Beneath the Alpha's Moon
Chapter 299: An Old Friend

Chapter 299: An Old Friend

Eldur’s POV

It had been two weeks. Fourteen days of hell.

Nova wasn’t getting better. She was getting worse.

It got so bad that Dad had no choice but to bring in a private doctor—someone skilled, discreet, and completely clueless about the supernatural world. The guy came in every single day, suitcase in hand, eyes tired but polite, ready to check on Nova without even knowing the full weight of what he was dealing with.

But the real work? That fell on Dad.

Every time the doctor left, Dad would gently wipe his memory clean—scrubbing away every trace of Nova’s condition, her name, the castle, all of it—like it never happened. And the next day, when the doctor returned, Dad would patiently feed those memories back into him. Every visit, every detail, like reloading a saved game file. Over and over.

It was brutal. Mentally draining. Like rewinding and replaying a nightmare you couldn’t wake up from. And I could see it wearing on Dad. In the tightness of his shoulders. The long silences afterward. But he never once complained.

Because we were all fighting for her in whatever way we could.

And this? This was Dad’s way of fighting.

********

I sat beside her bed, barely moving, barely breathing. The soft whir of machines and the occasional beep were the only sounds in the room aside from the wheeze of her breathing. Her once vibrant skin had turned pale, ghost-like, and her lips were cracked from dehydration. She no longer responded to my voice, no longer opened her eyes. The last thing she said to me was, "Eldur, I love you to the moon and back."

And then she slipped away—into this... silence.

No more laughter. No more sarcasm. Just silence and stillness.

"Eat something," my mom said gently, setting a tray down beside me. But her voice cracked halfway, and she didn’t look me in the eye. "Please, Eldur. You’re going to collapse."

I didn’t even turn. "I’m not hungry."

"Sweetheart..." she started, but my father’s hand on her shoulder stopped her. He shook his head silently.

They both looked as worn out as I felt. My mother had shadows under her eyes I’d never seen before. My father—always composed, always unshaken—looked like he hadn’t fed in days. None of us were okay.

The private doctor they hired worked tirelessly, connecting Nova to IV fluids, checking her vitals, and scribbling down notes that always led to the same conclusion: "This isn’t human illness. This is beyond me."

So my parents called reinforcements.

The castle, usually quiet and cloaked in solitude, became a war room. A hive of murmuring voices and pacing footsteps. Uncle Lucian and Auntie Teresa arrived first, their presence filling the halls with a kind of ancestral strength. They brought with them my sister, Elizabeth—my fiery-haired, terrifyingly powerful witch of a sister who could silence a room just by walking into it.

Mai, Liam, and Ollie stormed in hours later. I heard them before I saw them—Mai yelling at someone to move out of the damn hallway, Liam apologizing for her, and Ollie asking if the castle had decent snacks. Classic.

They burst into my room like a storm. The second Mai saw me, she dropped the bags in her hands and flung her arms around me.

"Hey, ice cube," she murmured into my shoulder. "We’re here."

Liam hugged me too. So did Ollie, except his was more of a shoulder punch followed by, "Dude, you look like death."

I snorted, a weak chuckle escaping before I could stop it. "Thanks. I was going for that."

For a week, the castle was alive with movement and ritual. Elizabeth set up a meditation chamber in the east wing. There were candles, crystals, sigils burned into the marble floors, and ancient books stacked like towers. She barely spoke, always muttering, always casting.

Mai and Ollie helped with protective wards. Liam sat with me every night, his presence quiet but grounding. My parents moved like shadows, working behind the scenes, talking in whispers I couldn’t hear.

Nova remained still.

And me? I stayed. Day and night. Watching her chest rise and fall. Whispering stories she couldn’t hear. Singing songs in broken Latin and Old Wolf that my father once taught me. I held her hand like it was the only thing anchoring me to this world.

Because it was.

I’d never known pain like this. Not even when I was a child, screaming as my wolf first emerged, bones cracking and reforming. That was nothing compared to this—the slow, helpless agony of watching the girl I love waste away.

I didn’t cry. I don’t cry.

But gods, it hurt.

One night—on the fourteenth night, exactly—I sat beside her, my thumb stroking the back of her hand. Her skin was cold.

