Chapter 8
Seraphina Thorne POV:
After running through the forest for what felt like the entire night, I finally put enough distance between myself and the Silver Moon territory to feel a sliver of safety. Exhaustion was a heavy cloak on my shoulders. My arm throbbed where the silver had cut me, a constant, painful reminder of my new reality.
I found a small stream and knelt, splashing the cold, clear water on my face and cleaning the wound as best I could. I was hungry, tired, and completely alone. I needed a place to hide, a place to understand the secrets hidden in the ancient book I’d risked everything to retrieve.
The abandoned quarry Elara had mentioned came to mind, but I dismissed it. The Rogue, Kael, had been there. His enemies could still be searching the area. It wasn't safe.
I spent the next few hours searching the surrounding wilderness. Finally, tucked away at the base of a cliff face, almost completely obscured by a thick curtain of ivy, I found it: a narrow opening to a cave.
I squeezed through, the silver dagger held ready. The air inside was cool and dry. The cave was larger than it looked from the outside, a deep, sheltered space with a smooth, sandy floor. In the back, a tiny spring of fresh water trickled from the rock. It was perfect.
*Good,* my inner wolf rumbled with satisfaction. *A den to call our own. A place to heal and grow strong.*
For the first time since Gideon's funeral, a sense of relief washed over me. I was safe, for now. I gathered some dry twigs and, using two sharp stones, managed to start a small, smokeless fire. I pulled out the last of Elara’s bread and cheese. It was stale and hard, but it was the best meal I’d ever had.
Once the warmth had seeped back into my limbs, I carefully took out the leather-bound tome. The cover was worn smooth with age, completely blank. I took a deep breath and opened it.
My heart sank. The pages were filled not with words, but with strange, archaic symbols—a complex language of moon phases, claw marks, and wolf silhouettes. It was unreadable.
Disappointment was a bitter taste in my mouth. Had I risked my life for nothing?
I traced one of the symbols with my fingertip, a stylized drawing of a wolf with what looked like stars in its fur. As my skin touched the ancient ink, a strange jolt, like static electricity, shot up my arm.
The symbols on the page began to glow with a faint, silvery light. The lines blurred and shifted in my mind, no longer just ink on a page, but living images, whispering stories in a language my soul, not my mind, seemed to understand.
A sharp, terrified howl from a young wolf echoed from outside the cave, shattering the spell and snapping me back to reality.
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