Page 9 of A Reign of Malice (Wolves of Lunara #3)

CHAPTER EIGHT

SLOANE

T wo more days have passed since that dinner with Aeson, and each minute within these walls has only made this place more of a puzzle.

The pull to the runes lingers at the edges of my consciousness, a quiet hum in my bones that never quite fades.

My wolf has grown restless, pacing within me, her claws raking against my control.

She wants out, wants to seek what calls to us, but I keep her contained.

Aeson has kept a closer eye on me, though he’s far too clever to make it obvious.

It’s in the way he lingers in the corridors when I least expect it.

The way his eyes flick toward me in conversation, like he’s trying to decipher something just out of his reach.

My questions at dinner unsettled him, but I don’t think it was in a bad way. If anything, he seems intrigued.

He thinks I might be more than he could’ve ever wished.

It’s almost amusing how wrong he is.

We’ve spoken of how large and powerful our kingdom will be as of next week when we’re bonded, how we need all the other alpha kings and queens present to witness our combined strength.

All of it has me internally gagging, but I keep my grin in place, feigning excitement like this is the grandest of ideas.

But my patience is wearing thin. It’s time for me to figure out how to get into the lower levels of the castle—with Clara’s help.

With Aeson scheduled to be outside the castle this morning, Clara and I move quickly through the dim corridors of the southern wing, our footsteps muffled against the polished wooden floors.

The early hour means most of the castle’s staff are either preparing for their morning duties or still in their private quarters, almost ensuring we won’t be disturbed.

The lights along the walls flicker, casting elongated shadows that stretch and twist like specters in the dark. The bare walls feel almost mocking, providing no information about the history of the Venaris lineage, like most castle hallways.

“This place has too many gods-damned corridors,” Clara mutters beside me, her voice low but edged with frustration. “It’s like a maze.”

I exhale sharply, suppressing the growing impatience curling in my gut. “I assume that’s the point considering the secrets that seem to be buried in these walls. Literally.”

Clara glances over at me, her expression hard to read. “If we come face-to-face with a monster, and not a prisoner, don’t be surprised if I let him eat you first.”

I allow my grin to break through. “Noted.”

As we descend another short set of stairs, the air thickens around us.

It’s not a physical thing, not something I can see, but rather something I feel .

The magic saturating this part of the castle is dense, like an unseen mist winding through the halls, searching for escape yet unable to leave.

My wolf stirs at the sensation, pressing forward against my control.

I let her rise just enough to refine my senses. The pulse of power strengthens instantly, vibrating in my chest like a second heartbeat.

We’re close.

The hallway curves to the right, and finally, there are paintings on the stone walls. Not many and completely out of place considering they’re hidden in this alcove, not displayed proudly in the open. My shoulders tense as I look around, stepping more slowly.

There are six altogether. Most of them are smaller, landscape pieces showing the twin moons and the forest in all their glory, but there are two oversized paintings, one on the left and the other on the right.

My gaze travels over each one but lingers longest on the one to my left. It’s an oil piece, depicting the kingdom as it must’ve looked centuries ago—its banners flying high, sentries patrolling outer walls that no longer exist, the castle looming in the background like an eternal guardian.

But something about it feels…off.

Clara steps closer, peering at it with narrowed eyes. “This doesn’t match the rest of the castle’s décor. The frame is almost brittle, too old, too…” She raises her head, fingers ghosting over the gilded frame. “Deliberate. Like no one would dare touch this for fear of damaging the stunning art.”

I press my palm to the canvas, feeling the texture of the dried paint beneath my fingertips, moving slowly toward the edge until the wood casing brushes my skin. Sharp tingles cut into my skin, but when I pull my hand back, there are no marks.

Reaching for it again, I ignore the bite of pain and lift the picture away from the wall to peek behind it .

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? What if you break it and then someone knows we’ve been here?” Clara asks, but I ignore her.

The stones start to glow as soon as they’re revealed.

“Help me get this down,” I demand, more eager than I probably should be to uncover whatever secrets are being held here.

“As you wish, my queen.” Clara’s formal tone has me pausing, but when I look over at her, she’s grinning.

Sometimes I wonder why I’ve kept her as my advisor for so long, but the thought never lasts long.

