AVARA

I wake up with my head pounding, my throat dry and my skin clammy. I lie still on the bed, not bothering to move, trying to gather myself, narrowing my eyes because the sunlight streaming into the room is stabbing at my eyes.

It had been one hell of a night.

I close my eyes tighter, press onto my memory and fragments of the dream and visions I had the other night claw at my mind.

Hide the spark.

What the hell is this spark?

Nyxarel.

That one came to me in a dream. Same frantic female voice. And right after that, I heard shadows of a voice that sounded like my adopted father's voice.

What the hell is a Nyxarel?

And then blood, so much blood, tracing lines across persons whose faces I cannot identify. Cold eyes. Golden eyes. Fire and death.

The thud in my head becomes worse and I instinctively force myself upright and reach for the bottle in my nightstand. I take a swig and the headache dies down, the voices silence, whatever has been stirring inside of me recedes and I begin to feel a bit normal.

"Just a dream. It's just a nightmare."

I've had crazy nightmares before. In fact, I used to have them a lot as a child and my screams through the night irritated Silas so much that he took me to a doctor who gave me that lifesaving liquid of gold. My medication. The one thing that keeps me normal, keeps me sane.

And I stopped having the nightmares until the events of last night.

But last night was different. Everything was so visceral, so clear, so real. As though a part of my memory was pulled open and contents poured out in disarray.

A loud knock resounds at my door.

"Come in." I sigh, already knowing who it is. Only one person knocks on my door like he owns the place.

Julian steps in. He looks at me with a smile which immediately changes to a frown.

"Just waking up from sleep, dove? It's almost 10 am."

"It is?" I check my clock and indeed, it is 10am. That means that I have been asleep for almost 12 hours. "I had a rough, crazy night."

As I say it, I immediately regret those words, because I know exactly what is coming next.

"Nightmares?"

"I mean, it depends what..."

"Avara, you have to be taking your medication. You know this. You know what happens if you fail to do so."

"I do take them religiously," I hiss, already irritated. "I'm not stupid, I'm not a fucking child."

Julian crosses his hands. "Well, love, I'm not saying that you are lying, but you only have nightmares when you do not take them, so care to explain why you had a rough night last night?"

I almost begin talking about the necklace and what happened when I touched it, but I decide against it. Julian acts like he is my father's right hand man. If I tell Julian, then Silas knows, and if Silas knows, my necklace, the only connection I have to whatever life I used to live before my people died and I was adopted, will be taken from me.

"Yes?"

"Stop breathing over my neck, Julian. I find you incredibly irritating when you do so."

Julian walks towards me. "I know I can be overbearing, but I only am like that because I care for you, baby. I know how it used to be for you. I don't want you to go back to the night terrors and the screams, the sleepwalking, the paleness. That's why I get on your neck so much about it. Don't be mad at me." He lifts up my hand and plants a long, drawn out kiss.

"You know I love you, so, so much, Avara."

Before I can react, his mouth is warm against mine, in the familiar way that should be comforting. He settles into the regular rhythm, and I move my lips accordingly, placing my hands lightly on his shoulders, following the motions out of habit, a performance, really.

I tell myself that this is what love feels like.

Comfortable, reassuring love. My father told me that love doesn't always have to be invigorating, there is no need for a racing pulse, butterflies in the belly, all that nonsense.

Love is stability. And that is what Julian is.

Still, I don't understand why something in my chest tightens every time I tell myself that he is my happily ever after.

Julian pulls away reluctantly and looks a bit dazed. He laughs like a little boy as he always does whenever we get intimate.

"Wow, you really are something, Avara."

His hand moves suggestively towards my tights and I gently pry his hands away. He has tried so many times to take us further than a kiss. I have always resisted, not because I am particularly moral or give two shits about purity before marriage, hell no one in the park gives two shits about that.

I guess I'm just waiting for... I don't know, for me to feel something. For me to want to do so with Julian. For me to imagine having sex with him and feel something other than coldness.

He sighs and looks ready to get into an argument we have had so many times but decides against it.

