Chapter 3: The Soul Ledger

"You finally called me, you insane bitch."

Astrid's voice came through the phone one last time before the line went dead.

At 5:17 the next morning, I opened the passenger door of her battered Ford pickup and climbed inside.

The truck smelled like old leather, cold coffee, and antiseptic.

Astrid didn't look at me.

Both hands remained locked around the steering wheel, her knuckles pale against the dark leather as she stared through the grime-coated windshield.

Behind us, several metal forensic cases knocked together when she shifted the truck into gear.

Twelve years.

That was how long it had been since I'd seen her.

Twelve years since my mother had decided the Delgado family was beneath the Sterlings and made certain we were separated.

Astrid was no longer the girl who used to sneak into my bedroom after midnight.

She was a lone-wolf medical examiner now.

Back then, she had simply been my best friend.

"My mother called my father twelve years ago," Astrid said.

Her voice was rough.

Her eyes were red around the edges.

"She told him that if I ever contacted you again, she'd have the local packs revoke our medical licenses. She said the Delgado family was too low-tier to associate with a Sterling."

She gave a bitter laugh.

"Do you know how much I hated her for that?"

I stared at the road ahead.

"I missed you too, Astrid."

She finally glanced at me.

The anger in her face softened for only a second.

Then she looked forward again.

"Everything you told me last night..." Her fingers tightened around the wheel. "I don't want to believe any of it."

"But you're here."

"I'm here."

She swallowed.

"Because if there's even a chance you're right, I'm not leaving you alone with it."

I nodded.

"Cassie has been siphoning my wolf spirit."

The words sounded almost clinical when I said them.

"She started when we were nine."

Astrid's face went pale.

The early morning light coming through the windshield made her look almost gray.

"Sera."

She said my name slowly.

"Do you understand what you're accusing her of?"

"Yes."

"That requires soul-binding."

Her voice dropped.

"That's forbidden magic. If she was caught doing this, the punishment would be death."

"I know."

I pointed toward the road ahead.

"Take the next left."

Astrid hesitated.

"Where are we going?"

"The Sterling estate."

I looked at the clock.

"My parents are attending the Northside council meeting. Cassie stayed at Gideon's pack house. The estate should be empty."

"And?"

"The basement."

Astrid didn't ask another question.

She accelerated.

---

Forty-five minutes later, we entered the Sterling family apothecary.

It occupied the western wing of the ancestral house.

The room was immaculate.

Rows of glass containers lined the shelves, each filled with dried herbs, powders, roots, and carefully labeled medicinal compounds. The sharp scent of wolfsbane hung in the air beneath the older smell of parchment and dust.

Everything was spotless.

Too spotless.

It was the kind of cleanliness that made me think of things deliberately hidden beneath the surface.

I walked past the shelves without slowing.

Astrid followed.

At the southwest corner stood an enormous oak cabinet.

Her eyes immediately fixed on it.

"Your father's private vault."

Her voice softened.

"We used to dare each other to touch that thing."

"I remember."

I reached beneath my collar.

A thin chain slipped free.

At its end hung a small silver key.

My fingers closed around it.

John Sterling had given it to me on my eighteenth birthday.

I could still remember the weight of the key in my palm.

*You're the eldest daughter.*

*There are things you need to know.*

That was all he'd said.

Then he'd walked away.

He had never explained what the key opened.

Until now.

I inserted it into the iron lock.

A heavy click echoed through the room.

Astrid stepped closer.

I pulled the doors open.

The upper shelves contained old treaties, sealed medicinal texts, and herbs so rare they were kept behind locked glass.

I ignored all of them.

I crouched.

The bottom shelf was almost completely hidden in shadow.

My fingers closed around something heavy.

I pulled it free.

A thick leather-bound ledger landed across my knees.

Gold lettering had been pressed into the spine.

**Soul-Records.**

Every noble family maintained one.

The ledger tracked the fluctuations of wolf spirit within each member of the bloodline.

I opened it.

The pages were thick and yellowed with age.

I turned them one by one until I found my name.

Astrid crouched beside me and switched on a small penlight.

The beam settled over the page.

I stopped breathing.

From birth until the age of nine, my wolf spirit index had remained almost unnaturally stable.

**98%.**

A solid black line stretched across the chart.

Ninety-eight percent.

The number associated with an Alpha-born prodigy.

The level of power I had once possessed.

Then I reached my ninth birthday.

The line changed.

Not dramatically.

Not all at once.

It simply began falling.

A fraction.

Then another.