She takes most of the weight of the painting, and together, we set it carefully on the floor, keeping it leaned against the wall a few feet away.

There are carvings in the stone. Some of them are the same as the runes outside, but around them, there’s a long rectangle. I tilt my head, trying to understand what I’m seeing when Clara chuckles.

“There’s the door we’ve been looking for,” she says, pointing to a smaller circle on the right. “That’s the handle.”

“That’s a drawing. Not a door. It has to mean something else.” At least, I hope so because there’s no way to open this, and I don’t know enough about runes to understand what the symbols mean—or how to use them.

Clara shakes her head. “Oh, this is a door. There’s no doubt about it. We just don’t have the key. Not yet anyway.”

“What do you mean?” I practically plead as my heart races. The need to get beyond this wall grows the longer we stand here. Pinpricks of energy seep into my skin, calling me forward, and it takes every ounce of self-control not to press myself against the wall.

Clara crosses her arms, staring intently at the glowing designs. “I’ve read about this. ”

I snap my gaze to her. “When? Where? What do you know?”

Her brows knit together, frustration flitting across her face. “I don’t remember exactly. It was something I came across in my spare time when I was researching Alcaris’s older texts—something about magic bound by sacrifice.” She exhales loudly, stepping back. “I need to find that book.”

“Then do it.” I turn back to the markings, my fingers hovering just above them. “Maybe I can…”

A weightless sensation overtakes me—a hollowness spreading through my chest. My vision falters, the world around me spinning, breaking apart like shards of shattered glass.

I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the pain to stop.

When I open them again, I’m not in the hallway with Clara anymore.

I’m in a cave. Well, I think I am.

My body is shimmering, and if I look close enough, it’s as if I’m transparent.

Holy shit, have I somehow projected myself somewhere? Or did I die?

I press my hands over my arms. There’s still a solidness to my form. I’m not a ghost, so that’s good. But I’m not sure if my spirit being forced out of my body is any better.

And I’m not alone.

A heavy dampness clings to the air, thick with the scent of earth, rock, and something else—something sharp, metallic.

Blood.

I stay in the shadows, my breath shallow as I scan the cavernous space. Stalactites hang from the ceiling like jagged teeth, and a faint trickle of water echoes through the silence.

Then, a pair of eyes—bright, piercing blue—snap upward, locking onto me .

A shudder rolls down my spine.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” he says, his voice low, rough—haunted.

I swallow hard. “Where is here ?”

“My own personal hell.”

Besides his eyes, I can’t see much. The long tangle of hair and thick beard obscure most of his face, and the dim lighting does little to reveal more, but one thing I don’t miss are the chains binding him.

Thick, blackened iron shackles bolt him to the rock wall, wrapping around his wrists with what I assume to be some sort of enchanted steel. He’s trapped in a trench—water up to his waist, forming a circular pit around him, as if meant to cage him there forever.

Something in my chest clenches painfully.

I take a single step forward, my foot barely skimming the slick stone. The air around me presses in, forcing me to my knees, and it’s as if my heart is being shattered into a million tiny pieces before coming back together.

My wolf howls, but this time, the sound isn’t sorrowful. It’s filled with the greatest joy I didn’t believe we’d ever feel.

Mate .

“Don’t look at me like that,” the man pleads, his voice raspy as if he hasn’t spoken in some time. “I thought I wanted you to find me, but I don’t think I can bear to have you this close and not touch you.”

The torture in his voice pokes at my defenses. I try to ignore his despair, but the mate bond is hard to ignore when his hurt is this loud.

His eyes remain downcast and his shoulders now slump as his chained arms settle back into the water. Tangled hair falls forward and every instinct within me wants to reach out and brush it back so I can see into his gaze, finding the truths I so desperately seek.

Yet, no matter how much I try to remain impassive, the agony rolling off him has tears filling my eyes. His pain is already becoming my own. It shouldn’t be possible, but then again, the power of a mate bond isn’t to be controlled.

It’s meant to be accepted.

I could fight this. I could pretend I feel nothing, but that seems like a losing battle. Even now, when I still have so many questions.

Because in this moment, regardless of the lack of sense, I don’t care how or why he became strapped to this wall. All I know is that I need him more than my next breath.

“I’m going to get you out.”