Pandora was trying her best not to show how irritated she was. She despised this specific time of the year, when the preparations for the Moon Ceremony finally began.
Since it was one of the biggest festivals of the year, and because the Northern pack was the most powerful territory in the continent, shifters from every other pack were required to attend, both werewolves and lycans alike.
The invitations had been dispatched that morning to the Southern, Eastern and Western pack, along with the other smaller packs scattered in-between.
Earlier that morning, Pandora and Anthony had traveled straight to the Western territory to formally deliver the royal invite to the Alpha of the West, Alpha Gaten Jethro.
They had arrived hours ago, left to wait in the receiving room. The beta had informed them that Gaten was in the middle of a training session and would join them shortly.
But two full hours went by and Gaten still didn’t emerge.
"This is ridiculous," Pandora muttered, crossing her arms tightly. "He cannot possibly be training for two straight hours knowing he has high-ranking guests waiting to see him."
"Well," Anthony murmured, leaning in close to whisper. "Dorian usually trains for six hours straight during his combat sessions. So I guess, from a warrior’s perspective, it’s somewhat understandable."
Pandora pulled back sharply, leveling a fierce glare at him. "Are you actually on my side or not?"
"Of course I’m on your side," Anthony chuckled softly. "I’m just trying to cheer you up."
"You’re doing one hell of a terrible job," she muttered, turning her face away.
Anthony reached over and placed his hand firmly on her thigh, purposely ignoring the way her posture went completely rigid.
"Just have a little more patience," he said softly, his thumb tracing a slow line against her skin. "This is the last invitation. We’ll head straight home after this."
Pandora desperately tried not to show how deeply his hand on her bare thigh affected her. She kept her expression entirely neutral even as her heart hammered erratically against her ribs.
Just then, the door swung open. Alpha Gaten stepped into the receiving room, smiling like a man who had just won the lottery. A damp face towel was slung carelessly over his broad shoulders, and the thick, pungent smell of sweat followed him into the room.
He was a buff man with abnormally thick, heavy muscles. Pack rumors whispered that he used to be the former Alpha’s gamma, and when the old Alpha died, Gaten had deceitfully fought his way to the top until he seized the title for himself.
Pandora hated the sight of him. He radiated the energy of a pervert.
"Anthony!" Gaten roared loudly, spreading his thick arms wide open. "Forgive the brief delay. Most days, after a brutal training session, I like to find a whore or two to fuck just to bleed off the excess adrenaline."
Pandora didn’t bother hiding the disgust that twisted her features. Beside her, Anthony played his role perfectly, burying his own annoyance beneath a calm facade.
"It is understandable, Alpha Gaten," he said, his face entirely devoid of a smile. "We’re just here to deliver the formal invitation for the upcoming Moon Ceremony."
"Ahh, right," Gaten nodded, reaching out to accept the envelope, but his eyes instantly shifted to Pandora. A lewd, assessing look flashed across his black irises, and his lips curled into a leering smile. "And you must be Pandora, Alpha Dorian’s sister."
Pandora forced a tight smile, bowing her head stiffly. "A pleasure to meet you, Alpha Gaten."
"The pleasure is entirely mine," Gaten leered, his gaze tracking down her frame. "Nobody told me the North was hiding such a beauty. Tell me, have you found your mate yet?"
Pandora swallowed the venomous response bubbling up her throat and shook her head. "Not yet."
Beside her, Anthony went rigid, his hands curling into tight fists as he fought the urge to glare the Alpha down.
"You know, most lycans never truly find their mates," Gaten said smoothly, stepping entirely into her personal space. He reached out a thick, calloused hand, intending to grip her chin. "You would make a magnificent breeder. I’m certain Alpha Dorian wouldn’t mind a political alliance..."
Anthony’s hand shot out before he could stop himself. He intercepted Gaten’s wrist mid-air, catching it in a murderous, bone-crushing grip and shoving it away.
The bright green flecks in his eyes instantly bled into a terrifying, pitch-black void.
"I respect you, Alpha Gaten," he muttered, his voice calm but icy enough to freeze water. "But keep your hands to yourself. My Alpha’s sister is not one of your breeding whores."
Pandora’s eyes widened slightly at the underlying fury vibrating in his tone. Anthony had always been her protector, but she had never seen him switch into this lethal, unhinged mood before.
Two of Gaten’s guards instantly moved forward to attack, stung by the blatant disrespect leveled against their Alpha. But Gaten lifted a heavy hand, halting them in their tracks.
