CHAPTER 8: THE DIARY OF MIRA
1156 Words
I wasn’t looking for secrets.
That’s what I told myself.
The library at Ironhold stretched upward like a cathedral—
three stories of shelves,
ladders on rails,
balconies that creaked like they remembered things they shouldn’t.
Books lined every wall.
Leather.
Cloth.
And some—
that looked disturbingly like skin.
Lucian had said I could come here.
But the way he said it—
careful,
measured—
told me there were things he hadn’t.
So I started pulling books.
Not searching.
Just… touching.
The History of Lycan Bloodlines.
Dry.
Rituals of the Moon Goddess.
Worse.
A Compendium of Fated Mates.
That one—
I paused.
Flipped it open.
A note in the margin.
Handwritten.
Sharp.
Familiar.
Not all bonds are blessings. Some are chains.
My chest tightened.
Lucian.
I closed the book slowly.
Then kept going.
Something pulled at me.
Not curiosity.
Something quieter.
Recognition.
Behind a row of heavy encyclopedias—
I found a gap.
Hidden.
A small book tucked backward—
spine turned inward like it didn’t want to be seen.
I pulled it out.
Soft leather.
Worn thin.
Stained.
Not with time.
With something darker.
My pulse slowed.
The first page read:
Mira of Ashwood
Year of the Moon 2,847
If found, burn unread.
I should have stopped.
I didn’t.
——
Day 1
He found me today.
The handwriting was delicate.
Careful.
I was sweeping temple steps for coins. He said I had “the look.”
A pause.
He didn’t touch me.
Another line.
That made me trust him more than if he had.
My chest tightened.
——
Day 30
He listens.
Do you understand how rare that is?
Not to my body. Not to my face.
To me.
I swallowed.
——
Day 90
I’m falling in love with him.
Simple.
Final.
——
Day 120
I told him.
A pause in the ink.
He didn’t say it back.
My fingers tightened on the page.
But he looked at me like I was something fragile and impossible.
——
Day 365
He built me a garden.
A faint smudge across the ink—
like she’d run her fingers over it too many times.
Moon flowers. White. Only bloom at night.
He said: “You deserve something beautiful that exists only for you.”
My throat tightened.
——
The pages turned faster now.
Messier.
Less careful.
——
Day 500
I met a man.
The words felt heavier.
Tomas. A baker.
He laughs easily.
Lucian doesn’t laugh anymore.
Something twisted in my chest.
——
Day 520
I kissed him.
A smear of ink.
I feel like I’ve done something unforgivable.
A pause.
But Lucian doesn’t love me.
The words cut deeper than they should.
He loves something else. Something I can’t see.
——
Day 550
He found out.
My breath slowed.
He didn’t rage.
Didn’t hurt me.
He just said: “Go. Before I become something you’ll fear.”
A drop of ink—
like a tear pressed into the page.
So I went.
——
I turned the page.
My hands were shaking now.
——
Day 600
Wedding day.
The writing was uneven.
I should be happy.
But I keep looking at the door.
A long line scratched across the page.
Then—
nothing.
The next pages were gone.
Torn out.
Ripped clean.
My pulse pounded.
I flipped forward—
And found it.
A single page.
Burned at the edges.
Ash smeared across the words.
The handwriting—
shaking.
Breaking.
He came.
My breath caught.
Not Lucian.
The wolf.
The words blurred.
Everyone is dead.
My chest tightened painfully.
The church is burning.
I can hear them screaming.
I couldn’t breathe.
He tried to stop.
A smear of ash across the line.
I saw it.
I felt it.
The wolf is not the man.
My hands trembled.
Please—
The word scratched deep into the page.
Remember that.
A pause.
Final words.
I’m going into the fire now.
Mira.
——
I closed the diary.
The room felt smaller.
Heavier.
Not from fear.
From truth.
She had understood.
Even at the end—
She had understood.
The wolf is not the man.
I tucked the diary into my waistband—
and walked to the vault.
——
Lucian was already chained.
Earlier than before.
The iron dug deeper into his skin.
As if he’d tightened it himself.
When he saw me—
he went still.
“You found it.”
Not a question.
“The diary,” I said.
His jaw clenched.
“Yes.”
“You didn’t burn it.”
A long pause.
“I couldn’t.”
His voice cracked.
“She asked me to.”
Silence.
“But if I burned it…”
His eyes darkened.
“No one would know that I tried.”
Something inside me softened.
“That you fought,” I said.
His gaze snapped to mine.
“Yes.”
I stepped closer.
Knelt in front of him.
“You loved her.”
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
No denial.
“And she loved you.”
A bitter smile touched his lips.
“She loved the man.”
A pause.
“Not the wolf.”
His chains rattled softly.
“But the man and the wolf share the same hands.”
His voice dropped.
“I held her with them.”
A beat.
“And I destroyed her world with them.”
Silence stretched.
Then—
I reached forward.
Took his chained hands in mine.
“They’re not the same,” I said.
His gaze lifted slowly.
“They feel the same,” he replied.
“Then we change that.”
The words came out steady.
Certain.
Even if I didn’t know how.
“We separate them,” I continued.
“Or we teach the wolf something new.”
His eyes flickered.
Hope.
Fear.
“You’re not Mira,” he said.
“No.”
A step closer.
“I’m not.”
Silence.
“What are you, then?” he asked.
I held his gaze.
“I’m the woman who stays.”
The words settled between us.
Heavy.
Dangerous.
“Even when it burns.”
His breath caught.
Something in his expression—
broke.
Not violently.
Quietly.
Like a wall collapsing after holding too long.
“Isabella…”
“Lucian.”
His chains shifted as he leaned closer.
“I think…”
He swallowed.
“I think I’m already too far gone.”
A pause.
“I think I love you.”
The words landed—
not soft—
not gentle—
inevitable.
I tightened my grip on his hands.
“Good,” I said.
His eyes searched mine.
“Why?”
“Because fear keeps you fighting.”
A beat.
“And I need you to keep fighting.”
For the first time—
Lucian smiled.
Not the wolf.
Not the king.
Just—
a man.
And somehow—
that felt more dangerous than anything else in this house.
- Writer
