The room was dimly lit, the fire crackling softly in the hearth. Shadows danced along the stone walls, and the scent of cedar smoke mingled with the faint trace of lavender from Eva’s cloak. She stood stiffly in front of her desk, the black-sealed envelope clutched tightly in her hand. Her knuckles had turned white, her grip unrelenting.
Tiana sat on the nearby couch, her arm wrapped in a fresh bandage, still recovering from the attack that nearly took her life. Max stood behind Eva, silent but tense, his jaw clenched and eyes dark.
Eva’s fingers trembled slightly as she broke the seal. Black wax—no crest, no name. Just darkness. She unfolded the thick parchment slowly, her golden eyes scanning the message inside.
Max watched her carefully. “What does it say?”
Eva’s throat tightened. She swallowed hard and read aloud, her voice cold and steady despite the storm building inside her.
“Alpha Eva,
I offer you peace. An end to the bloodshed. An end to the war that stains your land.
All I ask is one thing: give me my grandson.
—Vladymyr.”
The room went quiet. Even the fire seemed to hesitate, its flames flickering lower.
Tiana gasped. “He knows about the twins.”
Without a word, she stepped forward and tossed the letter into the fire. It curled and blackened in the flames, sparks flying up the chimney like tiny dying stars.
“He will never touch my children,” Eva said, her voice firm, carved from stone. “Never.”
Max stepped beside her, his presence grounding, solid. “Then we prepare for war,” he said softly.
Eva turned to face him. Her eyes weren’t just angry—they were tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of choosing. Tired of carrying the weight of a future she didn’t fully understand.
“I don’t want peace at that price,” she whispered. “I won’t trade blood for blood. I won’t give up one child to save the other. I carried them both. I love them both.”
“We’ll protect them,” Max said, his voice strong. “No matter what comes.”
“I don’t even know what I’m protecting them from, Max!” she cried, stepping away, her arms shaking. “One of them might be just like him. Like Sylvester. Or worse… like Vladymyr. And the other might be the one who has to destroy him. What kind of mother prepares one child to kill their sibling?”
Max didn’t answer right away. He just looked at her, truly looked. He saw every crack in her mask, every tear she refused to shed.
“You’re not just their mother,” he said finally. “You’re their Alpha. You don’t get to choose the easy path. You choose the right one.”
Eva’s chin quivered. “And what if I don’t know what that is?”
Max stepped closer. “You know the answer to that.”
120
