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Dennison had no time for grief, or he just didn't know how to process it. It wasn't long after that, that he met and married my mother. I think a lot of the pack despised him for moving on and forgetting their wonderful Luna so soon. I was born soon after, and Violet spoiled me as her little brother. Me, Hamilton, and Vi had the best of times once us boys were old enough to follow her around everywhere. She loved teasing us, having picnics with us, and making up games and toys for us. She called us her pet pups, and we adored her for the spunky angel she was."

He watched Ariella process this information, her head slowly nodding as if what he was telling her made sense. He wondered just what she already knew about his older half-sister.

"So your father wasn't even Luna Seneca's true mate. And she had to deal with him all those years without even the bond to draw them together."

He couldn't believe she was feeling sorry for his mom after hearing the story. Considering the crisp cold shoulder Seneca had shown Ariella, he was surprised she felt any sympathy or kindness towards his mom.

With a trembling hand, Ariella placed it over her heart and rubbed the spot as if it ached. "I feel so bad for them all. It's so tragic."

He saw her eyes glisten as they filled with tears. "And you," she looked up at him, the depths of her brown eyes unfathomable. He felt himself slipping in an ocean of molten honey, smothered, drowning in the silken understanding only a mate could give. "No wonder it's so hard for you," she nodded her head again, pieces clicking into place. "The position you're in, being the son of the woman who wasn't truly the pack's Luna. I guess, because of what they've been through, what they've lost, the pack doesn't seem to want to accept you as their Alpha."

He knew it to be true, but it still hurt hearing her say it. Would he ever be worthy to lead them? Would he ever be good and true enough to be accepted by them? Or would he only turn out to be as bad as—or even worse than—his father?

With odds all against him, he had Dennison's DNA as well as his foreign mother's, inherited in possibly a terrible combination.

"I'll figure it out. I didn't tell you all this to earn your pity. You wanted to know about Violet, so there's the story." He said gruffly, standing quickly and running a hand through his unruly hair. He couldn't stand one more ounce of compassion from Ariella when he'd done nothing to deserve it.

He hadn't been there to save Violet from the hands of her abuser and murderer. He hadn't hunted him down and removed him from the face of the planet, though God knew how many times he wanted to avenge her death. He hadn't done anything heroic and sacrificial to prove to his pack that he was worthy to be their leader. He was just the offspring of his father's arrogant passions, not even of true love between mates.

"Did they ever catch whoever killed Violet?"

Ariella's soft voice dragged him from the dark abyss of fears he was too acquainted with slipping into.

"No. But I will. Hamilton and I swore to avenge her. We've each lost too many people in our lives, and day after day we work towards bringing justice for their deaths. I ache to make those responsible feel a fraction of the pain they've caused us. To feel their warm blood turn to ice as I tear apart their body and scatter their ashes in the ground where such monsters belon—"

"Malachi." Ariella was looking at him with wide eyes, an emotion he hadn't seen on her before—fear. She was afraid of him, and rightly so. He knew his blood was boiling, his eyes likely reflecting the darkness in his heart, and she had little idea of the potential to destroy he now held in his clenched fists.

Relaxing them, he forced himself to take a deep breath and calm his pounding heart. With such murderous thoughts swirling in his head, was he any better than the killers he sought to kill?

Would their blood on his hands be atoning, or condemning like the innocent blood they'd spilled?

"I'm sorry. I try to control it, but having Alpha DNA makes me want to protect everyone I care about no matter what it takes. My wolf is thirsty for blood." He often wondered if that was the only reason he wanted to tear things apart. It was getting harder to maintain control, to keep the darkness from spilling over. To hold on to sanity.

"I understand."

Looking at her pale face, Malachi wasn't so sure she did. He opened his mouth and hated the lie before it was even fully formed. "Ari, it isn't like I'm seeking to kil—"

Mal, I really need to talk to you.

Hamilton's voice invaded his mind, and Malachi was grateful for the interruption.

Where have you been all morning? the Beta continued. We have a major problem on the eastern border.

