms.
She wanted to scream. To throw books. To shift and run until her legs gave out.
But she did none of those things.
Instead, she turned back to the shelves. She was determined to find answers.
Her hand brushed against a spine she hadn't noticed before.
The book was small, bound in dark leather that seemed to absorb light. No title marked its cover.
Amanda pulled it free.
The moment her fingers touched it, her birthmark flared hot.
She gasped and nearly dropped the volume.
Golden light pulsed from her collarbone. It was brighter than she'd ever seen. The book hummed in her hands. It was responding to something inside her.
With shaking fingers, Amanda opened it.
The pages were filled with elegant script, written in a language she didn't recognize. But as she stared at the words, they began to shift. They rearranged themselves.
Until she could read them.
The Lost Bloodlines: A History of Forgotten Gifts.
Amanda's breath caught.
She turned pages carefully. Her birthmark glowed brighter with each one.
Then the book fell open on its own.
The pages settled on a chapter near the end, and Amanda's heart stopped.
The Curse-Breaker Bloodline.
