“And Caliban?” Lila asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “Caliban stayed hidden in the castle. Except during the full moon. Especially after. . . especially after he killed your parents.”

  Divan went still.

  Lila’s hand covered her mouth, her eyes widening.

  Divan could not breathe. The room seemed to shrink around him, the firelight warping, flickering, and suddenly, he was six years old again.

  He was waking up to an eerily silent castle, walking into the hall, looking for his mother. Finding Caliban instead. Caliban had been waiting for him. His expression was grim but composed, his hands steady as he placed them on Divan’s small shoulders.

  “Thieves came in the night,” he had said. “They killed our parents.”

  Divan had cried, had wanted to see them, but Caliban had taken him to Brașov before he could. “They’re gone, little brother. There is nothing to see.”

  He had never seen Caliban again until recently, and now he knew the truth.

  The room was silent except for the low crackle of the fire.

  Maria looked down at her hands, weary. “Ishtak hated him because he loved your parents, Divan. He thought highly of them, and Ishtak favors few.”

  “How did Ishtak know he had killed them?” Lila asked.

  “I don’t know, Ishtak knows things, he is more than he seems, more than he lets people know.”

  Divan swallowed hard, gripping the armrest of the chair. All these years, the lies, the betrayal, the blood that had been spilled. Then, after a long moment, he spoke. “I need to contact Cel.”

  Lila hesitated. “If it’s about your brother, won’t it be difficult for you?”

  Divan’s jaw clenched. “He is not my brother.”

  ***

  The next morning, Divan sat at the wooden writing desk in his cottage, his fingers tapping against the parchment before he put ink to page. The words came easily, but the weight behind them did not.

  Cel,

  I need your help. About the curse you placed on Caliban. He is losing control. I need to know how to end it. You are the only one who can tell me.Send word as soon as possible. Time is running out.—Divan Drakovar

  He folded the letter carefully, sealing it with wax before handing it off to a messenger boy, a fast rider bound for Brașov. “Take this directly to Cel Tradat, with no detours, no delays, and return with his reply as quickly as you can.”

  The boy nodded, slipping the letter into his coat before mounting his horse and disappearing into the night. Divan watched him go, unease settling deep in his bones.

  There was a soft knock on the door, and Lila walked in. Her gaze flickered between the flames and Divan, who sat lost in thought.“You’re thinking about him,” she said softly.

  “I don’t dare leave you unprotected, not with the werewolf still out there. It’s wounded, bleeding, but not dead.”

  Lila frowned. “I can take care of myself.”

  “I know you can,” he said, stepping closer, “but I’m not willing to gamble with your life.”

  She searched his face. “Then what will you do?”

  Divan exhaled sharply. “I’m going to Castle Bran.”

  “Divan—“

  “I need to see how my dear brother is doing,” he interrupted. “And I need to know just how much fight he has left in him.”

  Lila hesitated before asking, “And what about you? What fight do you have left?”

  He tilted his head slightly, as if the thought had just settled within him. “Maria told me my wounds healed quickly because I’m a sorcerer. She told me the magic is in my blood.”

  “She’s right.”

  He let out a soft, humorless chuckle. “I never thought of it that way. I’ve always known I inherited my mother’s sorcery. My uncle, who raised me, explained it to me when I was barely a teenager. He taught me how to shift, how to protect myself. But that was all. My mother died before she could teach me, and my uncle was practical. He gave me just enough knowledge to keep me safe, not enough to make me a true sorcerer.”

  Lila stood, stepping toward him. “You’ve always relied on science.”

  “Yes.” His lips pressed into a thin line. “When I went away to school, I turned to medicine, to logic, to answer the questions that filled my ever-curious mind. But now?” He looked down at his hands. “Now, I have to wonder what else I am capable of?”

  She reached for his hand, threading her fingers through his. “You are capable of anything you put your mind to.”