Sunset Falls. Rogue Zander.

Immediately, hypotheses of the problems and possible solutions began forming in Malachi's head. "I need to go. Hamilton informed me—"

"It's okay. You need to do your job," Ariella seemed to read the conflict in his expression no matter how much he tried to hide it all behind a face like granite. Before he could walk out the door, she placed her small hand on his arm, arresting him in place.

"Thank you for telling me the stories of the past, Malachi. I know it was painful, but I needed to hear them. I want to understand you better. I want to know what we're dealing with."

"I know," he grunted, then all he could do further was nod around the constriction in his chest that made it hard to breathe.

She was so patient, so understanding. He knew those traits could only stretch so far, and he also knew in his heart she was bound to break soon.

Delaying the inevitable heartbreak, he left.

Left her to look through the ancient books and perhaps work out the truth on her own.

I'm on the verge of a breakthrough.

Or a breakdown.

I don't know what to think. Too many stories, too many emotions. Too many hurts staining the past that I'm not sure I can handle one more painful truth.

Malachi had a sister. Dennison and his true mate Krystal had a daughter called Violet before the Luna died, and then he married Seneca who gave birth to Malachi. Violet was then murdered, crushing the already grieving family and pack. This probably drove Dennison into even deeper insanity.

I find it hard to blame him for mistakes and cruel attitudes that had probably originated from a broken heart. Maybe Joaquina and her weird potions had nothing to do with it. Maybe he always had an arrogant streak, but the tragedy of losing both his mate and daughter drove him to be heartless in his pride and dominant tendencies.

And as if that wasn't enough to think over, I'm holding books and journals in my lap that tell of battles with demons. I'm looking at pictures that don't really resemble my visions, but are close enough. Perhaps demons are shapeshifters like us. Maybe no two people see them in the same light.

Or darkness.

I assume the shadows that conceal them are meant to hide their true shape and intentions.

I'm so tired of this. Resting my head back on the arm of the loveseat and stretching out my legs like a kitten bathed in warm sunlight, I close my eyes and force myself to relax. Malachi still has to work, and I have to be ready to bite my tongue when he comes home unwilling to share anything.

But he has. He has shared so much with me last night and this morning, and I am grateful. Finally, he is opening up to me. In bits and pieces, snatches over the last few weeks, he has told me things, let me see his emotions that I'm sure no one else has.

My mate is so layered, so many levels and facets of complexity, I am beginning to comprehend the lifetime it will take to unwrap his heart.

And I am earnestly looking forward to it.

We just need to put a stop to the brutal murders going on, and find out just what our dreams of death mean before a battle with supernatural beings breaks out.

Nothing big.

Nothing we can't handle together.

Together...

As the warm rays of light dance on my skin, I remember the warm touch of Malachi against me all night, his body etching mine in security and mystery. I can still smell his toasty chestnut scent that lingers on my jacket, and I pull the collar up and breathe it in. Wrapped in this cocoon, my mind wanders to the beautiful future we envisioned together last night.

I can only pray that those dreams come true, and not the horrible ones keeping us both awake at night.

The house is empty as I lie here, lost in Malachi's scent and the quietness of the morning. But wait... is it? A new awareness slinks in, or perhaps it is just a muffled voice, full of tension. I sit up and tune my ears, deciding I am definitely hearing something.

I tiptoe out of the office to investigate. After going down the hall and up the curved staircase, I realise I am still being silent and holding my breath. I feel foolish for sneaking around in my own home, and throw my shoulders back. However, only moments later as I approach the wing where I don't normally go, I realise it is Seneca's voice, muttering low and angrily with someone. I automatically go back to creeping, keeping my footsteps as light as possible.

As I reach the end of the hall that opens into Seneca's suite, I hesitate.

"It wasn't meant to happen like this..."

I catch some of her words, and strain to hear more.

"I know what you wanted, but this was unforeseen, you have to agree. She wasn't meant— I know, I'm trying."

My throat goes dry from not breathing and holding my body so still as I stand just outside the double doors that are ajar.

