CHAPTER 129: YOUNG LILITH I

*~ Young Lilith’s POV*~

The night came faster than I had expected, and honestly, it left me unsettled. I hadn’t done anything worthwhile all day. I spent most of the hours wandering the house, pretending to help my mother with chores while my mind chased itself in circles.

I hadn’t gone to the Wolf Academy, and I hadn’t seen Marcus either. In truth, I was avoiding him. News of my premature awakening must have already spread, and I didn’t know how I’d face him. What would I say? What would he think? My chest tightened every time I imagined the look in his eyes. So I hid away, keeping myself busy with meaningless little tasks, trying to silence the storm inside me.

When night fell, I tried to act normal. My mother was still hovering around me, suspicious as ever, her sharp eyes searching my face for answers. She knew my father had said something to me, and nothing ever passed her nose without a sniff.

But I kept my lips sealed. I couldn’t give her the truth—didn’t even have the words for it myself. So I feigned ignorance, smiled when I needed to, and pretended as though the weight in my chest was nothing more than the ache of a long day.

Finally, I retreated to my room and closed the door behind me, heart hammering. Midnight came, and with it, a gentle knock on my door. My pulse jumped. I knew without doubt it was my father.

I slipped into a gown...my nightdress felt too revealing to step outside in—and padded quietly to the door. When I opened it, there he was, standing exactly where we had sat the previous night. His face was half-shadowed, but the hard set of his jaw was visible even in the dark. Without a word, he gestured for me to follow, pointing toward the waiting carriage at the edge of the path.

I obeyed, my bare feet brushing against the cool ground as I hurried after him. Inside the carriage, I sat beside him, trying not to tremble.

It was then that I noticed it—his aura. My father’s presence had always been one of strength: cold, calculated, and impossibly sharp, like a blade honed to perfection. But tonight... tonight he seemed restless. His hands clenched and unclenched against his knees, his body stiff as though it carried a secret too heavy to bear. And unless my eyes deceived me, I swore I could see the glint of sweat beading at his temple.

My father never sweated.

The unease in my stomach deepened. I pinched the hem of my dress between my fingers, holding on tightly, hoping it would keep me steady. I forced myself to breathe slowly, gently, evenly—anything to keep my nerves from unraveling.

The carriage rolled on for what felt like hours. The rhythmic creak of the wheels and the occasional jolt of the road only made my heart pound harder. Time blurred, the night stretching endlessly, until I realized that dawn couldn’t be far off.

I turned to him at last, silently asking the question I dared not voice. Where are we going? Why does this feel so wrong?

He met my eyes briefly, and though he didn’t speak, I knew he understood what I was asking. His silence said enough.

Because when I looked out the small window, I saw the sign.

We were leaving New Orleans.

My heart skipped. My father wasn’t just taking me out for a meeting. He was taking me away—away from my town, away from everything I had ever known.

Why?

I couldn’t speak, couldn’t demand answers. My throat felt locked, my thoughts tangled. All I could do was sit there as the carriage carried me into the unknown, my father’s tension pressing against me like a second skin.

And then, finally, after what felt like forever, the carriage slowed. The horses snorted, hooves clattering against gravel. My chest tightened as the wheels came to a stop.

"We’re here," he said, his voice low.

I stepped down from the carriage, my feet landing on unfamiliar ground, my breath caught somewhere between fear and curiosity.

The moment my feet touched the ground, my wolf screamed inside me. Danger.

Her warning ricocheted through my body like lightning, and instantly goosebumps rose on my skin. The air was thick—too thick, like the world itself was holding its breath. My stomach churned. My fingers clenched desperately at the hem of my dress, grounding myself as my eyes darted to my father.

He caught my look and gave a faint nod, as if that alone could steady me. But his reassurance wasn’t enough. Not here. Not with the strange, oppressive energy pressing in from every direction.

I tried to move forward but my knees buckled, and I crashed into the dirt with a choked gasp. Mud smeared across my palms, even splattered my lips. The metallic tang filled my mouth, humiliation and dread twisting together in my chest. My father sighed sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose like I was nothing more than an inconvenience.

Heat burned my cheeks as I scrambled to my feet, brushing off my dress with shaking hands. "Please... calm yourself," I muttered under my breath, trying to sound steadier than I felt. But the tremor in my voice betrayed me.

And then I froze.

The breeze shifted, carrying with it an unmistakable trace. My wolf stiffened, snarling low in my chest. Witches.

The word hammered through my mind. I didn’t need anyone to tell me—I knew. The Wolf Academy had drilled it into us: how to recognize their scent, their aura, the prickling sensation that crawled across your skin whenever they were near. And they had taught us another thing too—wolves and witches could not co-exist. We weren’t just enemies by nature. We were opposites. To be near one was to invite war.

So why... why had my father brought me here?

I turned on him, panic flashing across my face, but before I could speak, my wolf’s voice erupted louder than before. Danger! Her growl vibrated through my very bones, and for the first time since awakening her, I understood what true fear meant.

I stumbled back, trembling, but my father’s hand shot out and seized mine, firm, unyielding.

"Lilith, what are you doing?" he snapped, his voice sharp enough to slice through my panic.

"I—I don’t think this is right," I stammered, my chest heaving.

His eyes darkened, and then he tapped my forehead with two fingers. "Be strong. Remember what I told you last night. You agreed to this. Get a grip on yourself."

His tone left no room for argument. My wolf whimpered inside me, retreating slightly, but the unease remained. I nodded stiffly, swallowing back the bile that had risen to my throat.

Before I could ask anything more, figures began to emerge from the shadows ahead. A group of people approached—hooded, deliberate, the air bending strangely around them. Wolfs. My suspicion was now certainty.

The old wolfs greeted my father, their voices low and too smooth, and though I couldn’t catch every word, I felt their eyes settle on me.

My stomach flipped.

One of them broke away from the group, stepping closer until their presence wrapped around me like a choking fog. "Come with us," they said, gesturing toward the yawning mouth of a cave.

I stiffened. "Inside?" My voice cracked, though I tried to swallow the fear.

"Yes," came the reply, smooth, confident.

I turned quickly to my father, hoping—praying—he would follow. But he stayed where he was, his arms crossed, his face unreadable. He wasn’t moving.

"You’re not... coming with me?" My words were barely a whisper.

His silence was answer enough.