  He let out a deep breath. “But is it enough?” He moved to the door and put his coat on. “One thing I do know is that Caliban is not a sorcerer. He hasn’t inherited the gift from our mother. The curse that plagues him it’s not his magic. He was afflicted, not born with it, that means he has limits, and I intend to find them.”

  Lila squeezed his hand. “Then go.”

  Divan sighed, his resolve hardening. He pulled her toward him and pressed a lingering kiss to her lips before stepping back. “Stay here where you’ll be safe.”

  She nodded, but worry still shone in her eyes. “Be careful.”

  With one last look at her, Divan left the cottage.

  ***

  The wind bit at his skin as Divan stood at the foot of the winding stone steps leading up to the castle. The old fortress loomed above him, dark and foreboding against the silver glow of the sun, barely able to peek through the gray clouds.

  When Divan stepped through the ruined doorway of Castle Bran, his boots echoed against the cold stone. Everything was freshly destroyed. Furniture overturned, paintings slashed, broken glass, porcelain, and stone wear, glittering in the dim firelight. He knew why. Caliban’s rage. His violent outbursts always left destruction in their wake. Caliban had probably been all the angrier after the battle last night, but as far as Divan knew, no one had been killed.

  Suddenly, Divan froze, a knot catching in his throat and in his gut. A grotesque sight sprawled across the sofa. At first, he thought it was Caliban. The shape, the stillness, it had to be. But as he moved closer, a sickening dizziness swept over him, his mind refusing to make sense of what he saw. It wasn’t Caliban.

  It was Otilla.

  Her body lay sprawled across the sofa, torn open, her throat a ragged, gaping wound. Blood soaked her clothes, dark and glistening in the light, pooling beneath her in a gruesome halo. Her lifeless eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, as if the last thing she had seen had been too terrible to comprehend.

  Divan’s stomach twisted violently, his fingers curling into fists, nails biting into his palms. A sound left him, something raw, something between a breath and a sob. “Dear God.” She had loved him. She had protected him. And he had killed her.

  Rage surged through Divan like a volcanic eruption, burning through his veins. He turned and strode toward the grand staircase, taking the steps two at a time.

  When Divan reached Caliban’s rooms, he found him sitting in front of the fire, a bottle of vodka and plum wine in his hand. His long hair was torn, jagged patches missing from his scalp. One ear was gone, a dark, ragged wound in its place. Even through his clothes, Divan could see the bite marks, the scratches, and the huge burns from Lila’s medallion.

  The Umbrawolf had suffered, and yet, he was still here. Caliban took a slow sip from his glass, his eyes locked on the flames. “Hello, little brother.” His voice was hoarse, worn, and exhausted.

  Divan took a step forward, watching him carefully. “What happened to you?”

  Caliban smirked, lifting the glass. “Another drunken binge.”

  Divan didn’t smile. “I think we can be honest with each other now.”

  Caliban let out a low chuckle, but he said nothing. Only silence stretched between them.

  Finally, Divan spoke. “I saw Otilla’s body downstairs.”

  For the first time, Caliban flinched. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away from the fire. “Yes, the poor thing.”

  “She loved you.”

  Caliban set his glass down on the table beside him. “I genuinely loved her, Divan. I did.”

  “Then why?”

  Caliban finally looked at him. “Because the bloodlust is insatiable.” The words were quiet and final. “No one is safe.”

  Divan’s stomach turned. His chest tightened. He already knew what came next, but he had to say it. “Not even Mother and Father.” It wasn’t a question.

  Caliban closed his eyes. “Not even Mother and Father.” His voice was empty now. Hollow. He opened his eyes again and looked at Divan. “Not even you.”

  The words hit like a blade, even though he already knew that since the monster had stalked and attacked him and Lila in the forest.

  Divan didn’t move.

  “That’s why I sent you away,” Caliban continued. “You were too young. I didn’t trust myself, but you’re still not safe.”