He stands up and arranges his hair. "Anyways, I came to tell you that your presence will be required at the Silvermoon hall this evening. Your father is hosting a welcome party of sorts for your long lost brother." He basically snarls the last few words before storming off.

By evening, the Silvermoon mansion has been completely transformed and the scent of roasting meat and expensive scotch fills the air. I walk down, wearing a green silk gown that reaches my ankles, my hair tied up and my head lowered, just as Silas prefers. I catch a glimpse of Kaeden in a corner, deep in conversation with someone who I immediately recognize to be Elias Kore, the lorekeeper of the pack.

Of course he would be in touch with the man. The lorekeeper controls and holds knowledge of the laws and judgments, precedents and interpretation and history of the werewolf pack. That would be the perfect person to have on your side if you desire a smooth ride into power.

Immediately I step into the hall, Julian appears by my side and slides his hand onto my waist.

"Can you imagine? All this for an idiot prodigal son, coming to claim a throne that he has never worked for, that he has never bled for."

"Silas is just keeping appearances. He didn't seem all thrilled and excited when Kaeden returned."

Kaeden walks in and immediately his dark eyes meet mine. He looks at me for a brief moment, then glares at Julian and walks towards the head table.

I don't know why it feels like the air gets thicker whenever he looks at me.

I take his presence as my cue to move too, and soon, Julian and I are settled at the head table, sipping wine and feasting on venison.

Silas rises from his seat, a smile on his lips. He lifts his cup and the pack goes silent.

"My pack," he says warmly, too warmly. "Tonight, we celebrate blood returning to blood."

He looks at Kaeden who is seated, silent, lips tight, face unreadable.

"My son has finally found his way home. After 15 long years. Long enough for seasons and loyalties to change, for responsibilities to be carried by those who chose to stay and grow with the pack."

A strange tension fills the air. I shift uncomfortably in my seat and straighten my gown.

Silas doesn't stop. Instead, he raises his cup a little higher. "It takes courage to return after years of running from responsibility and deem oneself ready and fit to take the ultimate responsibility for the pack. Especially when one has conveniently spared himself from years of discipline, from the harder years of growth, from the necessary sacrifices needed to become a leader."

Father still has that smile on his lips, and I shiver, immediately coming to terms with the knowledge that Silas does not want to give Kaeden the throne, however certain his birthright may be, and is trying to ensure that the entire pack agrees with his decision.

Now however much I agree with the fact that Kaeden does not deserve the throne and leadership, a deep-seated fear is slowly arising. The order of succession wasn't just arbitrarily chosen by the pack. It was ordained by the moon goddess.

What happens when a pack chooses to go against it?

"But we are generous people," Silas continues brightly. "We forgive easily. We welcome openly. And that is our strength."

A soft reluctant cheer goes through the crowd.

"As we know, some people are born to lead. Others, to wander, to discover who they... truly are, far from duty, far from consequences."

How that smile has not yet falters even as he spills bile from his mouth, I do not know. And I don't know whether to be scared or to be intimidated.

"But tonight, we do not dwell on the past." He lifts his cup fully. "To family. To home. To my long-lost son, finally back to his senses, at just the... perfect time. Cheers!"

Kaeden doesn't raise his glass.

Before the party properly dies out, Kaeden is out of the hall, and nobody bothers to look for him.

I take my last glass of wine, ready to crash to bed. As I place the cup and move to walk out, I feel a large hand grab mine. I turn to face my father.

"My study, Avara. Now."

SILAS

"Julius informed me that you collapsed last night."

I bear it in mind to carefully study my little harvest as I speak, catching every hint of her body language to ensure that I am consistently in control in this delicate conversation that we are about to have.

She forces a fake bout of laugher. I have known for quite some time that she has resented the fact that Julius has acted like a hawk over her life, constantly questioning her and returning to me. I also know that she has chosen to be quiet about the situation because I have carefully trained her to believe that she owes a debt to the park, to me. I don't even think she has gotten to develop love for the young man for the past two years that they have been together. But I know that she will not leave him until her dying days because she believes it to be her duty.

Well, luckily for her, her dying days are fast approaching.

