Chapter 8
Seraphina Silvermoon POV:
Back in the oppressive silence of our shack, the bravado of the council hall evaporated, leaving me trembling with a mixture of hope and terror.
"Is it true?" I whispered, my voice barely audible. "What you said... can you really do it?"
Dravon nodded and gestured for me to sit on the edge of the bed. He crouched before me, his presence filling the small space. He didn't touch my leg. Instead, he held his hand a few inches above it. A faint, silvery light, almost invisible in the dim room, flowed from his fingertips, enveloping my calf.
It didn't hurt. A cool, soothing sensation washed over my skin, calming the frantic beating of my heart.
Outside, a floorboard creaked. Elara. She couldn't stand not knowing what was happening, her jealousy a poison she had to spread.
Dravon’s brow furrowed in concentration. The silvery light intensified for a moment, and his expression grew grim.
"This is not a birth defect," he said, his voice low and serious as he pulled his hand back. "It's not an injury. You're cursed."
The word hung in the air between us. "Cursed?" I breathed, my hand flying to my mouth. All my life, I'd been told I was just... broken.
"A rare and vicious form of dark magic," he explained, his eyes dark with a knowledge that seemed ancient. "The Silver-Witch's Erosion. It uses microscopic particles of silver energy to constantly negate your wolf's natural healing abilities. It keeps your leg in a perpetual state of injury, making any normal treatment useless."
His words clicked into place. The strange, deep ache I always felt on the full moon, the one our healer dismissed as phantom pains.
"The caster was cruel," Dravon continued. "The curse was designed not only to cripple you, but to slowly weaken your entire bloodline over time."
A loud, scornful laugh came from the doorway. Elara kicked the door open and stood there, her arms crossed.
"A curse? Seriously?" she sneered. "Is that the best you can come up with? You have to invent some fantasy about witches and dark magic just to make your ridiculous three-day promise sound believable?"
She turned her venomous gaze on me. "Oh, cousin. You really are pathetic. First, you bind yourself to this nobody, and now you're letting him fill your head with this nonsense."
Her words were like a bucket of ice water, dousing the fragile flame of hope he had just lit. Doubt crept in, cold and familiar.
Dravon rose to his feet, placing himself between me and Elara. "Believe what you want," he said, his voice flat and cold. "In three days, the truth will be undeniable."
"Oh, I'm counting on it," Elara shot back. "I can't wait to see what kind of magic trick you perform to fix something that's been broken since birth. Don't think I don't see your game," she added, her voice dripping with contempt. "You're just trying to buy time, to make us pity her so we forget she swallowed a fortune that belongs to the pack. It won't work."
Her "analysis" seemed to make perfect sense to the other Omegas who had gathered at our door to watch the spectacle. They nodded in agreement. Dravon was a con artist.
Amidst the sea of judging eyes, Dravon looked only at me. "Ignore them," he said softly. "Trust me."
I looked into his eyes, searching for any hint of deception. I found none. Only a deep, steady calm. I had lived a lifetime with no hope. He was offering me three days of it.
I took a shaky breath and nodded.
Elara scoffed at my choice, her face twisting in disgust. "Fools," she muttered, turning on her heel. "A matched pair of fools."
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