Chapter Ninety-Seven – Skeletons in the Shadows
Rowan didn’t bother knocking.
He shoved open the heavy door to Elder Malric’s private quarters, the old hinges groaning in protest. The scent of stale herbs and parchment clung to the air, thick and musty. Elder Malric was seated at a writing desk, quill poised in hand, but he didn’t lift his eyes.
“She’s alive, if that’s what you’re about to ask,” Rowan snapped.
That got his attention. Elder Malric’s head jerked up. “Elia?”
A low growl built in Rowan’s chest, sharp and savage. “You care now?”
Elder Malric blinked, clearly caught off guard.
Rowan stalked forward, fury radiating off him like waves of heat. “She would be dead if we were even a moment later. She was nearly *killed*, ambushed by rogues who were trying to take her.”
Elder Malric stood abruptly, face paling. “What? What ambush?”
Rowan didn’t let him speak further. He recounted everything—each detail of their journey through the forest, the way they found Elia sleeping alone in a hidden camp, how she’d fought back until Giselle stopped her with a single command. How rogues had descended on them the moment they neared the border. How wolves had fought tooth and claw to protect the girl Malric had been so desperate to see chosen.
Rowan didn’t spare the gruesome parts—Elia’s injury, the poisoned arrow meant for her that pierced his mate instead, the way Giselle now lay unconscious with a blackened leg and a bond fraying at the edges.
And as he spoke, he *watched*.
Elder Malric had gone pale as snow, the quill in his hand trembling before he dropped it entirely. He didn’t speak. Didn’t interrupt. Just listened, horror spreading across his face like rot on fruit.
When Rowan finally fell silent, the room hung heavy with tension.
Elder Malric stumbled back, collapsing into the worn leather chair behind him. His eyes glazed over as if he were seeing something far beyond Rowan’s presence.
“She shouldn’t have been alone,” he muttered, more to himself than Rowan. “She wasn’t supposed to…”
Rowan narrowed his eyes. “Start talking. All of it. Now.”
Elder Malric dragged a hand down his face, looking far older than Rowan had ever seen him. “She’s my granddaughter,” he said hoarsely.
The words landed like a stone in Rowan’s chest.
Elder Malric swallowed hard. “A long time ago, when I was barely older than you, I had an affair with a woman from a traveling pack. Her name was Rynna. Gods, she was… she was wild and clever, and I thought I could make it work. But the Elders back then wouldn’t have allowed it. She became pregnant. I told her I’d find a way, but she vanished before I could. Months later, I learned she’d died during childbirth.”
Rowan remained silent, his expression unreadable.
Elder Malric continued, voice fragile now. “The child—my son—was raised by her people. I didn’t meet him until he was a man. He was resentful, furious. Said I abandoned them both. He wouldn’t listen when I told him I didn’t know.”
“And Elia?” Rowan asked.
“I didn’t meet her until she was seven,” Elder Malric said quietly. “Her father brought her to me. He didn’t want her. Said she was too much like her mother, too much *like me*. I took her in secretly. She lived with distant kin in a neighboring pack and visited under false pretenses. I funded her schooling. Her training. But I couldn’t claim her—not without exposing everything. Not without jeopardizing my place.”
Rowan’s lip curled. “So you pushed her forward as a Luna candidate to keep her close. To give her what you couldn’t.”
Elder Malric nodded. “It wasn’t just about power. I thought… if she were Luna, no one would question her bloodline. She’d be respected. Safe.”
“You almost got her *killed*,” Rowan hissed.
Elder Malric dropped his gaze. “I didn’t know she had a mate. I would never have—” He broke off, his voice cracking. “I was trying to help her. I was trying to give her a life better than the shadows I left her in.”
Rowan stared at him, chest heaving. “And now?”
Elder Malric looked up, haunted. “Now the shadows have caught up with all of us.”
Elder Malric sat slouched in the chair, fingers curled tightly around the edge of the armrest, as if bracing himself against a tide only he could see.
Rowan took a step closer, folding his arms across his chest. “Does she know?”
Malric blinked. “What?”
“Does Elia know that you’re her grandfather?”
A grim breath shuddered out of the elder. “No. I’ve… I’ve never told her. I couldn’t. It would raise too many questions. She thinks I’m just… a kind Elder who took an interest in her progress. She doesn’t know why I made sure doors opened for her that others couldn’t unlock.”
Rowan narrowed his gaze. “So, you’ve built her entire life around a lie.”
Elder Malric’s jaw tightened. “I built her a future. She had nothing. No name, no legacy. I gave her something better.”
“Something that nearly got her killed,” Rowan bit out, his voice cold. “And her father? Does she know him?”
That question made Malric still completely. He stared ahead, eyes darting as though tracking memories long buried.
Rowan’s voice hardened. “Well?”
“She shouldn’t know,” Elder Malric said finally, slowly. “When he gave her up, he told me he never wanted to see her again. That she was a mistake. I never used his name around her. I made sure of it.”
“But?”
Malric dragged a hand through his thinning hair, his expression troubled. “But Elia was always clever. Curious. She asked questions—about her bloodline, about where she came from. I always dodged them. But with everything happening lately… it’s possible someone else told her. Or worse—he came back.”
Rowan’s brows furrowed. “Do you think your son could be behind this?”
Elder Malric didn’t answer at first. His shoulders stiffened, and his complexion drained several shades paler. His eyes darted to the fire flickering weakly in the hearth, as though it might hold an answer he didn’t want to give voice to.
“Malric,” Rowan said again, sharper this time.
The old man looked up, dread etched into every line of his face. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “But… gods, if he is—”
“Then you led him straight to us.”
Malric didn’t argue. Didn’t deny. He just sat there, ashen and silent, his guilt a tangible weight in the air.
Rowan turned toward the door, his stomach knotting. There were too many threads fraying at once—Giselle’s life hanging in the balance, Elia’s lineage, a rogue mate, and now the possibility that a vengeful son of an Elder was behind it all.
If that was true… they were in far more danger than any of them realized.
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