Year after year.

It never recovered.

Never climbed.

Never even stabilized.

By the final entry, corresponding to my twenty-third year, a number had been written in stark red ink.

**7%.**

Astrid stared at the page.

"Turn to Cassie's."

I flipped forward through the ledger.

Nearly fifty pages later, I found her name.

We both went silent.

Cassie's childhood record was almost the exact opposite of mine.

She had been born weak.

Her spirit index hovered around **20%** throughout her early years.

Then came her ninth birthday.

Her line began rising.

Slowly at first.

Then steadily.

I placed her chart beside mine.

The two records looked like reflections in a broken mirror.

Where mine descended, hers climbed.

Every time my index dropped, hers increased by almost the exact same amount.

Astrid reached out.

Her fingers trembled as they touched the edge of the page.

"This isn't ordinary siphoning."

She sounded sick.

"Normal spirit theft is unstable. You'd see irregular spikes, losses, rebounds. But this..."

Her fingertip traced the two graphs.

"It's too precise."

I looked at her.

"What does that mean?"

"It means something was controlling the transfer."

She swallowed.

"Filtering it."

Her eyes moved between the charts.

"Taking your spirit in measured quantities and directing those exact amounts into Cassie."

"A medium."

Astrid's expression hardened.

"Look at the margins."

I leaned closer.

Tiny handwritten notes appeared beside nearly every significant decline in my index.

The handwriting was familiar.

My father's.

**Med. fluc. Obsidian-based.**

Medium fluctuation.

Obsidian-based.

My chest tightened.

A memory surfaced so suddenly that it almost hurt.

Cassie at nine years old.

Running toward me through the garden.

Throwing her arms around my waist.

*"I'm so glad you're my sister, El."*

I'd forgotten the detail I'd never thought important.

Something cold had pressed against my chest when she hugged me.

A hard stone beneath her clothes.

Black.

Smooth.

Obsidian.

Victoria had given her the pendant that very morning.

Cassie had worn it ever since.

Every day.

Every hour.

When she hugged me.

When she pretended to comfort me.

When Gideon ignored me and she came close enough to whisper that everything would be fine.

The same black stone had always rested against my body.

Twelve years.

My eyes lowered.

"The necklace."

Astrid looked at me.

"What?"

"Cassie's pendant."

I could barely hear my own voice.

"That black obsidian necklace she's worn since she was nine."

Astrid rose immediately.

She grabbed one of her forensic cases.

"Take me downstairs."

I looked at her.

"Now, Sera."

Her voice had changed.

"Take me to the basement."

---

The stairs leading to the family ritual chamber were narrow and steep.

Rough stone pressed beneath our feet.

As a child, I had been forbidden from entering this place.

My mother called it sacred ground.

Today, I walked down without hesitation.

The air grew colder with every step.

Damp earth replaced the herbal scent of the apothecary.

At the far eastern end stood the ancestral stone altar.

I barely glanced at it.

My attention went to the dark corner beside the right wall.

That was where my mother used to make me kneel.

Whenever I "upset" Cassie.

Whenever I refused to apologize for something I hadn't done.

Whenever Cassie cried and Victoria decided the easiest solution was to punish me.

She used to tell me those hours were meant to teach humility.

I crouched.

Ran my fingers over the stone floor.

One brick felt different.

Loose.

I dug my fingernails into the narrow gap and pulled.

The stone shifted.

Behind it was a shallow alcove.

A small wooden box sat inside.

A cheap brass padlock held it shut.

I didn't search for a key.

There was no reason to.

I picked up a heavy iron candlestick from beside the altar.

Raised it.

Brought it down.

Once.

The padlock dented.

Again.

The metal split.

I tore the broken lock from the latch and lifted the lid.

Seven pieces of yellow parchment lay inside.

Dark red runes covered every surface.

Astrid dropped beside me.

Then recoiled.

She actually scrambled backward, one hand flying over her mouth.

"Sera..."

Her voice was barely audible.

"What?"

She stared at the parchments.

"Mate Bond forgery."

The words came out like a confession.

"I've only seen descriptions in the black archives."

She pointed toward the runes without touching them.

"These are used to manufacture a false mate response. Burn the inscriptions with the right blood catalyst, and they alter the target's subconscious instincts."

My stomach turned cold.

"Meaning?"

"They make someone believe another person is their fated mate."

Gideon.

For three years, I'd told myself the same cruel story.

Gideon didn't love me because I wasn't enough.

He looked at Cassie because the Moon Goddess had chosen her.

