Page 49 of Destined to the Lycan (The Shadow Realms #3)

Something in the way he spoke those words struck me as odd.

But before I could try to pry further, he grabbed a folded piece of fabric sitting on top of the dresser to his right, framed by the two large windows of the room, and tossed it at me.

I instinctively caught it and glanced at it to realize it was a pair of pants.

“First, put these on,” Lyall grumbled. “I do not care to stare at your cock all day.”

I snorted and complied. As a Lycan, nudity was something we often didn’t even pay attention to. But had our roles been reversed, I would also not care to see the man who ‘stole’ my female from me strutting his assets to my face around the clock.

As I finished buttoning the trousers, Lyall headed out of the room.

I followed in his wake as he led me down the first set of stairs to the main floor and turned around to cross the corridor running its entire length.

We walked past the living area and formal dining room to the left, and he opened the second door on the right.

It revealed a large space—which I suspected previously served as a guest room—but now served as Amara’s workshop.

Rows upon rows of shelves occupied the entire back wall.

They were neatly organized with sections dedicated to candles, perfumes, soaps, potpourri, and scented oils.

On each side of the door, long counters with cupboards contained the various ingredients and reagents used to craft her goods.

Some were visible through the glass doors of the cupboards.

She had placed her worktable on the left side, propped against the side wall.

The wide window above it gave a breathtaking view of the backyard, which had to be a delightful scenery to gaze upon while working.

A large cauldron and a firepit occupied the center of the room.

It explained why stone pavers covered the floor of this room instead of the hardwood found everywhere else.

A wistful smile settled on my lips as I pictured her hunched over the table as she worked, casting the occasional glance out the window at our pups running around the garden while I hunted.

My gaze roamed over the various ingredients on display.

As I inventoried the reagents she possessed, my mind bubbled with the various rare ones that I could acquire for her in remote places few dared to venture into or whose existence they weren’t even aware of.

As a former outcast—and later on a guide—I had explored far and wide and entered places wiser folks would have avoided.

Bursting with excitement, I made my way towards the opposite side of the room where she had grouped her candles based on purpose, from advanced witchcraft to scented and decorative.

Halfway through the room, I froze, a familiar scent I hadn’t fully acknowledged, slapping my nostrils with force.

It was subtle but undeniable. I sniffed the air, my spine stiffening as I recognized why it had drawn my attention despite the countless aromas in the room, from the herbs, spices, and other fragrant sources.

I jerked my head towards Lyall, a shocked expression on my face. Nonchalantly leaning against the door frame, he was observing me with an intensity I was increasingly growing familiar with.

“Do you smell that?” I asked.

He held my gaze unwaveringly. For half a beat, I thought he wouldn’t answer. Then he shook his head.

“No, I don’t. What do you smell?” he asked in a neutral tone.

“It’s the same scent as Amara’s sickness, but it’s… I don’t know… purer?”

He nodded slowly, his eyes locked with mine, the vertical slit of his pupils appearing even narrower.

“But you knew that, didn’t you?” I asked, my anger flaring.

“No, I didn’t. But I suspected you might find something here the moment you said the Weaver sent you to fetch something in the workshop. She never speaks pointlessly. Every sentence has a purpose,” he said with a shrug.

I growled in frustration then shifted my focus back to the scent.

It appeared to emanate from under the cauldron.

I moved it out of the way and examined the fire pit beneath but found nothing unusual.

As the scent was undeniably stronger the closer I got to the floor, it could only mean that the source lay hidden underneath it.

However, try as I might, I failed to find any switch, recess, or lever that would reveal the secret cache.

Seeing the doppelganger idly standing by observing me pissed me off to no end. Was he truly not assisting me because of the Covenant, or did he just enjoy watching me run around like an idiot to no avail?

“Is this damn thing poisoning her again?” I asked, suddenly struck by that frightening thought. “Is it poisoning us ?”

“You placed the Weaver’s necklace around Amara’s neck. The Wraith’s lock didn’t glow. Therefore, she’s not in any danger right now. If my suspicions around the source are correct, then it is currently harmless to anyone.”