"I'm dealing with it, just give me more time.... You're right, it is the next sign. I couldn't forget."

Peering around the corner, I watch as Luna Seneca paces back and forth on the dark grey carpet of her parlor, a settee against one wall and a desk running perpendicular. The decorative touches are vintage, or perhaps just ancient, and monochrome. The path she treads on the floor is well-worn, her movements graceful and practiced.

She rubs her forehead while staring down, her brows knitted together and her voice coming out harsh as her steps become agitated. Whoever she is conversing with is beyond my line of sight.

"It will be as you ask, my Prince. I will not fail you."

She stops and lifts her head, her eyes falling closed as she raises her hands and inhales deeply.

As she exhales, her eyes open and meet mine.

My heart stutters to a stop.

Glowing with red crimson flecks, her eyes are obsidian black. And they're staring right into me, digging my soul around in my chest without words, without motion. I don't even recognise my own body as it moves forward, my hand pushing the door open as my feet carry me in.

Seneca continues to stare at me, her head tilting to one side, black hair tumbling in waves over one shoulder. Her black dress falls gracefully to the floor, a silken cape draping her pale shoulders with elegance and class.

"Dear Ariella, are you always so inquisitive?" her lips curve up in a smug expression. She knows I've been listening, watching her.

I can't speak. I wouldn't be able to even if I had something to say. The very breath is stolen from my lungs as I have stepped in the room and stand in Seneca's consuming presence. She consumes my thoughts, jumbling them into a pool of logic so twisted I can't even straighten my fists that have curled in on themselves. I tell myself it is a defensive posture, my cowered shoulders and locked knees.

But I know it is out of fear.

Chills run down my spine, but the temperature isn't cold. Now that I think about it, it isn't warm either. The atmosphere is...I can't feel it. I don't feel anything. No temperature, no water vapour, no air pressure. It is as if the vale of reality has been sucked dry, leaving a vacuum. I shudder, and wrap my arms around myself.

There is a void, where if I take one wrong step, I might fall into its greedy oblivion. My body feels light and soft. I am weightless. Unravelling. It feels as if I am one breath away from disintegrating into a zillion particles. With nothing tethering me to this world, I don't know what would become of me.

Is this the Interealm? Is this the emptiness between the planes of reality where nothing real exists? But how can I sense it? How can I feel it and breathe it when normally it is beyond mortal awareness? What has dragged the Interealm so close to the surface of my reality that I can almost taste its emptiness?

"Who were you just speaking to?" I push the question past my lips, my tongue finally obeying the screaming in my mind.

One of her perfectly shaped eyebrows rises. "My master. My Prince. You've probably heard stories of him."

Her answer does nothing to make things clearer in my mind, besides making me wonder if perhaps she really has gone insane. Perhaps she is suffering from another migraine. She finally looks somewhere other than me as her slender fingers flutter across her forehead, rubbing at the lines caused by the grimace on her face.

The movement belies that she is deeply bothered, despite her calm and composed demeanour.

As she paces in front of the hearth, I begin to notice things more clearly. It isn't a cape she is wearing, a black piece of material hanging from her shoulders. But something more defined and shaped.

Feathers drag on the floor behind her. Course, black feathers.

This is the same image I saw of Malachi in my nightmares, in the forest where he stared at me with black soulless eyes and was draped with wings like a raven.

Wings of a demon.

But I am not disgusted by a terrible appearance that I would expect for this creature, finally seeing one up close. Seneca is stunning and beautiful in an entirely sinful way.

"What are you?" I breathe, so quietly yet I am sure she hears every whisper.

"Oh Ariella," Seneca laughs lightly, stalking closer with deliberate steps and that unmistakable red glint in her eyes. "Something tells me you already know."

I move to take a step back, but something keeps me frozen in place, a vice around my ankles that I can't see, can't feel.

She has a grip on me that transcends even my special sight.

"Come, sit." Abruptly, she turns and sinks gracefully to the gold burnished settee, and pats the space beside her. "You have many questions."

