Chapter 008
Fiona's POV
Then he turned and left, the heavy door locking shut with a decisive click that echoed through the empty room like nails being driven into a coffin lid.
At this moment, I was alone in the room.
Outside the window, rain drizzled endlessly, as if it would never stop.
Humiliation, anger, fear, and a profound sense of helplessness—countless emotions churned in my chest like a pot of boiling poison, bubbling and gurgling, ready to explode at any moment.
I bit my lip hard until I tasted the salty, metallic tang of rust.
I couldn't cry, at least not here. Tears were a privilege of the weak, and I had long since lost the right to claim them.
I walked to the window, staring out at the pitch-black rainy night. Jump? No, that wasn't freedom—that was suicide. Arthur was right: once I left this manor, once I insisted on breaking with Caleb, I would lose access to the barrier in the library's restricted section that could soothe my bloodline.
If the golden wolf blood within me spiraled out of control, I wouldn't need anyone else to finish me off—I would simply explode from within, becoming nothing more than a puddle of gore that even scavengers would refuse to touch.
Time crawled by, each chime of the wall clock marking another countdown toward death.
But just then, after a night of suppressed rage and agitation, my body began to undergo that terrifying transformation once more.
As the night deepened, the blood in my veins began to boil, as if countless red-hot needles were swimming through my vessels, frantically probing my fragile nerves.
"No!"
This was the precursor to bloodline frenzy. I steadied myself against the wall and stumbled toward the bed, sitting down heavily as cold sweat instantly soaked through my clothes, clinging clammily to my back in a way that made me want to scream.
"No... not here... Uncle! Let me out!"
I struggled to my feet, trying to reach the door. I needed to get to the library, to that restricted section where my mother's barrier remained—the only place that could calm me down. It was my medicine, my lifeline.
I twisted the doorknob. It didn't budge.
"Let me out!" I pounded on the door, my voice hoarse with pain, sounding like the dying wail of a wounded beast.
The agony began to erode my sanity. My vision turned blood-red, my fingernails lengthening uncontrollably, scraping against the wooden door with a grating screech.
I could feel my bones crackling, and inside my body, that golden beast was ramming violently against its cage, desperate to break through this fragile human shell.
"Ah—!"
I curled up on the floor in agony, my consciousness beginning to blur. I seemed to see my mother's golden hair, her gentle smile, and hear her singing that ancient lullaby in my ear.
Mother...
My fingers clawed blindly at the floor, nails breaking, blood seeping out.
Just as my consciousness was about to be completely swallowed by darkness, my fingertips touched something cold and hard.
The obsidian!
The black stone I had dropped under the bed earlier while packing in panic when Uncle arrived—the one the silver-haired, blue-eyed boy had pressed into my hand ten years ago in that library chamber, covered in blood.
I gathered the last shred of my strength and clutched it tightly in my palm.
In an instant, a cooling sensation like ice and snow flowed from my palm through my entire body.
That violent, tearing heat that threatened to rip me apart miraculously subsided, as if it had encountered its natural enemy. Boiling lava meeting ancient ice—still scorching, but no longer raging.
I gasped for breath, collapsing limply on the floor as sweat pooled beneath me. The crimson haze in my vision slowly receded, clarity returning.
I opened my palm. The obsidian lay quietly in my hand, emanating a faint glow in the darkness.
Alexander...
The floodgates of memory opened, and I found myself transported back ten years.
That boy, so much taller than me, with hair like moonlight and eyes like glaciers. He had been clutching his wounded body, alertly evading the traces of his pursuers. When I cut my finger to heal him, he hadn't shown that greedy look my mother had warned me about. Instead, he had crouched down and placed this obsidian in my hand.
"Keep it," his voice had been hoarse but carried a strange, soothing power. "When you feel afraid or in pain, hold onto it."
That was our first meeting—the first encounter across a span of ten years, before today's reunion.
Alexander...
The next morning, I was awakened by the maid Maria's knock.
"Miss Sterling, are you awake? Mr. Sterling asked you to come down for breakfast."
I opened my eyes to find myself somehow back in bed, covered with a blanket. I couldn't remember what happened after last night, only that I had fallen into a deep sleep clutching the obsidian, its cooling presence accompanying me into dreams filled with the scent of snow pine and those deep blue eyes.
I touched my cheek—smooth and intact, still without a trace of injury. The drop of golden wolf blood Caleb had given me was remarkably effective, the healing speed a stark reminder of just how coveted the blood flowing through my veins truly was.
I took a deep breath and climbed out of bed.
The girl in the mirror was pale, with faint shadows beneath her eyes, but her gaze was unnaturally calm, like a stagnant pool that could no longer ripple.
I knew I had no way out.
I changed into a plain dress and went downstairs. Uncle Arthur was already seated at the dining table, leisurely sipping his coffee. When he saw me, a victor's smile crossed his face.
"Come to your senses?"
"I agree to attend the banquet," I said, meeting his eyes with a voice as flat as still water. "But I have one condition: I want to continue working at the library, and you cannot interfere with my access to the restricted section."
Arthur laughed, a flicker of wariness in his eyes. "Of course. As long as you behave yourself, none of that will be a problem."
At seven that evening, a black Rolls-Royce pulled up precisely at the manor entrance.
Caleb stepped out of the car dressed in an impeccably tailored black tailcoat, the blue-gray eyes behind his gold-rimmed glasses still carrying that condescending, appraising look.
He walked into the parlor, his initially casual gaze freezing the instant it fell upon me.
In that moment, time seemed to stop around him.
His hand, which had been raised to adjust his cufflinks, froze mid-air, those blue-gray eyes that always held false smiles and scrutinizing intent now dilating sharply, as if struck by some powerful visual impact.
His gaze began at the crown of my head and traveled downward inch by inch, like iron filings drawn to a magnet, unable to look away.
When his eyes reached the gown I wore, his Adam's apple rolled involuntarily.
It was a long dress woven from deep-sea mermaid silk, refracting colors as changeable as the aurora under the warm yellow parlor lights—sometimes as deep blue as the ocean depths, sometimes as silver-white as moonlight.
Embedded in the hem were not vulgar diamonds but rare moonstones that, with my subtle breathing and movement, seemed to make an entire galaxy flow quietly at my feet.
Caleb strode toward me, stopping at a distance that bordered on intrusive. His mouth opened slightly as if to speak, but for a moment, he seemed at a loss for words.
After several seconds, he appeared to regain his composure, though the look in his eyes was quickly replaced by something more complex—a mixture of possessiveness and greed.
"Beautiful," he said.
