Rise of the Forbidden Luna

Chapter 11: The Hidden Portrait

The suffocating politics of the courtroom dissolved the moment the heavy iron doors of the Royal Archives closed behind me.

The archives were a breathtaking sanctuary of shadows, sprawling over three massive stories of dark, hand-carved mahogany shelving that held the literal memories of a thousand packs. The air was cool, quiet, and carried the heavy, calming scent of aged parchment and beeswax. It was a space designed for secrets, and I intended to strip every single one of them bare. I needed to understand why my family hated me so much, and why they were so desperate to sacrifice me on that altar.

I bypassed the historical ledgers and carried a heavy stack of old pictorial records and territorial logs deep into the restricted back rows. Sitting under the dim, flickering glow of a single brass desk lamp, I began searching through the files from twenty-five years ago. My wolf, Luna, paced restlessly behind my ribs as my fingers moved through the faded folders.

Suddenly, the ambient light in the aisle shifted. The shadows against the stone wall lengthened, and a sudden, heavy pressure in the air announced his arrival before I even heard a footstep.

Ethan stepped into the small reading alcove alone. He had stripped away his formal military coat, wearing only a dark, tailored dress shirt with the top buttons undone and the sleeves rolled tightly up his thick, scarred forearms. He looked devastatingly rugged, primal, and entirely too large for the narrow space between the bookshelves.

Without asking, he stepped up directly behind my chair, leaning forward over my shoulder to look down at the files spread across the desk.

The proximity was immediate and completely overwhelming. His massive chest was pressed right against my back, radiating a heavy, primitive heat that felt like a sudden summer storm pressing against my skin. His presence hit my senses like a rich wave of rain-soaked earth, burning cedar, and clean skin. It was an intoxicatingly dark, masculine scent that made the pulse in my throat throb erratically. A profound, breathless weight settled deep in my stomach, an undeniable magnetic gravity that made my wolf stretch lazily inside my chest, purring in complete fated satisfaction.

"Find anything useful, little tiger?" Ethan murmured, his deep, gravelly baritone vibrating right against the nape of my neck, his warm breath sending a fierce tingle chasing across my collarbone.

"Nothing but dead ends," I whispered, forcing my hands to remain steady on the paper despite the heavy flush warming my cheeks. "The records say the Silver Moon leadership shifted twenty-one years ago after a tragic, mysterious fire. A total m******e. It says the entire estate was burned to ash, and every soul inside was incinerated beyond recognition. The case was closed because there were no witnesses, no clues, and no bodies left to investigate."

Ethan didn't move away. Instead, he reached a large hand over my shoulder, his heavy gold signet ring catching the lamplight as he pulled a large, cloth-wrapped frame from the very back of the shelf and set it on the desk. "My father closed that investigation, Aria. Alpha Marcus, the leader who died in that fire, was my father's right-hand man and his absolute second-in-command. The heartbreak of losing his best friend, and the agony of never being able to solve the mysterious m******e, is what broke my father. It caused him to withdraw from the throne and ultimately die of a broken heart."

Ethan reached down and carefully pulled the velvet cloth away from the frame, exposing an old, beautifully preserved oil portrait. "Look at it."

I leaned forward, my heart hammering a violent rhythm against my ribs as my eyes locked onto the painting.

It was a portrait of a breathtakingly beautiful woman with sharp silver eyes, a regal tilt to her chin, and a fierce, untamed majesty written across her face. The shock hit me like a physical blow, stealing the air straight out of my lungs. My hands began to tremble violently against the edge of the desk.

I wasn't looking at a stranger. I was looking into a literal mirror.

The woman in the portrait was a exact splitting image of myself. It was like staring directly at my own reflection, frozen in time.

"Her name was Luna Diana," Ethan whispered, his large fingers tightening slightly over my shoulders, his aura flaring with a dark, protective intensity. "The night I arrived at your border in the convoy, I looked up and saw you standing at your window. For a split second, my heart stopped because I genuinely thought I was looking at a ghost. You are the exact image of her, Aria. I knew you couldn't be Lady Diana because she would be much more mature now if she had survived that fire, but the resemblance was too perfect to be an accident."

I stared at the gorgeous woman in the painting, a cold, chilling realization coiling tight in my throat. I had spent twenty-one years being abused and degraded by Eleanor and Richard, believing I was their worthless omega child. But I carried none of their weak features.

"Ethan," I whispered, my voice shaking with a sudden, dangerous power as I looked up into his obsidian eyes. "If everyone was incinerated in that fire, and there were no witnesses... how did I end up in Richard's house? Who survived?"

Ethan’s dark eyes swirled with a terrifyingly bloodthirsty excitement, a wicked, menacing smile curving his lips as he leaned in closer. "That is exactly what we are going to find out, little tiger. My spies just located a heavily guarded secret outpost in the outer neutral territory. Someone from the old estate survived that night, hidden away from the world. Put on your leather training gear. Our hunt begins tonight."