I move without thought and take my place next to her. Besides the skin-tingling awareness of her presence and this extra-sensory void of the Interralm, I don't sense her. I can't smell her scent, hear her heartbeat, or even feel her body's warmth. She is here, yet she is not.

Maybe I'm not even here.

If someone like Harlow where to enter the room, would they even see me?

"Can you read my mind?" Of course I have lots of questions, and this is the first in response to Seneca's statement.

"No need to read your mind when I can read your face," she replies simply, as if the answer was obvious.

I lift my hands to my cheeks in a self-conscious action. "I always was bad at hiding my emotions."

"You've done well these last few weeks. No one would guess you have so many dreams and visions spinning around, psychedelic images imprinting on your mind."

But to answer your question—yes, I can sense every little thought in that innocent mind of yours.

I hear her words, yet her lips don't move. The tilt of her head and piercing gaze are the only outward signs she is communicating. I've had voices in my head before, my parents and Alphas using the mind link, but this is something entirely different.

I feel it in my bones. Her voice resonates in my liquid blood and echoes in my brain cells.

She is in my head, speaking to my mind.

"So...is this how you always look?" I try to ask this as politely as possible. "I've seen pictures and my own visions of demons being..."

"Of being hideous and terrifying creatures? Is that what they're still teaching in Sunday school?" She gives a little sigh as if vexed by the perpetual idea.

I have no idea what she means by that, so I try a different approach. "You really are beautiful." I can't help but be mesmerised by her flawless skin, soft lips, and sparkling eyes.

Her delicate hands fold gently in her lap, the veins glowing blue-green under her smooth skin. "I can be more ugly if you like."

This thought interests me. "So you can change your appearance? Because some images people have drawn are entirely different to what you are."

"People will see what they want to see. If they want a hideous demon to hate, that's what they'll get." Her eyes gleam with a thousand words unsaid. I can only imagine the things she's seen, the stories she could share.

"So what about angels? If you're real, are they..." I trail off, looking at her earnestly, awaiting her answer. I am brimming with everything I've been pondering for ages now.

"Well, of course, my dear. We are virtually the same beings. Brothers and sisters."

"You're related?"

"Yes. We were all created by our father, the King, to do his service. At first, we were equal in rank and stature. And beauty." She runs her fingers down her hair and across her chest in an almost preening gesture.

"So what happened?" I ask. She is still beautiful, yet perhaps not in the same way of the angelic spirits of light.

"The rebellion happened." Her eyebrows draw together, her eyes squinting as though pained with memories. "Dividing lines were drawn, and we became this," she lifts a black feathered wing. "We were cursed to hide in the shadows, to haunt dreams instead of grant them. It all depended on how good or bad we were," she narrows her eyes in a contrite gleam that hints with a flicker of disdain.

"That's terrible," I whisper in compassion, instinctively reaching out a hand and laying it over hers.

"It isn't so bad. I am still free to live and love, and to be loved. I have a family here. This pack has become my home."

"Love," I say the word almost reverently, knowing it can transcend chasms and layers of reality. "Do you regret marrying Dennison? You weren't even mates. Was there ever any love between you?"

She drops her gaze for a moment, before raising it to mine again. "For a time. He was my strong Alpha who saved me. I thought he loved me. But I'm not sure he was capable of true love anymore given all he'd been through."

I nod, remembering the loss of his mate.

"But, I didn't recognise the stifling arrogance until it was too late. Until he had completely dominated me, body and soul."

"Did you ever try leaving him?" I ask, knowing it is a very personal question but feeling emboldened by our intimate conversation.

"Even if I could have, I wouldn't have," Seneca answers candidly. "Dennison became a part of my heart. We married and mated, and the bond we shared was special. Eternal, some would even say. Despite all his flaws, I knew I wouldn't leave him. Besides, my son needed me here."

I'm not sure what to make of her response. Even if Dennison never physically abused her, their relationship seemed very twisted and unbalanced according to Malachi. I would run from anything as unhealthy as that, bonded or not. And I'd take my son with me, heir to be Alpha or not.