  He reached for the bottle again, pouring another drink with a shaking hand.

  “The beast is threatened by you, Divan. The creature is jealous of you.” His eyes burned, but not with anger. “And more than that, it wants you dead.”

  Divan stood rigid, watching his brother, the monster, wither before him. “So, what are we going to do about it?”

  Caliban gave a weary laugh, shaking his head. “I don’t know if I have a choice, Divan. If I were you, I’d take that pretty little healer and leave Bran.”

  Divan’s jaw clenched. “But you’re not me.”

  Caliban was silent. The fire crackled, filling the space between them.

  Finally, Divan stepped forward. “How can we end this, Caliban?”

  Caliban rubbed his hand over his face. “I have no idea.” He looked up, his gaze tired, almost pleading. “Or be sure, my brother, I would have ended it long ago.”

  Chapter 22

  Today, I spent the morning in the garden. The sun was warm for once, and the earth soft beneath my hands. The herbs have started to take root again — the old sage by the wall, the stubborn mint in the cracks. For a few hours, I let myself believe it was still possible —that life could be ordinary again. For a little while, I remembered what it was to be a man, and not a monster. And for that, I am almost grateful. -from the Journal of Caliban Drakovar

  When Divan reached his cottage, he found the messenger waiting for him. “You were quick.”

  “Yes, well, after I gave him your message, he stared at it for a few minutes, then wrote this note and told me to get it back to you as soon as I could.”

  Divan pulled a gold coin out of his pocket and gave it to the messenger.

  “Thank you, sir.” He bowed and remounted his horse and walked it slowly away.”

  Divan hurried into the house and broke the seal, his fingers tightening around the parchment as his eyes moved over the words:

  Divan,

  I was wondering when you would finally ask me the right question.

  Yes, I cursed Caliban. I will not waste time justifying my actions, nor will I ask for your understanding. He took from me, and I took from him. This is the way of things. This is the way of men.

  But curses, my dear boy, are not so easily undone. Especially not this one.

  You ask me how to kill him? And for that, I have only one answer.

  You have had the means since the day you left Brașov. The means have been with you all this time, and yet, you do not see it. Perhaps you are not ready to.

  You must look deeper, Divan. The answer has already found you. The question is, will you recognize it before it is too late?

  And yet, I suspect you will find your way.

  I hope you do, because if you do not, your brother will never stop.

  -Cel Tradat

  Divan read the letter twice, then folded it slowly, pressing his fingers against the bridge of his nose. “Damn sorcerers.”

  There was a knock at the door, soft yet certain, and even before the sound fully settled, he knew, not just by the rhythm of it, but by the way his heart stirred, by the pull in his very soul.

  “Come in, Lila.”

  The door opened, and there she stood, bathed in the golden glow of candlelight, as breathtaking as ever. Her simple dress cinched at the waist, the soft fabric flowing around her like water. A scarf, tied in her dark hair, cascaded over her shoulder, catching the faintest movement of the air.

  He rose to his feet, drawn to her like the tide to the moon. The moment she was close enough, he gathered her into his arms, pulling her against him. And then he kissed her, deeply, desperately, as if she were the very breath he had been starving for, the air that filled his lungs and made him whole again.

  She smiled against his lips. “How did you know it was me?”

  He brushed his fingers along her cheek, his gaze locked onto hers. “Because I love you so much that even my instincts, my very soul, are bound to you.” He kissed her again, then handed her the letter. “Read this and see if you can make any sense out of it.”

  Lila sat in the cushioned chair by the window and read the letter. Then she looked up at Divan and frowned. “What does he mean? That you already have a way to break the curse?”

  Divan exhaled sharply, tossing the letter onto the table.

  “That is the question, isn’t it?” he muttered. “I carry the means, but he refuses to say what it is.”

  Another knock on the door, and Maria’s voice, “Divan, is Lila in there?”

