The Silver Mark
1439 Words
The voice inside Vaelith’s head had never lied to her before.
But it had never spoken either.
She stared at Draven.
He was still holding her arm.
His fingers were warm against her skin, his expression unreadable.
“What did you do to me?”
His hand immediately fell away.
“Nothing.”
“My wolf says you know what happened to us.”
A muscle jumped in his jaw.
“Your wolf shouldn’t be speaking yet.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No.”
His gaze sharpened.
“It isn’t.”
Vaelith folded her arms.
“Then answer the question.”
Draven looked toward the corridor.
“Not here.”
She laughed under her breath.
“Of course.”
He started walking.
She followed.
“You have a remarkable talent for saying three words and creating twenty questions.”
“I’ve been told.”
“By me?”
“Mostly.”
She stopped.
He continued for two steps before realizing she wasn’t beside him.
When he looked back, she was smiling.
“Was that a joke?”
“No.”
“You’re getting better.”
“I wasn’t joking.”
“That makes it funnier.”
For the briefest moment, something almost human softened his eyes.
Then it disappeared.
“Come.”
Vaelith followed him through another corridor.
The deeper they went into the house, the quieter it became.
Eventually, Draven stopped before a heavy wooden door.
He unlocked it.
Vaelith stepped inside.
The room wasn’t an office.
It was an archive.
Shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, filled with old books, rolled maps, sealed boxes, and objects she couldn’t identify.
A single desk stood beneath a tall window.
Draven closed the door.
Vaelith looked around.
“You keep this in your bedroom wing?”
“I keep things I don’t want others finding where I can protect them.”
“That sounds healthy.”
“It has worked.”
She walked toward the nearest shelf.
Her fingers hovered over the spines.
Most carried symbols rather than titles.
Then she saw it.
A crescent surrounded by three stars.
The same symbol.
She reached for the book.
Draven’s hand closed around her wrist.
“Don’t.”
Vaelith looked down at his fingers.
Then up at him.
“You’re touching me again.”
He released her.
“Because that book isn’t for you.”
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“Everything dangerous in this place seems to be something I’m not allowed to see.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Because you don’t know what you’re dealing with.”
“Then teach me.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because knowledge won’t protect you.”
Vaelith stepped closer.
“Neither will keeping me ignorant.”
Silence.
Draven’s eyes moved over her face.
She could almost see the argument happening inside him.
Finally, he reached past her and removed the book himself.
He placed it on the desk.
“Sit.”
She remained standing.
“I’m beginning to dislike that word.”
“Sit, Vaelith.”
She dropped into the chair.
“Happy?”
“No.”
He opened the book.
The pages were filled with strange drawings.
Wolves.
Symbols.
Bloodlines.
Vaelith leaned closer.
Then she saw the illustration.
A wolf surrounded by silver flames.
Underneath it was a single word.
AETHER.
Her stomach tightened.
“What are they?”
“Werewolves.”
“I know what wolves are.”
“Aether wolves aren’t like us.”
Draven turned the page.
“They could sense things ordinary wolves couldn’t. Memories. Blood. Intentions.”
He paused.
“They could also enter another wolf’s mind.”
Vaelith remembered the voice.
Her fingers curled against the chair.
“Why were they hunted?”
Draven didn’t answer immediately.
“They were considered dangerous.”
“That’s not enough.”
“They were powerful.”
“So were the Alphas who hunted them.”
His eyes lifted.
“Yes.”
There was no defense in his voice.
Only bitterness.
Vaelith studied him.
“You hate them.”
“My family?”
“Yes.”
His gaze returned to the book.
“I hate what they did.”
The answer was quieter than she’d expected.
She looked at the drawings again.
“How did the Aether disappear?”
“They didn’t.”
Her eyes snapped toward him.
“What?”
Draven closed the book.
“That’s the problem.”
Vaelith stood.
“You said they were hunted.”
“They were.”
“And now?”
“Now everyone believes the bloodline is extinct.”
She stared at him.
“Except me.”
Draven’s gaze dropped to her collarbone.
“Except you.”
The silver mark suddenly burned.
Vaelith sucked in a breath.
Draven moved toward her.
“Show me.”
“No.”
“Vaelith.”
“You’re not touching me.”
“I need to see the mark.”
“You’ve seen it.”
“Not properly.”
She hesitated.
Then slowly pulled the collar of her shirt aside.
The crescent shimmered against her skin.
Draven went completely still.
The mark wasn’t simply silver anymore.
Fine lines had appeared around it, forming the shape of three stars.
His expression changed.
Vaelith noticed.
“What?”
He didn’t answer.
“What is it?”
His hand lifted.
He stopped before touching her.
“This shouldn’t be happening.”
“Why?”
“Because the mark doesn’t appear until the Aether bloodline awakens.”
Vaelith’s heartbeat quickened.
“And what happens when it awakens?”
Draven’s eyes met hers.
“It calls the others.”
“The others?”
“Aether wolves.”
She swallowed.
“You said they were extinct.”
“I said everyone believes they are.”
A cold sensation spread through her chest.
“Then who was outside the estate?”
“I don’t know.”
“You do.”
“No.”
“You’re lying.”
His eyes hardened.
“I would know if an Aether wolf had entered Blackthorn.”
Vaelith stared at him.
“Would you?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did my wolf call this place home?”
Draven went silent.
She stepped closer.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
He looked at her for a long moment.
Then he reached for the book again.
A folded piece of parchment slipped from between the pages.
It fell to the floor.
Vaelith bent down.
Draven moved at the same instant.
Too late.
She picked it up.
The handwriting made her blood run cold.
She knew it.
Her mother’s handwriting.
Vaelith unfolded the parchment.
There were only a few lines.
If my daughter ever finds this, tell her the truth before the mark opens completely.
Her breathing stopped.
Below that was another sentence.
Draven must not be allowed to make the same choice his father made.
Vaelith slowly raised her eyes.
Draven had gone pale.
“What choice?”
He didn’t respond.
She held up the parchment.
“What did your father do?”
His jaw tightened.
“Give me that.”
“No.”
“Vaelith.”
“What did he do to my mother?”
“Give me the letter.”
“What did he do?”
Draven took a step toward her.
“Your mother wasn’t supposed to leave Blackthorn alive.”
The words struck harder than a physical blow.
Vaelith couldn’t breathe.
“My mother was here?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
He hesitated.
She saw it.
The secret.
The guilt.
The fear.
“All this time,” she whispered, “you knew where she was.”
“No.”
“Then you knew she had survived.”
His silence answered.
Vaelith’s fingers crushed the parchment.
“You lied to me.”
“I protected you.”
“You don’t get to decide what protects me.”
His expression tightened.
“You don’t understand what your mother did.”
“Then tell me!”
Her voice echoed through the archive.
Draven stared at her.
For once, he had no order.
No cold command.
No clever answer.
Only silence.
Then something slammed against the archive door.
Both of them turned.
Another impact.
The lock shook.
Draven’s eyes changed.
Gold flashed through them.
“Get behind me.”
Vaelith stepped backward.
The door splintered.
A voice came from the other side.
Low.
Distorted.
Almost animal.
“Aether blood.”
Vaelith’s mark ignited.
The parchment in her hand burst into silver flames.
And through the fire, her mother’s final words appeared.
Do not trust the Alpha.
Vaelith looked at Draven.
His face had gone deadly still.
Then the door exploded inward.
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