Ava
The halls of the villa were too quiet.
John doesn't say another word for the rest of the morning.
He gives us space—to eat, to clean up, to breathe—but the tension he leaves behind with his quiet warning doesn't lift. It lingers between me and Caleb like something heavy has shifted and hasn't decided where to settle yet.
It isn't fear exactly.
It's weight.
We move around each other carefully, speaking only when necessary. Caleb keeps glancing at me, like he's checking that I'm still here, still solid. I don't blame him. I feel strange myself—lighter in some places, tender in others. The mark on my neck is quiet now. No burning. No pull. Just warmth, like skin healing after something invasive has finally been removed.
After lunch, John knocks once on the doorframe and gestures for us to follow.
He leads us back down the staircase, not to the ritual chamber this time, but into a smaller room tucked behind his workshop. A study. Candlelight flickers across shelves packed with scrolls and bound journals. Herbs hang drying from the ceiling, their scent earthy and grounding. This room feels private. Intentional. Like truth lives here whether it's invited or not.
He motions for us to sit.
"I know you have questions," he says. "And I promised you truth."
Caleb nods but doesn't speak. His hand finds mine immediately, fingers threading through mine like muscle memory. My heart picks up speed, but I hold his gaze until it steadies me.
"What did you see during the ritual?" I ask softly.
John folds his hands in his lap.
"When the bond tore free, there was a moment—brief, but clear—when I saw echoes of the lives it touched. Yours. His."
His eyes lift to mine.
"And another."
The air shifts.
I already knew. I felt it when the bond broke, that sick awareness of something tangled where it never should have been. Still, hearing it spoken aloud makes my stomach twist.
"He marked someone else," I whisper.
John nods once.
"He did. And he did it while still bound to you. That alone is dangerous. With his refusal to release your bond, it became parasitic."
His mouth tightens slightly.
"She's fortunate Ava was never marked and the bond didn't fully take."
Caleb leans forward, jaw tight.
"Is she still in danger?"
"No," John says. "Now that the bond with Ava is severed, the drain on the other woman should stop."
Relief flashes across Caleb's face—but John's gaze returns to me, steady and serious.
"But Ava, you should be prepared. There may be lingering echoes. Not pain, exactly—but fragments. Pieces of Lucas may surface in strange ways. A sense of being watched. The feeling that someone is behind you when no one is there."
I nod slowly.
It makes sense.
It hurts, but it makes sense.
"And there's something else," John says. "Something I saw clearly."
My breath catches.
"Not just your spirit," he continues, "but your nature."
I already know.
"You're not a wolf," he says plainly. "You're a werehyena."
The words land without cruelty or judgment. Just fact.
"Yes," I say quietly. "It's true."
John nods.
"You carry something ancient in your blood. Your spirit glows differently—wilder, older. That isn't a weakness, Ava. It's a gift."
Most wolves wouldn't say that. Most wouldn't even try to understand.
But John already knows more than he's letting on. I can see it in his eyes.
He turns to Caleb.
"As for you," he says, "I saw threads. Your bloodline is wrapped in something thick and black, like tar. But at the heart of it, there's a name."
He pulls an aged sheet of paper from a drawer and hands it over.
Adelaide Sinclair.
Caleb's jaw tightens. Pain flickers across his face, anger close behind it.
"She's the one who cursed your line," John says. "A witch. Twisted by power and jealousy. The curse runs deep—but names carry weight."
"Where do I find her?" Caleb asks.
"That won't be simple," John admits. "This was centuries ago, she isn't alive anymore, but now you have direction. You're no longer walking blind."
Caleb folds the paper and slips it into his jacket.
John gathers a few small vials and places them into a cloth pouch, handing it to me.
"These will help your mark recover. By tomorrow, it should be fully healed."
I thank him, then hesitate.
"John," I say. "What are you?"
He isn't surprised.
"What I am isn't something you see often anymore," he says quietly. "What matters is that I'm here for a reason. Just like you."
"How long have you known?" I ask.
"Known? Never. Suspected? Since you were a child. The ritual confirmed it."
He pauses.
"I also know your mother was different. I wouldn't have guessed hyena."
He looks at Caleb.
"You're a lucky man. Hyenas are strong. Loyal. Though you may struggle with dominance."
Caleb shifts awkwardly.
"Thanks."
Going to my parents' house isn't planned.
I don't even realize I've given Caleb directions until he follows them without question.
The porch light is on when we pull in. My mother opens the door and freezes.
"Ava?" she breathes, like she isn't sure I'm real. "Ava?"
Then she's hugging me, tight and breathless.
"You didn't call," she scolds softly. "You didn't say you were coming."
"I didn't know I was," I admit.
My father steps closer, surprise written across his face. He looks me over carefully, eyes sharp with concern.
"You alright?" he asks. "You look tired."
"I'm okay," I say.
And I mean it.
His gaze shifts to Caleb—assessing, protective.
"And you must be…?"
"Caleb," he says, offering his hand. "I'm Ava's husband."
That earns a pause.
My mother pulls back just enough to stare at me.
"Married," she says slowly. "We knew that. You just… never said who."
"I wanted to tell you in person," I say.
My father shakes Caleb's hand firmly, still studying him.
"Caleb," he repeats. "That name sounds familiar."
We decide to stay the night. It's safer. Less suspicious. My mark is still healing, and leaving in the morning will look normal.
Dinner is simple and warm. My parents ask careful questions—how married life is treating me, whether I'm happy, whether I'm being taken care of. They watch my face more than they listen to my answers.
Caleb answers easily.
I do too.
At some point, my father pauses mid-sentence, staring at Caleb with new intensity.
"Wait," he says slowly. "Caleb… Darkmoon?"
Caleb stills.
"Yes, sir."
The room goes quiet.
My mother's hand tightens on her teacup.
"The Alpha?"
Caleb inclines his head.
"Yes."
Their eyes flick to me.
Understanding hits in stages.
"Oh," my mother breathes.
I nod.
"I'm Luna."
Silence stretches—then my father exhales, long and slow.
"Well," he says finally, pride breaking through the shock, "you always did end up somewhere you weren't supposed to."
Later, Caleb steps outside with my father, the two of them talking quietly near the fence. I hear my father laugh—a real one—and some of the tightness in my chest eases.
Inside, my mother pours tea and motions for me to sit.
She studies me for a long moment.
"You're holding something back," she says gently.
I swallow.
"I always am."
She reaches across the table and covers my hand.
"Not from me."
I glance toward the door, toward the night and Caleb's steady voice outside.
Then I look back at her.
"I need the whole truth now," I say softly. "No half-answers. No protecting me."
Her expression shifts—not alarmed. Not surprised.
Resolved.
She sits across from me, folding her hands together.
"Then," she says quietly, "it's time we stop pretending you're only ready for part of it."
Outside, my father laughs again.
Inside, the air changes.
And I know—deep in my bones—that whatever she tells me next will change more than just how I see myself.
It will change how I understand everything.