Lena's POV
The room was thick with silence, broken only by the steady crackle of the fireplace. Damien stood across from me, his silver eyes fixed on the mark on my shoulder like it was some kind of puzzle he was trying to solve.
"What does it mean, Damien?" I asked, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to sound steady.
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he walked over to his desk, his movements deliberate, and pulled out a weathered leather-bound book. He opened it to a page that seemed to have been visited many times before.
"The crest," he said finally, pointing to an intricately drawn symbol on the page, identical to the mark on my shoulder. "It belongs to the Cross family."
I frowned, the name sending an inexplicable chill down my spine. "Who are the Cross family?"
"They're more than just a family," Damien said, his tone dark and reverent all at once. "They're a bloodline tied to the origins of werewolf royalty. Legends say they were the first to form a pact with the moon goddess, granting them power and dominion over all packs. But their bloodline disappeared centuries ago."
"Disappeared?" I echoed, the word catching in my throat. "You mean, like... wiped out?"
"Some say they were hunted," Damien replied, closing the book with a heavy thud. "Others believe they went into hiding, their blood diluted over generations until they were unrecognizable. But the crest... that mark on your shoulder... it's unmistakable."
I shook my head, stepping back as if I could distance myself from the truth. "You're saying I'm part of this Cross family? That I'm some kind of werewolf royalty?"
"I'm saying it's a possibility," Damien said, his gaze sharp and probing. "One we can't ignore."
I laughed bitterly, the sound hollow and foreign even to my ears. "That's insane. I'm just... me. Lena. A bartender who's way out of her depth in all of this."
"Lena," Damien said, his voice softening in a way that made my heart twist. "You can't deny what's in front of you. That mark didn't just appear out of nowhere."
I looked down at my shoulder, the symbol still faintly glowing as if to mock me. "It doesn't make sense," I whispered. "Why would my family keep this from me? Why wouldn't they tell me the truth?"
Damien hesitated, his expression unreadable. "Maybe they were trying to protect you."
"Protect me from what?" I snapped, my frustration boiling over. "From you? From Victor? From whatever this prophecy is that everyone keeps hinting at but no one will explain?"
"Yes," Damien said simply, his calmness only stoking my anger.
I turned away, running a hand through my hair as I tried to piece together the fragmented memories of my childhood. My parents had always been secretive, overly cautious. But I'd chalked it up to their own quirks, their way of dealing with the world.
And then, like a jolt of lightning, a memory surfaced.
"Stay away from the Cross family, Lena. Promise me."
My father's voice was sharp, urgent, the words etched into my mind like a scar. I'd been no older than ten, standing in our old kitchen as he gripped my shoulders with trembling hands.
"Dad, I don't even know who they are," I'd said, confused and a little scared by the intensity in his eyes.
"You don't need to know," he'd insisted. "Just promise me, Lena. No matter what happens, stay away from them."
The memory faded, leaving me breathless.
"Lena?" Damien's voice pulled me back to the present.
I turned to face him, my knees threatening to give out. "My dad," I said, my voice barely audible. "He warned me about the Cross family. Told me to stay away from them."
Damien's expression darkened, his jaw tightening. "Did he say why?"
"No," I admitted, the weight of the memory pressing down on me. "But he was scared. I could see it in his eyes."
Damien stepped closer, his presence both grounding and overwhelming. "That means he knew. About the crest, about the bloodline. And if he was scared, it wasn't without reason."
I met his gaze, my heart pounding. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying," Damien said, his voice low and deliberate, "that there's more to your past than you realize. And if your father was afraid of the Cross family, it's because he knew the dangers tied to that bloodline. Dangers that are now tied to you."
I swallowed hard, my mind racing with questions I wasn't sure I wanted the answers to. "But what does that mean for me now? For Ethan? For any of this?"
"It means," Damien said, his eyes blazing with determination, "that we need to uncover the truth. And fast. Because if Victor knows who you are—or what you are—he won't stop until he gets what he wants."
I shivered at the thought, the memory of Victor's ultimatum still fresh in my mind. "What does he want with me?"
"That," Damien said grimly, "is the question we need to answer."
Before I could respond, a knock at the door interrupted us. One of Damien's pack members stepped inside, his expression tense.
"Alpha, we've got a situation," he said, his voice clipped.
Damien's eyes never left mine as he responded. "What is it?"
"Victor's wolves," the man said. "They're moving closer to our borders. It's only a matter of time before they make a move."
Damien nodded, his calm demeanor belying the storm brewing beneath the surface. "Prepare the pack. I want everyone on high alert."
"Yes, Alpha." The man disappeared as quickly as he'd appeared, leaving us alone once more.
Damien turned back to me, his expression softer now. "You're not safe here, Lena. Not as long as Victor is out there."
"I don't care about safe," I said, surprising even myself with the conviction in my voice. "I care about answers."
"Then you're in the right place," Damien said, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
But even as he said the words, I couldn't shake the feeling that the answers I was seeking would only lead to more questions.
And more danger.
That night, as I lay in the unfamiliar bed Damien had insisted I take, I couldn't stop staring at the mark on my shoulder. It felt like a brand, a weight I hadn't asked for but couldn't escape.
And then the memory came again, clearer this time.
"Stay away from the Cross family."
But this time, my father's voice was accompanied by something else—a shadowy figure lurking just out of view, its presence cold and menacing.
I bolted upright, my breathing ragged, the image seared into my mind.
What had my father been so afraid of? And what had he been willing to do to keep me away from it?
As the questions swirled in my mind, I knew one thing for certain: the answers weren't going to come easy.
And they weren't going to come without a fight.