"He told me that he thinks you have not been consistent with your medication."

"I have, father. What happened last night..."

"Was as a result of some other reason other than your failure to follow instructions? Your insistence of placing me with the burden of having to deal with episodes of the likes you used to have as a child?"

"No, father. Gosh, no. I hate what used to happen to me as a child and I am most abundantly grateful for the medication. I take it religiously every night."

"So what happened?"

She hesitates. "I.. I touched my necklace. The one I came here with. And then, I blanked out."

The necklace? No, it is powerless, I made sure of that before letting her come with it here as a performance of empathy. She touched it and fainted?

"What a ridiculous story."

"Believe me, father. It's real."

It will need to be investigated into, then.

"And where is this necklace?"

"I didn't pick it up for fear but I am certain that it has been placed on the shelves by the maids, and since there was no call for alarm, without the same episode as I had."

Hmmm. My mind is racing. Could that, could that possibly be a tool? Something that could help? Or a hindrance, perhaps?

"Well, I will have the necklace examined to find out the truth of your words. But for now, I have a theory of my own. My theory is that you are growing older, growing different."

"Different?"

I edge closer. "Yes, different. More sensitive. More affected by the park, our powers."

She frowns. "And that is bad?"

"I believe so. Or well, it can be. If left unmanaged. I believe that to truly cure you of these maladies, permanently, we may need to take more stringent measures."

I realize at this point that I need to put on the performance of sympathy and care. So, I let my expression constrict to something warm and fatherly and place a hand over hers.

"More stringent measures, father?"

"Yes. Something to give you a permanent cure. No one should be hooked on medication for the rest of her life and certainly not my daughter. So, I have been in consultation with a lot of... doctors, spell makers, the likes, searching for a cure for you. And I am glad to announce to you that I think I may have found one."

There's disbelief across her face, a result of the years of dependency on medication.

"You've always trusted me, haven't you?"

The brief moment of hesitation before her nod angers me terribly, but I withhold myself from harming her for her brief display of ingratitude and disloyalty. She is needed, after all.

"Scyla. Come in."

I have done a wonderful job of dressing the Lamashtu demon as a respectable person with the knowledge of medication and a bit of the mythical scientific arts. She looks almost believable.

"This is Dr. Scyla. She will be in charge of taking you through the process of purification and empowerment."

"What, father? I thought that I will simply be receiving some more medication, stronger ones."

I laugh. The silly fool.

"Medication? Of course not. What has availed you is stronger than what simple medication can handle, my dear daughter. Medication can only subdue the symptoms, never cure the cause. For your treatment, you will be empowered with enough magick to enable your body to completely expel the negative effects of your powerlessness in the midst of the supernatural."

"I will be made a magical creature?" She perks up.

"I mean, you may gain some powers on the path to your cure, I guess. But the ultimate aim is your freedom from the torments and the faintings and the nightmares and all that you have had to suffer due to your deficiency as a human."

"Okay, father." The excitement underlying her tone makes me want to burst into further laugher. "What do I have to do?"

"You would need to go through a series of... let's call them rituals."

KAEDEN

I lean against the stone railing of one of the dark balconies of the mansion, seething, my father's words ringing in my ears.

To my long-lost son, finally back to his senses, at just the... perfect time.

I anticipated this, knew that he was going to slowly ensure that the hearts of the entire pack would be against me. I just didn't anticipate the build up of anger that I would feel whilst watching it happen in real time.

I straighten myself. I really shouldn't bother myself so much, reeling over his words. Not when there is urgent action to be done. Not when I need to move more quickly in showing my pack why I truly left.

Elias Kore, the lorekeeper, was one of the few people that I had informed of my plans to leave the pack and why and ever since I left, he has acted as my inside man, feeding me with information about the pack, my father's usurpation of power and forceful expansion of the pack, of the depletion of the magical creatures in my father's reign, of my father's plans for immortality.

