Darkness surrounded Elara. Not the peaceful darkness of sleep but something deeper. Ancient voices whispered at the edges of her consciousness. Speaking words in a language that felt both foreign and achingly familiar.
"Aethel Lyra Sanguis Luna."
The words echoed through her mind. A chant. A prayer. An oath. Her ancestor's face floated in the darkness. So similar to her own. Yet regal and powerful in a way Elara could not imagine herself being.
"The balance must be restored."
She tried to reach out. To ask what balance. What ritual. But the darkness thickened. Pulling her deeper.
When consciousness finally returned, it came slowly. Elara became aware first of the softness beneath her. Not her guest room bed, but something different. Then sounds filtered in: a crackling fire. The soft rhythm of breathing beside her. The distant howl of a wolf.
Her eyelids felt impossibly heavy, but she forced them open. She lay on a couch in a room she did not recognize. Large and rustic, with exposed wooden beams and a stone fireplace.
"Welcome back," said a deep voice to her right.
Elara turned her head to find Damon sitting in an armchair nearby, his posture tense despite his casual tone. He looked exhausted, with shadows under his eyes. But his amber eyes were alert. Watching her with a mixture of concern and something that might have been awe.
"How long?" she managed, her voice raspy, her throat painfully dry.
"Almost two days," Damon replied, leaning forward to offer a glass of water. "You have been drifting in and out. Talking in your sleep. In a language none of us know."
Elara struggled to sit up, her muscles protesting the movement. Damon's hand moved to support her back, the touch careful, almost hesitant. The warmth of his palm seeped through the thin fabric of her shirt, steadying her as she took the water.
"Two days," she echoed after drinking deeply. The information was difficult to process. "Where am I?"
"My quarters. The Alpha suite." His expression tightened slightly. "After what happened in Marlowe's study, I thought it best to keep you somewhere secure."
"You mean somewhere I could not hurt anyone if I had another episode?" Elara translated, a weight settling in her chest.
Damon did not deny it. "Your power surged beyond anything Marlowe has seen before. The entire pack felt it. Even those miles away on patrol."
The memory returned in fragments. The ancient Codex. The vision of her ancestor. The strange words pouring from her lips. Elara's fingers moved automatically to her pendant, which now felt cooler. Almost dormant compared to the burning heat it had emanated in Marlowe's study.
"I saw her," she whispered. "My ancestor. She showed me a ritual during a Blood Moon. She called me 'daughter of Lyra' and 'heir to the bloodline.'"
Damon's eyes narrowed slightly. "Did she show you the purpose of this ritual?"
"She said it was for balance, not power. That when the Blood Moon rises again, I must complete the 'true ritual.'" Elara rubbed her temples, where a dull ache persisted. "It feels like she had downloaded centuries of information into my brain. But I can only access fragments."
Damon was silent for a moment. His expression was thoughtful. "Marlowe believes your dormant Siren abilities are awakening rapidly. Too rapidly for your body to adjust."
"Is that why I feel like I have been hit by a truck?"
The corner of his mouth twitched upward. "Yes. You have been pushing yourself too hard. First the attack in the forest. Then the encounter with the Codex."
"I did not exactly plan either of those," Elara pointed out.
"No," he acknowledged. "But you need time to recover. To adjust to what is happening to you."
The concern in his voice was unexpected. This was not the commanding Alpha who had ordered her confined to the house. But something softer, more human.
"Why am I here, specifically?" Elara asked, gesturing to the room around them. "In your quarters, I mean."
Damon's gaze shifted away briefly. "After you collapsed, your power continued to emit waves, I suppose you could say. Any wolf who came near you was affected. Their wolves either became agitated or unusually calm. Marlowe thought it best to limit your exposure to most of the pack."
"And you are immune somehow?"
"Not immune," he said carefully. "But as Alpha, I have better control. And there seems to be something specific about how my wolf responds to your voice."
Elara remembered the night at the pub, how his wolf had been momentarily silenced by her singing. "So I am quarantined."
"Protected," he corrected gently. "While you recover."