The Lycan King's Outcast Omega (by Cara Anderson) novel Chapter 22

Chapter 22

My fingers brush over cracked spines until they stop on one bound in faded blue leather. When I pull it out, dust swirls in the air, making me sneeze.

“The Lost Packs of the Northern Realms,” I read aloud. The cover bears a strange symbol wrapped around a flowering vine.

“Careful with that one, dearie.” The voice makes us both jump.

–

a crescent moon

An elderly woman with silver–streaked hair pulled into a severe bun peers at us from behind wire–rimmed glasses. “Those histories are delicate. And dangerous, some might say.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-” I start to put the book back, but she steps closer, her eyes fixed on my face. “Moon–blessed eyes,” she whispers, so quietly I almost miss it. Then louder: “No, no, you keep looking, child. Sometimes the past calls to those who need to hear it.”

Before I can ask what she means, she hurries away, her footsteps oddly silent on the stone floor.

“Well, that was weird,” Iris declares. “Even for Ms. Winters. She’s usually just grumpy, not cryptic.”

I open the book carefully, something pulling me toward the middle pages. A detailed illustration shows a pack gathering, wolves with unusual markings tending to injured packmates. Their fur seems to glow with an inner light.

“The Mooncaster Pack,” I read, “known for their extraordinary healing abilities and connection to lunar magic, vanished without trace in the year-”

“There you are.” Alaric’s deep voice breaks through my concentration. I snap the book shut, my heart racing as I look up to find him watching us with an unreadable expression. “The council meeting is about to start, Iris.” “Right!” His sister bounces up. “Sorry, got distracted. Sage, why don’t you keep exploring? I’ll find you after.” I expect Alaric to follow her, but he lingers, his eyes falling to the book in my hands. “Finding anything interesting?”

“I… yes. The histories are fascinating.” I clutch the book closer, not sure why it feels so important.

He steps nearer, and my breath catches as he reaches past me to brush dust from the spine. His scent surrounds me – crisp winter wind and something uniquely him. “The old stories say some packs were blessed by the Moon Goddess herself,” he murmurs. “That she gave them gifts to protect and heal others.”

“Do you believe that?” I ask, looking up at him. His face is so close, I can see flecks of silver in his steel–gray eyes. Something shifts in his expression. “I believe the Moon Goddess works in mysterious ways.” His fingers brush mine where they rest on the book, and electricity shoots up my arm. “And that sometimes her greatest gifts come in unexpected forms.”

The moment stretches between us, heavy with things unsaid. Then voices in the hallway break the spell, and he steps back, his Alpha mask sliding back into place.

“Council meeting,” he says gruffly. “Stay out of trouble, sweetling.”

I watch him go, my heart pounding. Through the library’s tall windows, I hear raised voices discussing border patrols and mutant wolf attacks. Mentions of wounds that won’t heal properly, of something dark spreading through the territories.

Chapter 22

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