BloodMoon: Captivated by the Forbidden Lycan Alpha
Chapter 166: A DEEP DUSGUISE!

Chapter 166: A DEEP DUSGUISE!

"{ Every man is a divinity in disguise, a god playing the fool"}

Frery sat silently, elbows on his knees, brow furrowed so deeply it looked like the weight of the entire realm had settled there. Maybe it had.

After a moment, he said, "Gerod said the same."

I blinked. "The dragon of Hanka Island?"

He nodded. "When I visited Hanka last moon cycle, they spoke of a stirring in the deep darkness beneath the stone. He warned that something ancient would rise, something that would try to consume the keyline. Said it would seek the stone, the blood, the powers. I didn’t know what to make of it until now."

I exhaled slowly, my heart tightening. "Then this isn’t just a vision. It’s beginning."

He looked at me with that same storm in his eyes, so much like Dunco’s, it hurt. "What do we do, Mother?"

Mother. It had been so long since he’d called me with such weight in his voice. I stood from the bedside, my limbs still trembling from what I’d seen, but steadier now. "We are going to the Mira House."

Frery tilted his head. "But we are here?"

"No," I said, shaking my head. "The one beneath it. The true house. The one only those with Mira blood can enter, and it’s beneath our home."

His eyes widened slightly. "You want to hide?"

"No," I said firmly. "That is where I will teach you everything. Spellcasting and every magic from my lineage. "

He laughed short, sharp. "I’m not a spellcaster."

"You don’t need to be. You have the blood. It’s enough. And when the time comes to face what’s rising in that mountain..." I walked to him and placed my hand over his heart, "...you’ll need every piece of yourself. Even the ones you’ve never called on before."

He looked at me like he was seeing me for the first time, not just as his mother, but as something older. Wiser. A woman who had lived through storms he’d only begun to feel.

"Okay." He nodded.

I nodded. "We begin at first light." Because if what I’d seen was only the beginning, then we had no time to waste.

Freyr and I walked out of the room and headed to the living room. I felt him before I saw him.

A shift in the air, like the first breeze after a storm as I turned, slowly, afraid that if I moved too fast it would vanish another cruel trick of memory, or the tail-end of a vision that refused to fade.

Dante was standing in the doorway of the old Mira chamber, dressed in soft linens, his skin no longer paled with pain. The light from the stained glass caught in his hair, gold threading through black. His eyes met mine, and the breath left my lungs.

"Dante..." I whispered a prayer dressed in his name.

His lips curved. That crooked smile, the one that always made the world stop spinning.

"Sierra."

I didn’t wait. My feet were already moving, my body remembering him in ways my mind hadn’t let me grieve. I crossed the room in seconds, and then we were wrapped in each other, arms locking, hearts colliding. I pressed my face into his chest, clinging to him like I’d never let go again. "You’re awake," I breathed. "You’re healed."

"As if you would let me die," he murmured, his voice a little rough, a little sweeter for it. He kissed my forehead, slow and reverent, and I felt some part of me settle. The chaos inside me paused, if only for a moment.

Behind us, someone cleared their throat and turned my head just enough to see them standing there, Freyr, arms crossed, one brow raised, and Rolan beside him, looking mildly amused despite the bruises that still marked his jaw.

"Not interrupting anything... important, are we?" Frery asked dryly.

Dante didn’t let me go. "You are," he said, "but I’ll forgive it."

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t keep the smile from breaking across my face. Frery gave me a long, thoughtful look. He didn’t say anything, but I saw it in his eyes, the love for both Dante and me.

I turned back to Dante and tightened my grip around him. "We have work to do. War ahead. But for now..." I closed my eyes, resting against his chest once more. "We need to get back to Kayne land."

An hour later we had left the Mira home and we moved like mist beneath the trees, the Mira magic wrapped tight around our bodies, shielding us in its shimmer. It bent the air, masked our scent, silenced the sound of our boots on soil. I could feel it pulse along my skin with every step, gentle but firm, like a mother guiding her children through the dark.