"I don’t know if you can hear me," I murmured. "But if you can... please fight. Please. I don’t care if you wake up and hate me for dragging you into this world. Just wake up."

My throat closed up. I blinked fast, swallowing hard.

"I’ll protect you better next time. I swear."

I leaned down and rested my forehead against hers.

"I’m not done loving you," I whispered.

The next morning, Elizabeth called for everyone to gather in the grand hall.

When we got there, she looked wrecked—like she’d been fighting shadows all night. Her usually flawless red hair was a tangled mess, her dark robes wrinkled and clinging to her like she hadn’t changed or slept in days. But her voice? It didn’t shake. It cut through the room like steel.

"I found her," she said.

And just like that, the entire hall went still.

You could hear the air shift.

Elizabeth turned her tired eyes to our parents—my mom, my dad, Uncle Lucian, Auntie Teresa. Her gaze was like a wildfire, and whatever she said next, we all felt it coming before the words even left her lips.

"The vampire who cursed Nova... her name is Margaret."

Boom.

Instant tension. My dad’s jaw locked like it was wired with explosives. Mom’s face went ghost-white. Uncle Lucian growled low under his breath, and Auntie Teresa looked like she’d just been punched in the stomach.

I stood up straight, chest tight. "Okay... who the hell is Margaret?"

Mai frowned, eyes darting between the adults. "Why do our parents look like someone just said Voldemort out loud?"

Liam leaned toward me. "Is this one of those "everyone-knows-except-the-kids moments?"

Ollie groaned. "Of course it is. It’s always one of those."

My father’s voice was low, like thunder. "Margaret was once a friend of mine. A beautiful soul. Powerful. Respected."

"And absolutely insane," my mother added. "She believed in controlling people, in prophecies no one could prove. She stopped being friends with Adrian centuries ago for being too cruel and also dabbling in forbidden magic."

"We have never met her. Adrian told us about her," Auntie Teresa said, voice sharp. "We thought she was gone for good."

Elizabeth shook her head. "She isn’t. She’s coming—and still obsessed with her old feelings for dad."

"Why Nova?" I demanded. "Why attack her?"

Elizabeth looked at me, eyes softening. "Because of dad."

My heart stopped.

"She’s trying to punish you, Eldur. Or manipulate you. Or both. I can’t say for sure yet. But she targeted Nova because she knew hurting her would hurt you and hurting you would hurt dad."

I couldn’t breathe.

"But..." I began, "Why is Nova still alive then? Why not just kill her?"

Elizabeth took a step toward me. "Because you marked her."

The room stilled.

"You bit her," she continued. "Marked her as your mate. When you did, your essence—your magic, your wolf, your soul—entered her bloodstream. It’s been fighting the curse from the inside. That’s the only reason she’s still breathing."

I staggered back a step.

Mai caught me. "Eldur..."

My father nodded solemnly. "Your bond protected her."

"She should be dead," Elizabeth said bluntly. "But she’s not. Because you loved her enough to make her yours."

I looked at Nova—pale, still, beautiful even in her silence.

My throat burned.

"So what do we do?" I asked. "How do we save her?"

Elizabeth’s jaw clenched. "We need Margaret."

Silence again.

"She’s the only one who knows the curse she placed. The only one who has the cure. This... was her plan from the beginning."

Aethros howled inside me. Not out of anger—but helplessness.

I felt sick.

"I swear," I growled, voice trembling, "I’ll find her. I’ll make her undo this."

My father stepped beside me. "You won’t go alone. It’s me she wants."

My mother stepped up as well.

Mai did the same thing.

Liam too.

Ollie too.

"I’ve got silver blades with her name on them," Mai said, cracking her knuckles.

"I have... emotional support snacks," Ollie added, then shrugged. "And also rage."

Liam patted my shoulder. "We’re with you. All the way."

Elizabeth’s eyes locked with mine.

"You’ve already done the impossible, Eldur," she said. "You kept Nova alive when no one else could."

I looked down at Nova again, her hand still curled in mine.

"I’ll bring her back," I whispered. "Even if I have to walk through hell to do it."

And deep down, I knew one thing:

Margaret had no idea what she started.

Because I wasn’t just a werewolf.

I was a Daegon.

And wolves don’t cry.

But gods help the thing that makes them bleed.