Chapter 15
955words
"How are you healing?"
My father, Caden, pushed the door open and saw me on the balcony, looking out over our territory.
That desperate voice from three days ago was still ringing in my ears.
"I did it to save you!"
Byron's words.
"I'm fine," I turned around. "The broken bone in my leg is mending. The whip marks on my back are starting to scar."
"The body heals," my father said, coming to my side. "I'm not asking about the scars I can see. I'm asking about the ones I can't."
He pointed to his heart.
I was silent.
He was right. Physical wounds healed, but the wounds on the soul...
"I've asked the most knowledgeable shaman to come see you," my father said. "She wants to do a full examination."
"An examination for what?"
"Your wolf," my father said, his eyes filled with worry. "Sandra, your wolf was sealed by Byron. We need to make sure that seal didn't cause any permanent damage."
I nodded.
Ten minutes later, an old woman with a full head of silver hair walked into the room.
She carried an aura of ancient power, of dust and starlight, and her eyes were as deep as the stars.
"This is the legendary Moonshadow Shaman," my father introduced. "The wisest scholar in the entire werewolf world."
The Moonshadow Shaman looked at me and gave a slight nod.
"Child, let me see the damage they have done," her voice was ancient, yet soft.
I sat in a chair, and the shaman placed her hands on my temples.
Instantly, a warm energy flowed into my body.
She closed her eyes, as if sensing something.
A few minutes later, her eyes flew open, wide with shock.
"Impossible," she breathed. "By the Goddess, how can this be..."
"What's impossible?" I asked.
"Child," the shaman looked at me, her eyes filled with awe. "What is coiled inside you is not a curse. It is a power pure and ancient, a power I thought was lost to legend. Child, you carry the blood of the First Wolves. The Ancestor's Bloodline."
The Ancestor's Bloodline?
The legendary, original bloodline of the werewolf world, said to be powerful enough to elevate a normal Alpha's strength to rival that of an Alpha King.
"Shaman, are you saying..." my father was in disbelief. "Sandra has the Ancestor's Bloodline?"
"Not just has it, but it is immensely powerful," the shaman nodded. "This power fell dormant because of the trauma of your miscarriage and the subsequent sealing. But it didn't disappear. Instead, it has been quietly gathering strength."
I looked at my own hands, unable to believe it.
The Ancestor's Bloodline. The most ancient and sacred power of our kind.
Legend said that only the very first werewolves possessed this bloodline.
"This also explains why the severance papers worked," the shaman continued. "The Moon Goddess's witness requires an extremely pure and powerful energy as a catalyst. Child, it was you who unknowingly used the power of your bloodline to activate that ancient contract."
I thought back to that night.
The rage and despair I felt as I wrote those papers.
The cold, determined power that had surged from the depths of my soul.
So, that was the Ancestor's Bloodline.
"The seal is weakening now," the shaman said. "Child, will you allow me to help you fully awaken this power?"
I looked at my father. He nodded.
"Yes," I said.
The shaman had me sit cross-legged on the rug.
"Close your eyes. Relax your mind and body," her voice was as gentle as a lullaby. "Let your consciousness sink deep inside you, and find that sleeping power."
I did as she said.
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and let my mind quiet down.
Gradually, I felt something.
A warm, golden light flowing gently inside me.
That was my wolf.
My soul's companion.
"Good," the shaman's voice came from far away. "Now, go deeper. Find the power that lies beneath."
My consciousness sank further.
Deeper and deeper.
Suddenly, a blinding silver light exploded in my mind.
Then, a memory that was not my own—yet was—crashed over me.
It was a rainy night.
A downpour lashed the earth.
A girl who was me, maybe fifteen or sixteen, was walking on a deserted road.
Suddenly, a truck spun out of control, hurtling down the road.
Its headlights gleamed like a demon's eyes in the dark.
And in front of the truck, a boy covered in blood had fallen in the middle of the road.
He was badly injured, unable to move.
The truck was racing toward him.
There was no time to think.
The younger me ran.
I threw myself in front of him, my body a shield against tons of screaming metal.
A silver bullet flew from the truck, grazing my back.
Sharp pain.
Blood.
But I didn't let go.
I held the boy tight, using my body to shield him from the impact.
The truck finally screeched to a halt.
The boy was saved.
And I...
I collapsed in a pool of blood, my consciousness fading.
In the final moment before darkness took me, I saw his face.
Golden eyes.
Brown hair.
And a scar... a scar that carved a line from his forehead to his cheek.
Byron.
I snapped my eyes open, jolted out of my meditation.
The shaman and my father were both looking at me with concern.
"What's wrong?" my father asked. "You look shocked."
I stared at my trembling hands, my mind replaying the memory.
That rainy night. That rescue. That scar from a silver bullet.
I slowly reached a hand to my back.
Near my shoulder blade, there was a faint, almost invisible old scar.