Frery kept to the front, his eyes sharp, every sense alert. Rolan stalked the rear like a phantom, watching our flanks. And Dante walked beside me, his fingers brushing mine from time to time, a quiet promise that we were still here, still together, still alive. The royal guards of Paradise Coven were rumoured to patrol these outer territories now, searching for us. For the Kayne blood. For the Mira-born. For anything that looked like rebellion wrapped in flesh.

We didn’t give them the chance as the journey from Mira house to Kayne land was not long, but it felt like a lifetime wrapped in silence and tension. Only when we crossed the old threshold where the woods broke and the land knew our names did the weight begin to lift.

Finally, we arrived at the Kayne lands and shortly the Kayne home stood before us as we stepped into the clearing, the door flew open with a creak and slam.

"Ma?!" We all heard a voice as Qadira spoke up.

She stood on the porch, wrapped in one of my old shawls, her curls wild from sleep or worry; I couldn’t tell which. Her eyes locked on mine, and her mouth dropped open.

"Qadi..." I said her name like a prayer.

And she ran, and I opened my arms just in time to catch her. Her body crashed into mine, arms around my neck, and I held her like I could stitch the lost time back together through touch alone.

"I thought—" she choked out, burying her face into my shoulder.

"I know, baby," I whispered, holding her tight. "But I’m here. I’m here now."

I felt her trembling. And behind me, silence had fallen thick, reverent. When I glanced back, Frery had lowered his head. Dante’s expression had softened, and even Rolan looked away like he was giving us a moment. Qadira finally pulled back, tears streaking her cheeks. Her eyes darted to Frery and widened. "Brother..."

Frery stepped forward, hesitant, but only for a moment. She launched herself into his arms next, and he caught her with a quiet grunt, lifting her clean off the ground. "I am glad you are home. I was so scared," she murmured into his shoulder.

"You haven’t changed; still the worrisome Qadira," he said, voice thick with affection.

And just like that, we were home. For a breath. For a heartbeat. In the arms of love, before evil rose and found us.

Qadira pulled away from Frery, still wiping at her eyes, and then she did something that surprised me though it shouldn’t have. She turned to Dante, eyes softening as she stepped toward him. She embraced him, arms firm around his waist, and he returned it gently, like a father welcoming the child he never had the chance to raise.

And then her gaze shifted to Rolan. He’d stayed quiet near the foyers, one hand resting on his hip, the other casually toying with a twig, cool and composed as always. But I saw the slight tension in his jaw, the way his posture stiffened under her stare. Qadira tilted her head, eyes narrowing, voice calm and clear.

"And you," she said, stepping toward him. "Who are you?"

Before Rolan could speak, Dante answered, his tone easy but firm.

"This is Rolan," he said. "Rou’s brother."

Qadira’s brow rose slightly. She nodded once, lips pressing together—but her gaze didn’t waver.

She looked through him and I felt it. The shift in the air. The quiet stir of Mira magic in her bones, the same old power that lived in Mine. Adira studied him for a long moment, then tilted her head the other way.

"You’re wearing a disguise," she said flatly. "That’s not your real face."

The clearing went still; the wind seemed to pause.

Rolan’s smirk faltered, just a flicker. "Excuse me?"

She didn’t blink. "You heard me."

I stepped in slowly, not to shield him but to feel her energy. Mira’s sight had always run strong in her, sharper than mine at her age. She saw things most didn’t. Truths most couldn’t.

"Qadi," I said gently, "what do you see?"

She looked at me, then back at Rolan. "Not dangerous. Just layers. He’s hiding. From someone. Or something."

Rolan crossed his arms, unreadable. "Well," he said finally, "I suppose it’s good someone’s watching our backs."

"Always," Qadira replied. "Especially when we don’t know who we’re standing next to."

Her voice wasn’t accusing. It was matter-of-fact. A Mira-born statement of knowing and Rolan gave her a long look, then nodded once. Respectfully.

"No offense taken," he said. "Maybe one day I’ll show you what’s underneath."

"I’ll be watching," she said simply, then turned to me, her expression softening. "Come in. "

As she walked toward the house, I glanced at Rolan. "You didn’t deny it," I said quietly.

He gave me a sidelong look. "She’s not wrong." And then we walked into the house as the door closed behind us.

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