Elara woke with a start, her heart racing. The events of the previous day flooded back. Viktor's scouts. The attack in the forest. Cora's offer of escape. And Damon, snapping a man's neck without hesitation, his eyes cold and determined.
Sunlight streamed through the curtains, indicating she had slept far later than intended. After Damon had ordered her confined to the house, she had retreated to her room, claiming exhaustion. In truth, she had spent hours considering Cora's midnight offer. Escape. Freedom. But to what? And from what?
The pendant at her throat felt warm. Elara's fingers traced its spiral pattern. The same pattern Cora had identified as a royal Siren bloodline marker.
Could it really be true? She still wondered. Am I truly descended from some ancient race of supernatural beings? Or am I simply a woman with an unusual gift that these werewolves have mythologized?
A soft knock interrupted her thoughts. She tensed. Half-expecting Damon with more restrictions or demands for her safety.
"Elara?" It was Cora's voice, unexpectedly. "Are you awake?"
Elara opened the door to find Damon's sister looking remarkably recovered from yesterday's injuries. Only a faint scratch remained on her cheek. The werewolf healing had erased most evidence of the attack.
"How are you feeling?" Cora asked, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her.
"Confused," Elara admitted. "Overwhelmed." She lowered her voice. "Did you mean what you said yesterday? About helping me escape?"
Cora glanced toward the door, as if checking they would not be overheard. "Yes," she whispered. "But there has been a change of plans. Viktor's scouts have the property completely surrounded now. We would never make it past them without Damon knowing."
Disappointment and relief warred within Elara. A part of her had wanted to flee. To return to the familiar pattern of running that had defined her life for three years. But another part, a growing part, wanted answers. About what she was. About the pendant. About the power that hummed beneath her skin.
"There is something else," Cora continued. "Marlowe wants to see you. She says it is important."
"The pack elder?" Elara asked.
Cora nodded. "Marlowe is more than just our elder. She is our historian. Our keeper of knowledge. If anyone can tell you what you truly are, it is her."
Elara considered this. "And Damon? Is he still ordering me confined to the house?"
"He has been out since dawn. Patrolling the borders with half the pack. After yesterday's attack, he is taking no chances." Cora's expression softened. "He is not your jailer, Elara. He is trying to protect you. In his own stubborn, controlling way."
"That is what worries me," Elara murmured. "The line between protection and control seems very thin around here."
Cora did not disagree. "Marlowe is waiting in her study. I can take you there now, if you are ready."
After quickly dressing and splashing water on her face, Elara followed Cora through the winding corridors of the pack house. The few pack members they passed watched Elara with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. Though none displayed the open hostility of yesterday's breakfast.
"They are on edge," Cora explained as they descended a narrow staircase. "Viktor's scouts crossing our borders has everyone unsettled. It has not happened in decades."
"Because of me," Elara said quietly.
Cora glanced back at her. "Because Viktor is power-hungry and believes your voice is the key to something he wants. That is not your fault."
They reached a heavy wooden door at the end of a dimly lit hallway. Cora knocked once, then pushed it open without waiting for a response.
The air that greeted them was thick with the scent of old paper, dried herbs, and something ancient and indefinable. Elara inhaled deeply, finding the aroma strangely comforting despite its foreignness.
Marlowe's study was a treasure trove of the arcane and historical. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined the walls, filled with leather-bound tomes of varying ages. Glass cabinets displayed artifacts Elara could not begin to identify. Bones. Crystals. Vials of colored liquid. And ancient-looking weapons. A massive oak desk dominated the center of the room, its surface covered with open books and scattered notes.
The elder herself sat in a high-backed chair behind the desk. Her silver hair was pulled back in its usual severe bun. Her sharp eyes tracking their entrance. Despite her age lined face, there was an aura of strength about her that commanded respect.
"Ah, the Siren arrives," Marlowe said, setting aside the magnifying glass she had been using. "And right on time. The sun is at its zenith, when the veil between past and present is thinnest."
Elara glanced at Cora, who gave a small shrug. "Marlowe follows the old ways," she explained. "Time and celestial alignments matter to those who work with ancient powers."
"Please, sit," Marlowe gestured to a chair across from her desk. "Cora, you may stay if our guest permits it."
Elara nodded her assent, and Cora took a seat near the door. With careful movements, Marlowe opened a drawer and withdrew a key that hung from a chain around her neck. The key, Elara noticed, was made of the same silver as her pendant, with similar spiraling patterns etched into its surface.
"Your pendant," Marlowe said, her gaze fixing on Elara's throat. "You said it was your mother's?"
"Yes," Elara's hand went automatically to the silver spiral. "It is one of the few things I have from her. She died when I was young."
Marlowe's expression softened slightly. "And she never explained its significance? Its power?"
"She told me to never take it off," Elara admitted. "That it would protect me. But she died before she could tell me more. I was raised in foster care after that."
The elder nodded thoughtfully. "Protection, yes. But it is more than a simple charm." She rose from her chair with surprising grace for her age and moved to a locked cabinet in the corner of the room. The key from around her neck slid easily into the lock, which opened with a soft click.