BloodMoon: Captivated by the Forbidden Lycan Alpha
Chapter 153: LORD MARCEL IS A PUPPET

Chapter 153: LORD MARCEL IS A PUPPET

{"True evil masquerades as virtue." }

"What the fuck is your name?" Dante insisted, his tone now edged with impatience.

"Why should I respond to a rude old vampire like you? "The shifter smirked.

Dante’s jaw was clenched, but his eyes were fixed on the shifter, his body language telling me all I needed to know." How else should we address you? "I demanded.

The shifter’s lips parted, and for a moment, the room felt like it was holding its breath. Then, with a quiet, almost deliberate drawl, he spoke. "Rolan," he said, the name falling from his lips like a challenge.

Dante didn’t blink. He only nodded, his eyes narrowing. "Rolan..." He let the name linger between us, as though testing it, tasting it.

"I was meeting your father when I was captured and then the wolf which killed him. She was looking to kill Dunco and get his power. "

I leaned forward, my voice steady despite the storm brewing inside me. "So, you’re saying my father, Dunco, was killed by the Wolf-witch from the Bay Shifter Pack?" I watched Rolan closely, waiting for any hint of hesitation, but his gaze remained calculating.

He nodded slowly, his face unreadable. "It wasn’t just her, Freyr. The wolf is only a part of it. She’s a servant to the darker powers tied to the Blood Stone Mountain, the evil that stirs here and has held me hostage. She killed your father because he was getting too close to the truth, and those who dwell in the shadows of that place couldn’t allow that."

I couldn’t help it. A smirk tugged at my lips as the pieces clicked into place, and I could almost feel the weight of Rolan’s words shifting beneath me. "I already killed the Wolf-witch," I said, the smugness in my voice almost too thick to hide.

The smirk that had been playing at the edges of Rolan’s lips faltered, and for a split second, I thought I saw a flicker of something darker in his eyes. Then, the moment passed, and what happened next took me off guard. Rolan’s laughter broke the air, loud and unapologetic. It was the kind of laugh that seemed to echo off the walls, bouncing around like it had no intention of stopping anytime soon. It wasn’t mocking it; it wasn’t anything I could easily define. It was just pure, raw amusement.

"You," he said between breaths, still chuckling, "You’re truly a Kayne, aren’t you?" Rolan wiped the tears from his eyes, still grinning as he stood a little taller, his gaze now almost... appraising. "A Kanye," he repeated slowly, "your power is the only one that could have ended that witch."

Dante’s voice broke through the tense silence, low and smooth, but there was an edge of curiosity in it that I wasn’t used to hearing. He leaned forward slightly, his gaze never leaving Rolan’s face, as if trying to unravel some hidden thread. "Why were you meeting with Dunco Kayne in the first place?" Dante asked, his tone casual, though I could sense the undercurrent of something deeper, something that didn’t sit right with him.

I shifted my weight, watching the exchange, unsure whether I should step in. The question hung in the air between us, thick and unspoken.

Rolan’s lips quirked up at the corner, the same mocking smirk I’d come to expect from him. He looked at Dante, then at me, as if weighing his response, savoring the moment.

"I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors, Dante," Rolan replied, his voice dripping with an almost bored amusement. "The Kayne powers were a threat. Dunco wasn’t just your average leader. He had ties—tied to things that even the Coven wasn’t fully aware of. And he was digging into the power that connects to the realm and discovered that some members of the Bay shifter pack and Paradise Coven were colluding.

Dante, however, raised an eyebrow, the shift in his demeanor unmistakable. "And you came to see him because of what?

Rolan tilted his head, I could feel Dante’s muscles tense. The response was not what he was expecting. "Because I found out that the evil in the bloodstone mountain was connected to both Hanka Island and Ragar Mountain. Plus, the awakening of the Lycan shifter Alpha."

I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could, Dante beat me to it. "Why should we believe you?" His words were low, simmering with barely contained fury.

Rolan’s expression shifted ever so slightly, his gaze colder now. "I’m not the one who killed him, Dante. Don’t forget that."

