The Blackwood villa, once a gilded cage of reluctant luxury, now felt like a prison of cold marble and watchful eyes.
Bella paced the confines of her assigned suite formerly their shared chambers—her steps measured to avoid aggravating her healing bruises. Two days under house arrest had stretched into an eternity of isolation broken only by Aunt Mara’s pitying visits and the occasional healer check.
Her hand drifted repeatedly to her abdomen, where the secret pulse of life grew stronger despite the stress. The healer who visited under the guise of treating her audition injuries had confirmed it again in hushed tones: the pup was resilient, its faint lunar signature intertwined with her awakening ancient bloodline. But every day here increased the risk of discovery.
“You must eat, Mada
