Page 47 of Destined to the Lycan (The Shadow Realms #3)

“Surely, there has been someone else with—”

“No. It wouldn’t work with any other as you wouldn’t be in love with them,” she said, interrupting me.

“Why does that even matter?” I countered.

“Because you must bite her at the height of your rage during the full moon.”

My blood turned to ice. While I had realized she wanted me to bite her as a werewolf, I assumed it would be as close as possible to the full moon, but not at its height when I was a mindless beast.

“You can’t be serious?! I will have no control at that moment. I will kill her!” I shouted.

“That’s the whole point, you silly boy,” the Weaver retorted, looking at me as if she was starting to question my intelligence. “You must simply refrain from killing her in a way where her body is so mutilated that no regeneration would be possible, causing her permanent death.”

“How will that even be possible!” I exclaimed. “The entire reason why I lock myself up in a cage with powerful wards is specifically because at the height of the full moon I have absolutely no control. I’m feral, a mindless beast with an all-consuming bloodlust. I will permanently kill her.”

“You won’t if you love her enough,” Cliona replied dismissively. “It’s the only way at this point.”

“I can’t,” I whispered to myself, feeling devastated as a wave of despair engulfed me.

“Then your Flame will die,” she replied with a harshness bordering on cruelty. “And I promise you, Lyall will not let you live it down.”

I recoiled, stunned by this unexpected comment.

“You know him?” I asked.

“Mmhmm,” she replied in a non-committal fashion.

“What is he?” I asked, unable to silence my curiosity.

The strangest emotion flitted on her features before she took a neutral expression.

“Let’s just say that he’s… a work in progress.”

I opened my mouth to pry further, but an irritated gesture from her hand indicated that this topic was closed.

“Against all odds, you got Amara halfway through her healing journey,” the Weaver continued. “She blindly trusts you. Maybe you ought to try trusting yourself a bit more.”

“But what if I fail?” I insisted, my insides twisting with apprehension.

I couldn’t recall the things I did while enraged. I would get the occasional flash, but the true evidence lay in the insane damage I did to my cells while trying to escape my safe houses. Against the soft flesh of my helpless mate, I would do untold damage.

To my shock, the Weaver smiled with an almost maternal tenderness that left me speechless. Never in a million years would I have believed her able to display such a sweet demeanor.

“You will not fail, Remus. Clearly, you love her enough to keep her safe. I just told you that bonding with her will cure you of the curse that has plagued your entire life. And yet, you hesitate for her sake, putting her welfare before your own. Believe in yourself. You are not a monster.”

That last sentence struck me hard. It echoed the words spoken by my soulmate both in reference to Lyall and me.

“Any advice?” I said at last, defeated.

“Saturate yourself with her scent. When the time comes, it will help pierce through the madness,” the Weaver explained. “Keep her in a cool environment—borderline cold even—to help slow down the progress of the poison.”

The strangest glimmer sparked in her purple eyes. She appeared to hesitate before carefully choosing her words.

“You might want to burn a banishing soy wax candle. You should find some in her workshop in her house. It will help dim your desire to remain in the room longer than necessary. Light it up a few hours before the full moon rises.”

For a reason I couldn’t explain, maybe due to the intensity of her gaze as she spoke those words, I suspected this task served another agenda or held some sort of hidden message.

But I couldn’t figure out what. Before I could pry further, Cliona opened a drawer that I didn’t realize the table possessed and retrieved a small golden box.

She placed it on top of the table, then took a golden necklace out of that same drawer. It was very simple, with an oval glass or crystal locket. She pulled one of three strands of what resembled blue hair out of the golden box, then placed it inside the clear locket.

“Here, take this and place it around Amara’s neck,” the Weaver said, while extending the necklace to me.

I instinctively took it and held it in front of me, studying it with a frown. “What’s that strand you put inside?”

“It’s a Wraith’s hair gifted to me by my daughter,” the Weaver replied nonchalantly.

“Your daughter is a Wraith?!” I exclaimed, stunned.

She chuckled and stared at me with that unreadable expression I was growing used to.

“She’s more what we call a Planewalker.”

Once again, I curbed my desire to pry further. I could sense that she would not give me further details. In truth, I suspected Cliona hadn’t actually meant to reveal that it came from her daughter.

“What does it do?” I asked instead.

“It warns of any looming danger. Anytime Amara’s life is threatened by a nearby enemy, it will emit a blinding light.

But your nose remains your best friend. Use it well,” the Weaver said in a mysterious tone that had my frown deepening.

“I look forward to seeing you both a week after the full moon. Until then, take good care of your Flame.”

A clacking sound resonated behind me. I jerked my head around to find the door wide open onto the warm summer night. When I glanced back at the Weaver, I recoiled at finding her no longer sitting behind the table. She was now in front of her spinning wheel, spooling some glowing golden thread.

Having clearly been dismissed, I quietly rose from my chair. With a soft grinding sound, the chair glided back to its previous position against the wall by the entrance. Turning on my heel, I placed the necklace between my teeth, shifted into my wolf form, and ran into the night to my mate’s house.