He smiled again, but this time, it was a stiff, dangerous smile of warning.
"I meant no disrespect, Anthony," he uttered smoothly. "I certainly wouldn’t want to enrage the cold Alpha King of the North."
Anthony gave a solitary, icy nod. Without uttering another word, he wrapped his fingers firmly around Pandora’s hand and marched her straight out of the room.
On the drive back to the North, Pandora couldn’t stop the faint smile that twitched around her lips. She stole a quick peek at Anthony from the corner of her eyes, noticing how his jaw remained tightly locked, his knuckles turning white against the steering wheel.
"Thank you," she said softly.
Anthony glanced over at her for a split second, his emerald eyes flashing with a sudden, warm amusement. He took one hand off the wheel, reaching across the center console to tightly clasp her hand in his.
He didn’t need to speak. That single gesture was all Pandora needed.
Meanwhile, back at the mansion, Alyssa wandered aimlessly through the numerous hallways, marveling at the exquisite architecture.
Most of the rooms she passed were kept tightly locked, while others were empty, filled only with dust-covered sofas and antique chandeliers wrapped in sheets.
Eventually, she reached the end of a long corridor and came across a flight of stone stairs leading downward.
Curiosity pushed her feet forward and she descended the stairs. The air grew humid, thick with the scent of old earth and dust.
At the very bottom of the stairs, she spotted a massive iron door that sealed off the basement. A single, rusted iron key hung from a bent nail directly beside the frame.
Fueled by the strong urge to see what secrets were kept inside, she grabbed the key and jammed it into the lock. With a sharp twist, it gave a loud click, and the door sprang open, creaking loudly in the silence.
She pushed the door wider and stepped into the dimly lit space.
The room was a graveyard of old memories. Numerous locked crates and heavy boxes were strewn across the concrete floor alongside broken chairs and a tattered, silk wedding gown that had gone completely brown with age and neglect.
She frowned. Why on earth would a ruined wedding gown be locked away down here?
Spotting several old light switches on the brick wall, she flipped them, and a harsh, fluorescent light flooded every corner of the basement.
Hung along the walls were several framed oil paintings, enormous in size and caked in grime. She moved closer, reaching out to wipe the dust away from the brass plaque beneath the first one.
A name was scrawled in elegant script: Alpha Knox Hellborne. The next portrait read Alpha Klaus Hellborne, and another, Luna Freya Hellborne.
It took her a moment to realize she was looking at Dorian’s past ancestors. They all possessed the exact same ruthless, aristocratic facial structures, the same eerie, piercing golden eyes, and complex demonic runes tattooed across their skin.
She followed the line of portraits, the dates etched on the brass tracking back over hundreds of years. When she stopped at the last one, her breath caught.
The image staring back at her bore a striking, uncanny resemblance to Dorian; the same silky, dark hair, razor-sharp jawline, piercing, unyielding stare. Even the swirling patterns of the tattoos mapping across his chest were identical.
Her first thought was that this had to be Dorian’s father. The similarities were simply too perfect.
But when her gaze drifted lower to read the engraving on the plaque, she gasped. Written there in bold, stark lettering was: Alpha Dorian Hellborne, current heir and Alpha King of the North.
The date inscribed right beneath his name read: October 9th, 1926.
Alyssa’s mind spun into a chaotic frenzy. The current year was 2026. So that meant...
Her blue eyes widened in absolute shock. She took a staggering step back, her hands flying to her mouth.
Dorian was over a hundred years old. How was that even possible?
Her gaze drifted to the final painting hanging right beside his portrait. The moment she processed the image and the similar date, her brain froze.
It was a wedding portrait. There stood Dorian, looking just as breathtakingly handsome and cold as he did now, his arm wrapped possessively around the waist of a beautiful blonde woman. The woman was glowing, smiling up at him in a silk wedding gown.
Alyssa’s eyes darted across the room to the tattered wedding gown rotting in the corner. They were the same. He had been married, a hundred years ago.
She was so consumed by this revelation that she failed to notice a swirling, silent shadow rising up from the darkness behind her, slowly solidifying into the form of a cloaked man.
Suddenly a gloved hand clamped down over her mouth and nose, instantly cutting off the terrifying scream that bubbled up her chest.
A sharp chemical odor assailed her nostrils. The pungent smell burned through her senses, blurring her vision into a haze and turning her limbs completely weak.
A second later, the sedative took effect. Her eyes rolled back and she collapsed, completely unconscious.