The Luna Slave of the Ruthless Alpha.

Episodio 9

Logan

“Are you a hybrid?”

Elena's question cut through the damp, cold air of the basement. I could see the unadulterated shock in her eyes, a mixture of fear and amazement, reflected in the dim light.

Her reaction was exactly what I had anticipated the moment I mentioned that my mother was a witch.

I leaned against one of the stone columns, crossing my arms over my chest. The dampness of the place smelled of earth and neglect.

“I'm not a hybrid, Elena,” I replied, keeping my voice steady and even. “It's a violation of natural law to be both at once, not this way. You can only be a witch, vampire, or werewolf by birth.”

She frowned and raised an eyebrow, the usual look of doubt crossing her face. “But I am a hybrid. Right now, I am a witch and a werewolf.”

A smile slipped across my lips, an expression of disbelief, not mockery. She is naive if she thinks a simple spell makes her a true hybrid.

I still believe that the spell her mother cast on her is flawed, perhaps even dangerous, especially since she became a renegade by turning into a wolf.

"You're not really a werewolf, Elena. You're a witch, and any spell that drastic that your mother imposes on you will have an agonizing effect on your body in the long run. You're in a dangerous situation, whether you believe it or not."

As he said this, his face took on a sudden and noticeable pallor. The color drained from his cheeks because we both knew, deep down, that what he was telling her was the absolute truth.

“A dangerous situation? What do you mean by that, Logan?” Her eyebrows knitted together, forming a furrow of concern.

I moved away from the column and began to slowly make my way around the perimeter of the basement. I needed light.

The torches anchored to the walls were my target. As I walked, I took out my tinderbox.

“My mother loved to tell me stories. There was one in particular that captivated me when I was young, long before her... transition.” The tinderbox sparked, and the first torch lit, casting dancing shadows. “It's the story of the Hybrid Prophecy.”

I turned to Elena. The shock on her face was even deeper now. I knew she knew the story; it was the darkest and most popular tale among covens.

“The Hybrid Prophecy?” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

I lit another torch. Elena followed my gaze cautiously as the light gradually spread. “The story says that a day will come when a hybrid will be born, the first true hybrid, an abomination, and when that happens, it will mean the end of every witch lineage in the world.”

I approached the last torch and lit it. The basement was now fully illuminated. I blew out the match, feeling the residual heat on my fingers.

“All witches in the world were strictly forbidden from becoming intimate with a werewolf or a vampire. They could only mate with humans or with each other,” I continued, meeting her gaze again. “The Hybrid Prophecy was the witches' worst nightmare. If it came true, all witches would lose their magic, their connection to nature, their ability to cast spells.”

A heavy silence descended, broken only by the crackling of the torches. Elena seemed lost in a maze of thoughts.

“What's on your mind?” I asked softly, but the response I got was a flash of pure, cold anger in her eyes.

“My mother has set me up,” she said, her voice hoarse, barely a whisper. She clenched her fists at her sides, visibly trying to control the growing emotional storm.

“You were naive, Elena,” I said, not softening my words.

She shook her head, a tear of frustration glistening in the light. "To undo a spell, a witch must know exactly what kind of magic was used. She cast a spell on me, trying to turn me into this ‘hybrid’ to learn how to undo it. But then she allowed our ancestors to cast me out of the coven. She doesn't want to undo the spell, Logan. She wants me to absorb all the magic from every witch in the world. She wants to use me to fulfill the prophecy."

I shrugged. That was exactly the conclusion I had come to when she told me about the spell.

“Unfortunately, the spell cast on you isn't perfect. It's unstable. It will kill you if you don't undo it soon,” I informed her.

She looked at me with a frown and genuine confusion.

“I know something's wrong, but how can you be so sure it will kill me?”

“Because you weren't supposed to turn into a werewolf. No. There are always consequences to everything we do, Elena, especially magic that forces nature.”

Sadness and anxiety flooded her face, her previous anger fading, replaced by palpable fear. The realization of her current situation hit her with full force.

“But I don't know how to undo the spell,” she said, her voice trembling. “I can't do magic anymore, remember?”

“You can still do magic, Elena,” I said, taking a step toward her.

Her eyes lit up with a glimmer of desperate hope. “What do you mean?”

“You can always channel power from the body of a dead witch.”

Horror returned to her eyes, more intense than the previous shock. “It's forbidden to channel the magic of someone who has died, Logan. It's the ultimate disrespect. And if the witch is too powerful, even after death, it could be the end of me.” She exhaled a deep sigh, her face hidden in her hands.

“It's a viable option,” I said, offering no false promises. “You don't have many other options at this point. Whatever you do, you've already been punished for breaking the law of nature. Now you just have to decide whether you'll live to regret it or not.”

"Whose body am I supposed to channel? When a witch dies, she is buried in the coven with the other witches so they can rest in peace. I can't go back to the coven right now," Elena argued, her voice more a statement of fact than a question.

I simply raised an eyebrow, letting the implication of her words hang in the air.

A few moments later, I motioned for her to follow me. I walked toward the deepest part of the basement, where the torchlight was dim.

When we reached the end, I heard Elena gasp. I couldn't help but smile slightly. There, discreetly anchored in the dirt floor, was my mother's tombstone. When she was expelled from her coven, this basement became her refuge, her own sacred place.

“You can channel my mother's magic, Elena,” I said softly, my gaze fixed on the stone. I ran my fingers gently over the rough, cold surface of the tombstone.

“Is Bastiana your mother?” Elena asked me in a whisper, fear and awe combined in a trembling tone.

My brow furrowed. It was a strange question, almost as if she already knew her. “You sound like you know my mother?”

I looked at her with a deliberately suspicious tone of voice, watching as the shock on her face slowly transformed into even deeper fear. I saw her swallow hard.

Her gaze remained fixed on the simple photograph I keep next to the headstone.

“There's no way I'm going to channel your mother's magic. She was one of the strongest witches of her time. She's one of the Originals,” Elena replied, her voice trembling noticeably.