"Why the fuck were you there?" I finally asked, my voice steady despite the rising storm inside me. I wasn’t sure if I was looking for closure or if I just needed something to make sense of the mess that was Dunco’s death, but I had to know.

Rolan’s eyes flickered with something dark and knowing. "Like I said, Freyr," he replied, his voice laced with something almost sympathetic, "To investigate, but we never got far. Dunco died, and I was captured, and then the evil corroded my mind, and I have been in the state you found me since the.n"

The silence hung heavy in the air as I locked eyes with Rolan. There was a question on the tip of my tongue that had been gnawing at me ever since the word "evil" had been whispered so casually in connection with my father’s death. I couldn’t hold back anymore.

"Have you seen it?" I asked, my voice steady but the weight of my words sinking deep into the room. "The evil? The power tied to Blood Stone Mountain?"

Rolan’s gaze flickered for the briefest moment, and then he slowly shook his head, his face a mask of contemplation. "No," he replied, his tone deliberate, measured. "I haven’t seen it. But I’ve felt it. The pull. The darkness that stirs beneath the surface. It’s not something you can ignore once it’s close enough. You sense it, like a shadow brushing against your skin, cold and suffocating."

I felt a shiver creep down my spine, despite myself. He wasn’t speaking like a man who had heard rumors. He was speaking like someone who had come face to face with that very darkness. I swallowed the unease in my throat, forcing myself to stay focused.

Dante’s voice broke through the tension, calm but with an underlying edge. "Anyone else know you came to the Paradise Coven to meet with Dunco?"

Rolan didn’t hesitate. His eyes shifted briefly, but there was no trace of fear or surprise in his expression. He was used to these kinds of questions, to being probed for information. He leaned back, crossing his arms as if this conversation was nothing more than a casual exchange of words. "My brother, Rou, knew," Rolan said flatly, his eyes narrowing slightly at the mention of his brother’s name. "He’s the only one who knew I’d come here. And I trust him with that knowledge, though whether he’ll trust me with more... well, that remains to be seen."

The tension in the room thickened, and I could feel the subtle shift in Dante’s posture as he addressed Rolan. His voice was measured, but there was an unmistakable edge to it.

"We know Rou," Dante said, his words carrying the weight of both a statement and a question. The way he said it, calm and composed, made me wonder what kind of history they shared. The mention of Rou always brought with it a heavy sense of something unsaid, something unspoken between them.

Rolan’s eyes flickered at Dante’s words, and for a moment, I thought he might react with the same guarded amusement that he always wore like a shield. But instead, he stepped forward, just a little, his expression shifting into something more sincere, more vulnerable. "Rou..." Rolan muttered the name as though he was tasting it on his tongue. Then, his voice softened, barely audible. "Is he... well?" His gaze locked onto Dante’s, searching for something, some reassurance. "And the Rogourau clan... are they all safe?"

There was an intensity in Rolan’s question that took me by surprise. He’d always been so aloof, so calculated, never one to show emotion easily. But here, with his words hanging in the air between us, I saw something raw: a flicker of genuine concern, maybe even fear.

Dante didn’t immediately answer, his lips pressing together in a tight line as he measured his words carefully. "Rou’s fine. As fine as any of us can be, given the circumstances." There was a trace of something, maybe pity or regret, flickering in Dante’s eyes, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

Rolan didn’t seem to take comfort in Dante’s vague response. He took another step closer, his body language demanding more, and the intensity in his eyes grew sharper. "And the clan?" he asked again, his voice thick with concern. "Are they truly safe?" I watched Rolan closely, the way his jaw clenched and his hands tightened into fists at his sides. His worry was palpable, and for a moment, I saw a side of him I hadn’t expected: the protector, the one who wasn’t just playing the game but was invested in the survival of his people. "I never wanted to put them in danger," Rolan muttered, his eyes darkening. "Not Rou. Not the Rogourau."

Suddenly, there was a roar that startled all of us, and then Bloodstone Mountain rumbled, and then for the first time since we met Rolan, I saw fear.

"What is it?" Dante asked him.