Chapter 101

Lauren

I woke up gasping. My body felt like it had been flung from the stars, my skin tingling as if it had been touched by something far beyond the realm of reality. The dream clung to me, sticky as cobwebs. The Moon Goddess had been there, her great silver form shifting between wolf and woman, whispering words I didn’t fully understand.

Our blood.

I pressed my palms against my face, steadying my breath. It wasn’t the first time I’d dreamed of her, but this one had felt different. Had Abigail shared another this time? She had walked in my room before…

The weight of it lingered in my bones, a feeling I couldn’t shake even as the morning light bled through the windows.

But I didn’t have time for dreams.

Shoving the covers aside, I forced myself out of bed and it wasn’t long till I was back at the hospital, into the cold, sterile walls of the lab—doing the only thing I knew how to do.

The microscope’s glass was smudged with my fingerprints from hours before, a silent reminder of how long I’d been poring over different slides, searching for answers that refused to be found. I adjusted the focus, my pulse steadying as I returned to the familiar. Science. Data. The real world.

No some magic wolf.

On one slide, Owen’s blood glowed a deep, rich red, its cell structure slightly odd but ultimately recognizable, even if they still gave abnormalities.. Abigail’s, though—hers shimmered. It wasn’t just the way the light hit it; there was a strange iridescence, something that seemed to shift the longer I stared.

I leaned in closer. My training told me there had to be a logical explanation. A genetic mutation. A rare disorder. Something rooted in fact. But no matter how many times I ran the tests, the results were the same.

Abigail’s blood wasn’t normal.

A shiver crawled down my spine, unwanted but inevitable.

“Her life is blessed with my energy, so she could live on.”

I clenched my jaw. No. I wasn’t going to let a dream and an old goddess legend creep into my work. My family. It couldn’t be true.

I straightened, inhaling the familiar scent of antiseptic and paperwork. Science was about control. Measurable outcomes. My training as a doctor had grounded me, given me something real to hold onto when everything else—my past, my family, my own shifting identity—had slipped through my fingers.

But now… now my own daughter’s blood defied explanation.

“You’re brooding,” a voice drawled from the doorway.

I looked up, already knowing who I’d see.

Liam leaned against the frame, golden white hair slightly tousled as if he hadn’t bothered to comb it after shifting. His sharp features were softened by a smirk, his easy confidence an ever-present part of him. He was dressed well for how early it was—broad shoulders, tall, and annoyingly self-assured.

My pallet soured.

“Not brooding,” I corrected, straightening. “Thinking.”

He stepped inside, surveying the lab with casual disinterest. “Is there a difference?”

I exhaled, turning back to the microscope. “Thinking is productive.”

“And brooding?”

“Wasting time.”

Liam made a noncommittal sound, stepping closer. I didn’t have to look up to know he was studying me, the way his keen blue eyes always seemed to see more than I wanted to give away.

I wish he didn’t knwo me so well. And I wish he would just leave. Seeing him was more than unnerving now, considering everything.

“You’re still trying to explain what doesn’t need explaining,” he mused, peering at the slides on my desk.

I stiffened. “I’m trying to understand my pup’s blood.”

“There’s nothing to understand.” He picked up a slide, holding it between his fingers. “Abigail is different because of something beyond us.”

I turned, arms crossing. “That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one that matters.”

I swallowed down my frustration. This was how it always was with Liam. He had a way of making everything seem so simple, so effortless, as if all I had to do was let go of my need for logic and reason and trust that the Moon Goddess had a plan.

But that wasn’t me.

Especially when it had left me indebted to him. Of course he wouldn’t have a problem with it.

I’d spent too many years believing in things I couldn’t see only to have them shatter around me. Science had saved me, given me something real to hold onto. And now Liam wanted me to throw that away just because the Goddess said so?

“I don’t submit blindly to things I don’t understand,” I said carefully, watching him. “I find the truth.”

Liam chuckled, shaking his head. “You always were stubborn.”

He placed the slide back down with a deliberate slowness, then leaned against my desk, arms folding. “Tell me, Lauren, what’s more likely? That you, with all your fancy degrees and doctor’s logic, somehow missed something? Or that the Moon Goddess—the being who has existed far longer than your science—simply is?”

I clenched my teeth. “You think I should just stop looking? Accept her and your hold?”

“I think you’re wasting time fighting something that’s already decided. Besides, I told you, I’m on your side. I’m sure she’s visited you as well at this point.”

His tone was light, almost teasing, but there was something underneath it, something that pressed against my skin like a weight.

Liam had influence over me—but he always did being the King Alph’a son. He was older, stronger, and apparently was a devot followr of the MOnn Goddess in a way I had never known. When he spoke, people listened. When he commanded, they obeyed. Not like Alexander, but he had influence.

And when he joked, there was always something lurking beneath.

He tilted his head. “You know, if I asked, I could make you stop.”

I stiffened, my fingers curling against the desk. It was said lightly, almost playful, but the truth of it lingered. Liam had power here. Power over me. It wasn’t a joke, not to me.

“I’d like to see you try,” I said, my voice quieter than I meant it to be. Even if I knew he truly could if he wanted. It disgusted me.

His smirk deepened. “There’s the fire I like.”

The air between us tensed, the weight of his presence pressing in closer. For a brief moment, neither of us spoke. Then, finally, he pushed off the desk and stretched, all lazy confidence again.

“Keep searching if it makes you feel better,” he said, already walking toward the door. “But at some point, you’ll have to accept that not everything can be explained.”

I didn’t answer.

I waited until he was gone before exhaling, the tension in my shoulders loosening just enough for me to breathe.

I turned back to the microscope, staring down at Abigail’s shimmering blood.

“You and her are mine.”

I didn’t want to listen.

But I was starting to think I might not have a choice.