I was defective.

Unwanted.

Broken.

Unlovable.

But now the truth sat inside a wooden box between my hands.

His feelings toward her had been manufactured.

The pull wasn't fate.

It was magic.

"Look here."

Astrid opened her forensic kit.

She removed a cotton swab and a small vial of clear solution.

She rubbed the swab across a dark stain on the first parchment, then dipped it into the vial.

The liquid changed color.

Bright blue.

"Wolf blood," she said.

"Mine?"

She looked at me.

"I'm almost certain."

Her voice was grim.

"The ritual requires blood from the person whose position is being stolen."

I stared at the seven parchments.

"Seven."

Astrid nodded.

"Seven rituals."

I thought about my life.

Nine.

Twelve.

Fourteen.

Sixteen.

Eighteen.

Twenty.

Twenty-two.

Every time my body failed.

Every time I became sick without explanation.

Every time the doctors shrugged.

And every time Cassie rose higher.

My eyes returned to the first parchment.

I picked it up.

Something had been written across the back.

Pencil.

The handwriting was childish.

Uneven.

**If she dies, he'll love me by default.**

My fingers tightened.

I picked up the second.

**If she dies, he'll love me by default.**

The handwriting was slightly more mature.

I lifted another.

The same sentence.

Again.

And again.

Until the final parchment.

Age twenty-two.

Last year.

This time the handwriting was unmistakably Cassie's—elegant, controlled, almost beautiful.

But the words hadn't changed.

**If she dies, he'll love me by default.**

One thought.

Seven repetitions.

Thirteen years.

I lowered the parchment.

I didn't cry.

I didn't scream.

I simply sat on the stone floor.

Cold seeped through my jeans.

For three minutes, neither of us spoke.

The silence pressed in from every direction.

And somewhere inside that silence, the woman who had spent her entire life hoping her family would finally love her disappeared.

The desperate Sera was gone.

There was nothing left to beg for.

Astrid suddenly pulled out her phone.

The camera flashed repeatedly as she photographed every parchment from multiple angles.

Then she shoved the phone away and closed her forensic case.

"We're leaving."

Her voice had become steel.

"We're going straight to Gideon."

I looked at her.

"Now."

"We take the parchments. The Soul-Records. Everything. We put it in front of him and make him look at what they did."

I slowly shook my head.

Astrid stared at me.

"What?"

I picked up the seven parchments.

Carefully, I aligned their edges.

Then I placed them back inside the wooden box.

I closed the lid.

I gathered the broken pieces of the brass lock.

From my pocket, I pulled a short length of wire and used it to make the damaged lock appear intact.

I hooked it back onto the latch.

Astrid watched in disbelief.

I slid the box into the alcove.

Then pushed the loose brick back into place.

I brushed the dust from my knees and stood.

"No, Astrid."

She caught my arm.

"Sera, what the hell are you doing?"

"This proves everything."

"I know."

"Then why are you hiding it?"

I met her eyes.

"Because if I put this evidence on Gideon's desk today, he'll look at Cassie."

Astrid opened her mouth.

I continued before she could speak.

"She'll cry."

I folded my arms.

"She'll swear she didn't know what the runes were. She'll blame our parents. She'll tell him she was manipulated too."

Astrid's jaw tightened.

"And he'll believe her."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because twelve years of a forged Mate Bond doesn't disappear simply because someone shows him a piece of paper."

I glanced toward the hidden box.

"His instincts have been programmed to protect her for years. Even if his mind understands the evidence, the spell will tell him to defend her."

Astrid looked furious.

"So what? We wait?"

"No."

I paused.

Something almost like amusement touched my mouth.

It felt unfamiliar.

Cold.

Sharp.

"I haven't seen enough of her necklace yet."

Astrid went still.

I watched understanding dawn across her face.

"Tonight is the Sterling family banquet."

Her eyes narrowed.

"Gideon will be there."

I turned toward the stairs.

"The Elders will be there too."

I took the first step upward.

"And so will the entire pack."

Another step.

"I want to see exactly what my sweet sister has been wearing around her neck for twelve years."

Astrid followed.

Neither of us spoke for several seconds.

I knew what she was thinking.

The woman who had called her last night had been desperate.

Broken.

Still hoping someone might save her.

That woman was gone.

With every step toward the surface, I felt something inside me becoming colder.

Sharper.

I wasn't looking for an escape anymore.

I was looking for the place where everything would finally come apart.

And when it did, I intended to make sure everyone was watching.

