Chapter 4 Secrets in the Woods

Lyra POV

"Isabella?" Serena's voice wavered slightly, her fingers tightening around the delicate teacup. "Why would you ask about that name?"

I kept my expression neutral, though my heart pounded against my ribs. "She knows something," my wolf whispered, suddenly alert. The slight change in Serena's scent—a sharp note of anxiety—confirmed it.

"The other night Dominic came home drunk," I said carefully, stirring my tea to avoid her searching gaze. "He wasn't himself, and he mentioned that name. I was just curious."

Relief visibly washed over Serena's features. Her shoulders relaxed, though her eyes remained watchful. She set her cup down with deliberate care, arranging her thoughts before speaking.

"Isabella was... close to Dominic," she explained, her tone measured. "But that was a long time ago. Things happened, and she's gone."

The casual dismissal of this woman—this Isabella who had been significant enough for my husband to call out during our most intimate moment—felt like a slap. The mate bond between Dominic and me hummed with discordant energy, as if acknowledging the lie. But I forced a small smile, pretending this was merely idle curiosity.

"Childhood friends, I understand." I waved my hand dismissively, ignoring the way my wolf bristled at the deception. "Please don't tell Dominic I asked. I wouldn't want him to think I'm jealous of his past."

The words tasted bitter on my tongue, like the wolfsbane tea my father once made me drink when I disobeyed him as a child—a harmless but unpleasant reminder of our weaknesses. Serena nodded, her fingers no longer white-knuckled around her cup.

"Of course not, Luna. Your secret is safe with me." Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes.

We exchanged pleasantries for another few minutes—discussed the upcoming Season of the Harvest celebration, the new pups born to the Henderson family, the unseasonably warm weather. All the while, my mind churned with questions I couldn't ask, and my wolf paced restlessly beneath my skin before I made my excuses.

As I walked back to Alpha house, my mind raced through possibilities. Serena's explanation was plausible but felt incomplete, like a half-finished puzzle. The way she'd tensed at the name, the careful choice of words—she was hiding something, perhaps under Dominic's instruction. What had she meant by "things happened"? What kind of "things" would cause someone close to Dominic to leave without a trace, yet remain significant enough for him to call her name in our bed?

And what about the Moon Gathering? Serena had confirmed Dominic wasn't there, saying he'd told Marcus he was "with someone important." If that someone was Isabella, where had they been?

"The scent," my wolf reminded me. That night, Dominic had reeked not just of alcohol but of medication. The same clinical smell that clung to him after his frequent visits with the pack doctor to that small cabin in the woods—the area he'd explicitly forbidden me from approaching.

The realization hit me, stopping me mid-stride. A passing pack member gave me a concerned look but continued on when I forced a smile and resumed walking.

What if Isabella wasn't gone at all? What if she was hidden away in that cabin, and Dominic had been visiting her all this time?

It would explain everything—the Alpha command keeping me away, his reluctance to mark me despite our mate bond, the distant look in his eyes when he touched me, as if seeing someone else.

"We need to know," my wolf urged. "We need to see for ourselves."

That night, I lay awake in my solitary bed, staring at the shadows on the ceiling as I formulated a plan. Dominic's visits to the cabin followed a pattern—always mid-day, always with the doctor. If I could observe them long enough, perhaps I could find an opportunity.

Over the next few days, I observed the forest path leading to the cabin. Each day at noon, Dominic and the pack doctor would disappear into the woods carrying medical supplies. The doctor always emerged alone after a short while, but Dominic often stayed until nightfall. Some days, he didn't return to Alpha house at all.

Before my discovery of Isabella's name, I'd naively assumed these absences were due to his Alpha duties—patrolling borders, meeting with neighboring packs. Now, I questioned everything about our two years together. Had any of it been real? Had he ever seen me, or only the shadow of someone else when he looked at me?

After a week of my surveillance, Moon Goddess smiled upon me. Only the doctor made the journey into the woods. He emerged just fifteen minutes later, walking briskly toward the pack medical center without a backward glance.

This was my chance—perhaps my only one.

I waited until the doctor was well out of sight before slipping between the trees. My footsteps were nearly silent on the forest floor, years of training with my father's pack making me light on my feet. "Be careful," my wolf cautioned. "If Dominic catches us here..."

The thought remained unfinished. We both knew the consequences of defying an Alpha command—pain that would bring me to my knees, possibly even unconsciousness. But the need to know the truth outweighed the risk.

The cabin stood in a small sun-dappled clearing, its wooden walls weathered to a soft silver-gray. I crouched at the forest's edge, listening carefully for any sound from within—a conversation, movement, even breathing.

Nothing. The silence emboldened me to approach.

I tried the door first. Locked, of course. A brief tug confirmed it wouldn't budge without force, and breaking in would leave evidence of my trespass.

Moving to the window, I found it cracked open just enough to let in a breeze but too narrow for me to slip through. I peeked inside, my pulse quickening. It appeared to be a simple sickroom. A hospital bed dominated the space, medical equipment arranged neatly alongside it. Someone lay motionless under the covers, their eyes shut. I figured they were out cold, so I pressed my face against the glass for a better look.

The sunlight reflected off the glass, making it difficult to see clearly. For a moment, all I could make out was my own reflection—but something was wrong. I wasn't blinking.

A chill ran down my spine as I realized the truth. The person in the bed wasn't a reflection. She had my face—the same rounded chin, the same high cheekbones, the same brown hair spread across the pillow. But her eyes were closed, her skin paler than mine, and several thin scars marked her jawline that weren't present on my own face.

I staggered back from the window, my hand flying to my mouth to stifle a gasp.

She looks exactly like me.