My Rouge Luna

CHAPTER 17

Chapter 17: The Healer’s Omen

Christa’s P.O.V.

I didn’t sleep. Couldn’t.

The smoke of Doña Isolde’s words still clung to me, heavy and suffocating: The path will demand blood—yours, or another’s.

By the time dawn came, my nerves were raw. Every creak of the old stone chamber felt like a threat, every shadow along the barred windows a reminder that safety here was an illusion.

The guards changed at sunrise, their voices low outside my door. I thought I’d be left alone again—until the latch clicked softly and the door opened.

My stomach twisted when I saw her.

Marisol. My aunt. Council member. My mother’s sister.

The woman who had stared me down at the council meeting with ice in her eyes and venom in her words.

She slipped inside quickly, shutting the door behind her. The air shifted. This wasn’t the Marisol who had sat in judgment yesterday, calculating and cruel. This was someone older, wearier, carrying the weight of too many secrets.

“Child,” she said softly, her voice cutting through the silence like a blade dulled by use.

I stiffened. “You’ve said enough to me already.”

Her gaze flickered—guilt, maybe, or something close to it. She moved closer, the faint scent of cedar and bitter herbs trailing with her. “At the council, I had to be hard on you. I had to make them believe I was impartial. If I’d shown weakness—shown loyalty to you—they would’ve voted for your execution on the spot.”

My throat tightened. “You humiliated me. You treated me like an enemy.”

“I treated you like someone worth keeping alive,” she countered sharply, then softened again. “I’ve sent Maria and Ricardo to you. They’ll shield you in ways I cannot. Not all the council wants you dead. But enough of them do. Enough to make this dangerous.”

I clenched my fists. “And my father?”

Her face hardened, a shadow cutting across her sharp features. “Your father is the greater threat. The council whispers, but he plots. He sees your survival as defiance. If he learns what the healer sensed…” She glanced meaningfully at my stomach. “He’ll stop at nothing to end it.”

The bond with Carlos pulsed, hot and insistent at the back of my mind. His wolf stirred, restless. I forced myself to steady my breath, to wall that presence off.

“You think he’ll come here?” I asked.

Marisol’s lips thinned. “He won’t need to. He has allies inside these walls. And not everyone answers to Carlos.”

The room spun, heavy with her words. Even here, I wasn’t safe. Not from the council. Not from my father. Not even from the man who claimed to protect me.

Marisol reached for my hand. Her fingers were cool, firm. “Listen to me, Christa. You are not just a niece to me. You are the last of my sister’s blood, and maybe—” her eyes flicked down again “—maybe more than that. Legacy is a dangerous gift. But it can also be your shield. Play the part until you know when to strike. Do you understand?”

I wanted to scream. To rage. To demand she fight with me openly instead of in shadows. But the steel in her gaze told me the truth: this was the only way I survived.

So I nodded, even as fury burned in my chest.

Marisol squeezed my hand once, then slipped back toward the door. Her voice was low, almost a whisper.

“Stay alive, Christa. That is the only victory that matters right now.”

And then she was gone.

The silence that followed felt heavier than chains.

I sat back on the stone bed, clutching my stomach, Marisol’s words echoing in my ears.

Stay alive.

As if survival alone could ever be enough.