Chapter 4: The First Fragment

The cold morning air bit through my silk robe, but I barely felt it. Standing in the silent kitchen of Luna House as the first grey rays of dawn crept over the horizon, my focus was entirely on the object sitting before me on the kitchen island.

Gideon’s dark grey ceramic mug.

My hands trembled, but not from fear. The physical decay was accelerating. Every breath felt like inhaling ground glass, and a copper taste lingered permanently at the back of my throat. Adrian had given me three days, but the dark magic draining my core didn't care about a physician's estimate. My wolf spirit was at seven percent, flickering like a candle stub in a gale.

I didn't need a cure. I needed leverage.

I reached out, resting my palm flat against the cold ceramic. I closed my eyes and reached deep inside myself—past the pain, past the shredded edges of my wolf, down to the absolute bedrock of my ancestral Alpha blood.

If you want my soul, I thought toward the distant pack compound where Cassie was likely sleeping soundly, you'll have to take it from the places he touches.

I began to pull.

It felt like tearing raw muscle. A suffocating pressure built behind my eyes, and my chest seized in a violent spasm. A gasp tore from my lips, rattling through the empty kitchen, but I forced my hand to stay pinned to the mug. A faint, silver radiance—the translucent essence of a true Alpha—began to bleed from my skin, sinking directly into the ceramic pores of the vessel.

My knees buckled. I slammed my free arm against the marble island to keep from collapsing, my teeth grinding so hard my jaw throbbed. The crescent mark on my left wrist flared white-hot, burning with a agonizing intensity before settling into a dull, silver throb.

The spell took hold. A fragment of my remaining soul force was now permanently fused into the base of the mug, bound directly beneath the carved letters I had etched six years ago. Every time Gideon poured his morning coffee, every time he lifted this cup to his lips, he would be holding a piece of the life he had helped destroy.

I pulled my hand back. The silver light faded into the dark grey finish, leaving no visual trace. But when I touched the rim again, the ceramic carried a faint, residual hum—a subtle magnetic resonance that only a true mate's subconscious would register.

I leaned heavily against the counter, panting, wiping a thin trail of dark blood from my bottom lip with the back of my sleeve. One down. Six to go.

I looked up at the clock on the wall. 5:45 AM.

Mara was already coordinating with her contacts outside the territory, gathering legal precedents on blood-siphon prosecution to present alongside our physical proof. Everything was moving according to plan. I turned to step toward the sink to wash the blood from my mouth, planning to head upstairs to rest before beginning the second fragment.

Then, tires crunched against the gravel outside.

Headlights swept across the frosted kitchen window, casting long, stark shadows across the floorboards.

Engine shutoff. A heavy door slammed.

Gideon’s car had pulled into the driveway. He was supposed to be at the northern border outpost until noon, coordinating patrol assignments with Cassie. He wasn't supposed to be here.

I didn't panic. I wiped my lip again, adjusted the belt of my robe, and stood perfectly still in the dim light of the kitchen as the front door lock clicked open.

Chapter 5: Blind Faith

The heavy oak door swung inward, bringing with it the crisp smell of pine, morning frost, and thick cedar cologne.

Gideon stepped into the foyer. He was still wearing his tactical patrol jacket, his dark hair slightly disheveled from the wind. He froze the moment he saw me standing by the kitchen island.

For a fraction of a second, his dark eyes scanned my face. He noticed the pale sheen of my skin, the shadows beneath my eyes, the way I leaned slightly against the marble for support. A flicker of something raw and unreadable crossed his features—a fleeting instinct that almost looked like concern.

Then, as if an invisible switch had been flipped inside his head, his brow furrowed, his jaw hardened, and the warmth vanished entirely. The forged bond was doing its work, overriding his natural senses and replacing them with conditioned irritation.

"You're awake," he said, his voice deep, rough, and entirely devoid of affection. He closed the front door behind him with a heavy thud. "Good. We need to talk about the stunt you pulled last night."

I didn't move. I didn't reach for him. I didn't shift my weight. "I assumed you were at the northern outpost."

"I was," Gideon said, walking into the kitchen. He stopped six feet away, crossing his broad arms over his chest. His presence used to fill me with a sense of absolute safety. Now, he just felt like an intrusive stranger standing in my house. "Until I had to spend two hours calming Cassie down because she was hyperventilating in her quarters. She was so shaken by your dramatic scene that she couldn't even finish her shift review."

I looked at him. Really looked at him.