I emitted another frustrated sound before resuming my search.

As I doubted Amara would be aware of its existence, I speculated that the switch would be located in a place she was unlikely to frequently interact with.

Glancing around the room, I spotted four potential areas, three of which were the vacant spaces beneath the shelves on the right side of the door.

They were just high enough to store a pair of shoes.

But the fourth spot called to me the most. It was a heavy piece of furniture, shaped almost like a giant cradle on four legs at each extremity.

It appeared to be made of bronze or copper.

Either way, it was the type of thing you would hate having to move around, and definitely not something Amara would be able to lift on her own.

It contained what resembled various sculpted molds and casings, some made of wood, others out of metal, to give her candles those stunning, unique shapes.

Along the edge of the cradle, a single bar on the front and sides allowed her to hang ornate chains and woven strings, which would likely be used on the still warm wax to apply elegant patterns.

Those chains and strings created a curtain that hid a far more accessible space beneath.

I headed straight for it and carefully pushed the chains and strings to the side.

There was nothing there, the stone pavers on the floor as unremarkable as the others that covered the remainder of the room.

Still, I leaned forward to run my hand over the back wall in case there was something I couldn’t see from this angle.

But as soon as my hand rested on the floor for support, my overly sensitive ears picked up a subtle grinding sound.

I leaned back to look at the floor. None of the tiles seemed loose, the grout filling the gaps seamlessly around each paver.

I pressed again, the sound weaker or stronger depending on where I applied pressure.

The tile still didn’t move but seemed to be spread over at least six pavers.

After a few more attempts, I realized that the sound varied from one time to the next when I pushed again on a given area.

It took me a moment to understand that I had to press each stone in a specific sequence.

It made sense as, if a single pressure had been required to activate the switch, it could have accidentally revealed the secret cache simply by moving a piece of furniture.

But the sequence demanded a deliberate and calculated effort.

Without my enhanced hearing, I would never have noticed this.

And even then, not knowing there might be a hidden mechanism, had I simply stepped on it, I wouldn’t have paid it much attention and assumed the floor had shifted over time, like the squeaking sounds from the hardwood floors and stairs.

It took me only a few attempts to figure out the combination, the sound steadily increasing from one pressure to the next until a grinding sound in my back startled me.

I spun around to see a small section of pavers lowering into the floor next to the fire pit.

I hastened there, and my jaw dropped upon seeing a bouquet of reddish flowers.

At first, I thought they were Gloriosa flowers, also commonly referred to as Flame Lilies.

They were as beautiful as they were lethal.

However, their swirling stems and flowy leaves marked them as a different species of plants.

“What the fuck is that?” I asked.

Lyall casually approached, looked inside the small secret nook, then crouched before it to reach for the flowers.

On instinct, I grabbed his wrist to stop him while giving him a ‘What do you think you’re doing?

’ look. He seemed taken aback by my protective gesture before smirking again in that obnoxious fashion of his.

“Careful, pup. Or I may think you’re starting to care about me,” he said tauntingly before freeing his wrist from my grasp. “Like I said, if my suspicions were right, then the source was currently harmless. And my suspicions were right.”

He gathered the flowers then stood back up while admiring them. To my dismay, he lifted them to his nose before deeply inhaling their perfume. He glanced at me and chuckled at my flabbergasted expression.

“These flowers are called Lover’s Blight. They’re the netherworld’s version of the Flame Lilies,” he explained casually. “And they are indeed what caused Amara’s sickness.”

“So why are you saying they’re harmless right now,” I asked, my voice thick with tension.

“Because they only become lethal once they are burnt,” he said, glancing at the fire pit. “Great heat causes a chemical reaction within them, which then releases an odorless toxic fume. Otherwise, they’re just pretty decorative plants that you can safely breathe in.”

“So the fumes would be released every time Amara melted wax in her cauldron,” I whispered in shocked understanding. “But who would do this? And why?”