  Divan answered the door and invited her in. “Yes, she’s here. We are trying to figure out this cryptic letter Cel sent me.” He handed the letter to her. “See if you can make sense of it.”

  After she read it, she smiled and shook her head. “Cel always did enjoy speaking in circles. Even if people’s lives were at stake.”

  Divan leaned back in his chair, frustration simmering beneath his skin. “Okay, we have to do this logically. What do we have? What did I bring from Brașov?”

  The women were silent.

  “Could it be this medallion?” He pulled it out of his shirt.

  “You didn’t have that when you first came to Bran,” Lila replied.

  “That’s right. Could it be your medallion?”

  She reached for it and put her hand around the smooth metal. “You brought this back with the other one.”

  “Ah, yes, and it wasn’t for me, it was for you. Let’s see, I had a dagger. I had my father’s ring. The book Cel had given him before he left Brașov?”

  His eyes narrowed.

  “Could it be the book? Werewolf: A Study of the Beast Within. Could the answer be in there?“ He walked to the table where the book lay. “I’ve read the whole thing a couple of times, maybe I missed something?”

  Lila placed a gentle hand on his arm, grounding him. “We’ll figure it out.”

  “We have to, because if I don’t. . .” His gaze flickered to the candlelight, the shadows dancing against the walls. “As Cel tells me, Caliban will never stop.”

  Maria and Lila left, and Divan sat at the wooden table, his eyes burning as he scanned the pages of the old book, flipping through brittle parchment, absorbing every word.

  There had to be something he had missed, something that would tell him how to end this for the last time. The candle beside him had burned low, its wax pooling on the table. The hour was late, but his mind was too restless to stop.

  He leaned forward, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes, trying to force clarity into his thoughts. “What do I have that can break the curse?” The answer is already with you. Cel’s words echoed in his mind, taunting him, frustrating him. He turned another page, then another.

  ***

  He woke up, his head in his arms resting in front of the desk, still seated in the wooden chair. His back was tight, and his shoulders ached. A soft knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.

  Lila stepped in, carrying a small tray of food, her expression full of concern. “You need to eat. I brought you breakfast.”

  Divan exhaled, leaning back in his chair. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Maybe not now, but you will be. You’ve barely eaten since yesterday,” she countered, setting the tray down. He sighed, knowing better than to argue with her. His stomach was empty, but his mind was far too occupied to care.

  Lila glanced at the book in front of him, then at the table, where something was wrapped in black cloth. Her brow furrowed. “What’s this?”

  Divan looked up, but before he could respond, Lila had already pulled back the fabric. Beneath it lay the ancient dagger. The handle was made of polished moonstone, its pale, milky surface swirling with an inner light, as if it were breathing, alive.

  The moment Lila’s fingers brushed against it, she gasped, jerking her hand back.

  Divan’s eyes sharpened, pushing the book aside. “What is it?”

  Lila looked up at him, her breath unsteady. “This dagger, it has power, Divan.”

  Divan stared at the blade, his pulse quickening, “Could this be it? Could this be the answer Cel was speaking of?”

  Divan stared at the dagger in his hand, the moonstone pulsing as if it were sentient. Something in its weight felt final. Inevitable. “I think we found it,” he whispered.

  He didn’t move for a long time. Just stood there turning it over, the handle warm.

  A slow, bitter laugh escaped his throat. “The dagger has been right here,” he muttered. “Wrapped up like some precious relic, sitting beside me while I tore through books looking for answers.”

  Lila looked up, her brow furrowed.

  “I must be getting slow,” he went on. “All this time, trying to outthink a curse, and I never once thought of a weapon. That’s all it ever was.”

  She gave a small smile. “We were looking for magic.”

  “And I was looking past the obvious. A blade. Of course, it’s a blade. What else kills monsters? A stern conversation?”

  Her smile widened.

  He shook his head, rubbing a hand down his face. “I’m not sure if I’m clever or just a fool who occasionally stumbles into the right answer.”