THE ASHWOOD LEGACY

THE DATABASE

Chapter 7 — The Database

Tobias Rourke arrived at Cross Enterprises just after midnight, looking every one of his sixty-some years, his expression carved from the kind of weariness that came from carrying a secret for three years and finally being asked to set it down.

"You should have called me the moment you saw her again," he said, settling into the chair across from Damian's desk without waiting for an invitation.

"Called you about what, exactly? I didn't know there was anything to call about." Damian gestured at the tablet between them, at the corrupted file still glowing on the screen. "Ashwood royal line. Believed extinct since 1921. What does that mean, Tobias?"

Tobias was quiet for a long moment, the kind of silence that came from a man deciding how much truth a person could handle in one sitting.

"It means Margaret made a mistake three years ago that I don't think she's ever going to be able to undo," he said finally. "And it means you rejected a woman whose bloodline, if the histories are accurate, was never meant to be ranked at all. Not omega. Not beta. Above alpha entirely."

Damian felt something cold settle in his chest. "Explain."

"The Ashwood line was the last true royal bloodline in this region — a lineage that predates the current pack hierarchy by nearly two centuries. They didn't just lead a single pack. Legend says an Ashwood Luna could unite fractured territories under a single crown, end generational pack wars just by claiming her bond. The line was hunted to near-extinction a hundred years ago by rival packs terrified of exactly that kind of unifying power." Tobias's expression was grim. "The official record says the last known Ashwood descendant died childless in 1921. Officially, the bloodline ended there."

"But unofficially?"

"Unofficially, bloodlines like that don't just vanish. They go dormant. They hide in unranked families for generations, waiting for the right conditions to wake up again." Tobias tapped the corrupted file on the tablet. "A ninety-four percent match isn't a coincidence, Damian. That's not a fluke reading. That's a bloodline reactivating."

Damian sat back in his chair, his mind racing through every strange thing that had happened since Elena walked back into his life — the cracked glass, the bond flaring back after a formal rejection, the way her composure had cracked at exactly the same moment his had. He thought of the elder's report from three years ago, the one Tobias had shown him in confidence and sworn him to secrecy about, the report of a rejected omega's eyes flashing gold at the territory border.

"You knew," Damian said slowly. "Three years ago. You saw something that night, didn't you? That's why you called for the records."

Tobias nodded once, grim. "I saw her eyes turn gold when she crossed the boundary line. I've been pack elder for forty-three years, Damian. I've seen every kind of shift and every kind of wolf. I have never seen anything like that before. I started pulling records that same night, and it took me three years of digging through half-destroyed archives to confirm what I suspected." He met Damian's eyes squarely. "Elena Marsh is an Ashwood. Possibly the last one alive. And your mother had her rejected and exiled before anyone in this pack understood what she actually was."

The silence that followed felt enormous.

"Does Elena know?" Damian asked finally.

"I don't know. If her wolf has been waking up gradually over these past three years — dreams, unexplained instincts, moments where her control slips — she may suspect something is different about her without understanding what." Tobias stood, gathering his coat. "But Damian, listen to me carefully, because this is the part that matters most. If word of this gets out before Elena understands her own power, every ambitious alpha within three territories is going to come looking for her. Not for love. For leverage. An Ashwood mate bond isn't just a marriage anymore. It's a claim to unify pack territories under a single throne."

Damian's stomach turned cold as the full weight of what he'd done three years ago finally settled into place.

He hadn't just rejected his mate.

He'd rejected the one person capable of ending a century of pack warfare — and left her exposed, unranked, and utterly unprotected, walking straight into a world of wolves who would kill to control what she represented.

"I need to see her," he said, already standing, already reaching for his jacket. "Tonight."

Tobias caught his arm at the door, his grip surprisingly strong for a man his age.

"Be careful how you approach this," he warned. "If she finds out the truth of what she is from anyone other than you — and finds out you already knew before you told her — you will lose whatever chance you have left. And Damian." His eyes were hard, urgent. "There's something else in that file. A name flagged alongside hers. Your mother's name, cross-referenced against an old council order dated the week before the rejection ceremony."

Damian went very still. "What kind of order?"

"The kind that suggests Margaret didn't just orchestrate a political marriage three years ago," Tobias said quietly. "She may have known exactly what Elena was, and rejected her specifically because of it."