I move on. "Did Dennison know what you are?"

Seneca gives me a hard look, her saddened demeanor changing entirely from warm affection to cold animosity. "Dennison didn't care to know the real me. He never wanted to see anything beyond what he could use me for. A woman. A body he could please himself with. A beautiful Luna to stand behind him or hang off his arm. He never knew the real me."

As a tear slips down her face, I wonder if it is from sadness or anger over her dead husband. The conflicting emotions puzzle me, but I have no right to question someone who has been through so much.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, my fingers resting on hers as I try to comprehend the hopelessness of what Seneca's life must have been like.

Seneca tilts her head, looking at me curiously. "You know, you're the first person to ever say that to me." She smiles gently. "For what it's worth, though I loved and hated the man, he gave me something I will always cherish." A winsome smile crosses her lips and my eyes brighten.

"Malachi." I say his name with endearment, the image of his brilliant eyes and gorgeous smile that I rarely get to see flashing across my mind. Then I frown. "Does he know what he is?"

"The son of a demon? Of course." Seneca looks at me puzzled.

"So...what does that mean for him? How can he be an Alpha wolf is he has your genes?"

She shakes her head. "He doesn't need to be worried about any of that. He knows his destiny."

"Which is?"

"To serve. And be a powerful ruler."

"Ruler of who? This pack?"

"Yes, and many other people. Once he understands his full potential, there's no stopping the rising of his power."

I think about the word serve that Seneca had mentioned. Serve and rule. Be a servant to earn trust and be worthy to lead. Is that what Seneca means?

"He worries about that. That no one will trust him to be their Alpha."

"They will. In time," she says with a clarity of optimism, her face shining with a mother's pride.

The feeling leaches out and washes over me. "He is an amazing man. I keep telling him to give himself more credit."

"You are so dear to him, Ariella."

"Well, of course I am. He is my mate." I state with conviction, as if there isn't any other way for me to act towards him.

She gives me another small smile. "I know he can be distant, ever since he lost his sweet sister. But before you even knew him well, you never gave up on him. You've always been so loyal." A shadow crosses her face. "However, loyalty can be dangerous. We must always be careful who we place our trust in."

My mind races, wondering who she is referring to. "Are you talking about...about the Beta? Hamilton's father when he trusted Dennison?" I remember the story of how he paid for his undivided trust and respect in the flawed Alpha with his life.

"Of course, that's what I'm talking about," she responds after a moment's hesitation, then shakes her head, willing me to drop the subject. "You have nothing to worry about. That is in the past."

I nod, then take a deep breath. "One more thing." I hate to ask, but I have to. I can't forget the visions I've seen of Malachi, cloaked in darkness and despair. "Malachi. He's... he's not a demon too, is he?"

"Oh, dear God, no," Seneca immediately shakes her head. "Just because he is born of a dark spirit, doesn't mean he carries the curse. No, he is a wolf to the core. Because, after all, he is the son of a strong Alpha male."

Relief consumes me and I loosen a deep sigh. "Good. It's just, I've seen visions of him as a demon and an angel, which is completely confusing, but maybe not so..." I consider what she said about the spirits being related. Why is my mind spinning with so much information, so many puzzle pieces I've been searching for, yet they still won't settle into place in my head?

"Maybe that's just what you want to see him as," Seneca lifts an eyebrow knowingly. "A moody Alpha not exciting enough for you?"

"Oh no, that's not it!" I feel my cheeks heat up in a blush. "I want a normal, peaceful life more than anyone. But..." my fingers twist together, a shudder of nerves overtaking my body.

"What is it? You know you can talk to me," Seneca prods, and I am lost in her tender gaze as her hand pats my shoulder.

"I've seen him die."

"Oh dear," she frowns, and my heart slams in my chest, waiting for her next words.

"He won't be dying. Not yet, anyway." Seneca tilts her lips in a smile as if I asked a silly question with an obvious answer. Then she speaks firmly. "But enough talk about painful subjects. Let's think on something brighter, shall we?"