Seraphine’s Denial
The dungeon was as cold as Seraphine’s smirk, the air damp and heavy with a faint metallic tang. Isla stepped into the shadowed space, her silver hair catching the flickering torchlight. Seraphine lounged on her cot, her crescent mark faintly aglow. She lifted her head lazily, a wicked smile tugging at her lips.
“Ah, sister,” Seraphine drawled, her tone light and mocking. “What an unexpected pleasure. Though I must say, it’s customary to bring gifts when visiting the damned. No wine? No delicacies? Tsk, tsk.”
Isla crossed her arms, ignoring the taunt. “Did you poison me, Seraphine?” she asked bluntly. Her voice was calm, but her silver eyes were sharp, cutting through the dim light like twin blades.
Seraphine tilted her head, her expression shifting to feigned innocence. “Straight to accusations, are we? I thought family visits were supposed to be cordial.”
“Answer the question.” Isla stepped closer, her boots echoing on the stone floor.
Seraphine’s smirk faltered, but only for a moment. She placed a hand protectively over her stomach, her crescent mark flickering faintly as her tone turned serious. “Do you really think I’d risk my own child? I want this baby born strong, Isla. Why would I endanger that?”
Isla’s lips tightened. “Because you’ve risked worse for less. You’ve schemed, lied, and hurt everyone around you for power. A baby wouldn’t stop you from trying again.”
A dark laugh bubbled from Seraphine’s throat, echoing through the cell. “Flattery will get you nowhere. Believe what you want, sister. But this time, I’m innocent.” She leaned back, resting her head against the cold stone wall. “I’d rather focus on the future than get bogged down in petty conspiracies.”
“And yet,” Isla countered, her voice low, “here you are, chained and powerless because of those ‘petty conspiracies.’”
Seraphine’s smile sharpened, her voice dripping with venomous amusement. “Here I am. But you should keep looking for your culprit, little Luna. I’m sure you’ll find someone much closer to home.”
Isla stared at her sister for a long moment before turning and walking away, her shoulders stiff. Seraphine’s laughter chased her up the stairs.
***
Elsewhere in the packhouse, Draven cornered Isla’s parents in a quiet hallway. The air between them crackled with tension as they cowered before his towering form. Isla’s mother tried her best to look demure, her voice a syrupy coo. “We’re as devastated as you, Alpha. Isla means everything to us.”
Her father, more composed but just as ingratiating, chimed in. “We would never harm our own blood. Surely, you must know that.”
Draven’s amber eyes burned with suspicion as he leaned in closer, his voice a low growl. “If I find out you’re lying, no family ties will save you.”
Her mother wrung her hands, tears springing to her eyes. “Alpha, please—”
“I’ve heard enough,” Draven snapped, stepping back. “You’ll remain under scrutiny until I’m certain of your innocence. Pray I don’t find reason to doubt you.”
As he walked away, his instincts told him the truth: Isla’s parents were desperate, manipulative, but not guilty. This time.