Tonight, he informed me of something terrifying. Father has brought in a Lamashtu demon, a terrifying creature of the darkest pits of magic, to the mansion. He said that my father intends to begin the rituals to unnatural immortality. And he informed me that he believes that my father may have in his possession, tucked away in some dungeon or something, a Nyxarel, the only one of this generation, and that with the Nyxarel in his possession, he finally has the major ingredient to initiate the process of immortality.

But I have a different theory as to exactly who this Nyxarel is. In fact, I believe that father has had the Nyxarel in his possession for quite some time and has just spent time gathering other extraneous requirements for the ritual. I believe that father has taken this Nyxarel, essentially his blood sacrifice, raised it on quiet obedience, and now believes that the time is ripe to commence, or perhaps, is rushing the process because I pose a threat to him.

I believe the Nyxarel is Avara. I mean, Elias informed me that there is a chance that whatever rituals that needed to commence would commence today, and I did witness father drawing her to a corner to give her an order, probably to meet him at some place where the ritual is supposed to take place.

Anyways, I need to certify if this theory of mine is true.

To protect her, Fenris moans, protect our Mate.

I groan, instantly feeling sick and lightheaded. It's been just two years, but the feelings that I have had to fight feel like ones that I have had for years. The weight of the attraction I feel towards her, everything about her, her voice, her smile, the way she glams herself in flowy silk gowns and bright diamond jewellery. Her scent.

I feel an unwelcome feeling flow down and pinch myself in a useless attempt to get my head out of the pit it has fallen to.

It doesn't matter that she is adopted. It doesn't matter that we are both essentially strangers with the same surname and given father.

I refuse to be sexually attracted to my sister.

I'm helping her just as I would help any other person that Silas intends to murder for his selfish purposes, I chide my wolf.

Fenris scoffs.

My mind hovers to how Avara sat at the table at tonight's banquet, quiet, in her beautiful green silk gown, acting as she has been conditioned to act, a the obedient little daughter, a ghost in her own home. I'm certain that he has manipulated her with the tale of obligation, filled her ears with stories of how she owes him for choosing to save her. And now, whatever her feelings may be, she must feel morally mandated to choose whatever path he picks for her, even if that path leads to her death.

My mind suddenly flashes to Julian, who sat beside her, his hand lingering on her waist possessively and a primal urge to rip the Beta's son apart limb from limb overwhelms me.

No, I cannot let myself be distracted like this, pining away while her life is on the line. I need to act quickly.

The 'medication'

Yes, of course. There must be a reason that my father has been making her down that foul liquid that smells faintly like poison. Maybe discovering exactly what it is will be the start gate to uncovering her history and father's plans.

I look up at the darkened windows of the west wing of the mansion, her wing. She was definitely not thrilled the last time she saw me there, and I know that she will be even less pleased if she were to find me today. But between her feelings and her life, I am inclined to pick her life, with the added advantage of ridding the pack of the parasitic dictator that has ruled over them for far too long.

Because I just have the feeling that if Avara is the key to his immortality, then she is also the key to his destruction.

She has been summoned to wherever it is that my father intends to carry out his shenanigans, which means that she will not be in her quarters, and which means that this is the perfect time to move.

I immediately set out to the west wing, moving with the silence of a predator. None of the floor guards dare to question me as I bypass them, reaching Avara's quarters very quickly.

Her door is locked, so I press my palm against the wood, feeling the mechanism and with a sharp, controlled burst of strength, I force the latch open.

The room smells faintly like her, of vanilla and wild berries and storm clouds. My wolf growls, his claws raking against the interior of my ribs. My mind swarms, and it takes me a long moment to get myself grounded again.

I move for her wardrobe and begin quickly and yet painstakingly hunting for the bottle. Before I can move further, I catch the medication seated on her bedside cabinet.

I move towards it, and pick it. It's a small brown bottle with no label. I unscrew the cap and take a cautious whiff.

Belladonna. That's what it smells like, well primarily, which is already bad enough. But I catch a whiff of something that smells even worse.

In my bag, I hunt for a tiny vial and carefully extract a bit of the medication. I know some friends that can help me detect exactly what it is and why she is being fed with poison.

I turn to leave, and freeze.

"Looking for something, Kaeden?"