He was an Alpha. He commanded three hundred warriors. He managed a territory that stretched across two mountain ranges. Yet here he stood, completely blind, repeating lines fed to him by a twenty-three-year-old girl who was currently draining my blood through a piece of black glass.

"I see," I said softly.

Gideon frowned, clearly caught off guard by my lack of reaction. Usually, this was the moment I would defend myself. I would explain the blood on the floor. I would pull out the medical reports. I would plead with him to remember who I was before the sickness started. I would cry, and he would call me unstable, and the cycle would continue.

Instead, I just stood there, watching him with calm, empty eyes.

"Is that all you have to say?" Gideon’s voice rose, sharp with rising frustration. "You humiliated her, Sera. In front of the entire pack council. In front of the elders. You accused her of stealing your wolf spirit—"

"I asked for a Severing Ritual," I corrected quietly. "I didn't mention Cassie during my request."

"You did it at her celebration!" Gideon snapped, stepping closer. The cedar scent washed over me, heavy and suffocating. "You knew all eyes were on her, and you chose that exact moment to make yourself the center of attention with some ridiculous story about terminal decay. Adrian shouldn't be enabling your hypochondria."

"Adrian gave me seventy-two hours, Gideon."

"Adrian is soft!" Gideon threw his hands up. "He lets you manipulate him because he feels sorry for you! You've been playing the frail, tragic victim for three years, Sera, ever since Cassie started outperforming you in the trials. You couldn't handle your younger sister surpassing you, so you invented an illness."

Every word was an accusation I had heard a hundred times before. But standing here now, knowing about the Soul-Records in the basement vault, knowing about the seven blood-inscribed parchments hidden in the stone floor, his words carried no weight. They were just noise. The desperate rationalizations of a man whose mind was bound in chains he didn't even know he was wearing.

"What do you want, Gideon?" I asked, my voice flat and even.

Gideon stopped. He blinked, staring at me as if I were speaking a foreign language. "What?"

"What do you want me to do?" I clarified, taking a small step back from the counter. "You drove all the way from the border at six in the morning. You didn't come to check if I was dead. You came to demand something. What is it?"

His jaw tightened. He straightened his shoulders, adopting his formal Alpha posture. "You are going to issue a public apology to Cassie at the opening of the Delgado familyBanquet tomorrow night."

"An apology," I repeated.

"Yes. You will state that your request for a Severing Ritual was a result of emotional instability brought on by a temporary medication reaction. You will reinstate Cassie’s standing, and you will formally hand over the Luna administrative duties to her for the remainder of the season."

He watched my face closely, clearly expecting a breakdown. He was braced for tears, for screaming, for me to remind him of our wedding vows.

"Okay," I said.

Gideon went completely still. "What?"

"I said okay," I replied smoothly. "I will address the assembly at the banquet tomorrow night. I will speak about my condition, my wolf spirit, and my relationship with Cassie. I will settle the matter completely."

Gideon stared at me, his eyes searching my face for any sign of sarcasm or deceit. But there was none. My posture was relaxed. My expression was serene. It unnerved him far more than any argument ever could have.

"You're... agreeing?" he asked slowly, his voice dropping an octave.

"I have no reason to fight you anymore, Gideon," I said, looking him dead in the eye. "You've made your position very clear."

He swallowed hard. For a brief second, his eyes flicked down to my hands, then up to my pale throat, then back to my face. The forged bond was fighting against the sheer unnaturalness of my composure. He looked confused, almost lost, like a man who had prepared for a storm only to find an absolute, terrifying calm.

"Good," he said, though he sounded anything but satisfied. "Good. I'm glad you're finally being reasonable."

He turned on his heel, heading toward the staircase. "I'm changing my shirt and taking a shower before the morning briefing. Don't leave the house today. The pack guards have orders to keep you on Luna House grounds for your own safety."

"I won't leave," I said softly to his retreating back.

I watched him walk up the stairs. Heavy, commanding footsteps echoing against the hardwood.

He was heading straight for the master bedroom.

He was going to step up to his nightstand. He was going to reach for his watch box to put on his silver Alpha chronometer for the morning briefing.

And sitting directly beneath that watch box was the worn, frayed leather notebook containing seventy-two detailed entries of my physical agony matched against his beloved Cassie's triumphs.

I turned back to the kitchen counter. I picked up the dark grey coffee mug, turned it right-side up, and placed it prominently beside the coffee maker, ready for him to use.

"Go ahead, Alpha," I whispered into the quiet room, a cold, sharp smile pulling at the corners of my mouth. "Go open your drawer."