A MISSIVE AND A CONFIRMATION

WILLA’S POV

My heart nearly leapt to my throat as I heard what Brandon had said.

A missive from Gallahan.

A million possibilities flashed in my mind one after another.

Was he looking for me?

Was he trying to win me back?

Was he declaring to formally court me?

Or was he simply baiting me?

Was he trying to use our connection as fated mates to manipulate me or gain an upper hand in the war?

I swallowed thickly as I tried to remain as calm as possible, fully intent not to let myself show even a sliver of my inner turmoil.

“Come in, Brandon,” Grandpa loudly called out.

He rose gingerly from the bed and stood straight and dignified, waiting for Brandon to deliver him the missive.

Brandon entered my room and politely said, “I apologize for the intrusion, Miss Willa.”

William nudged me lightly.

I didn’t have to look at him to know that he was suppressing a teasing grin.

I almost gave in to the urge to nudge him back thrice as hard for it. But I didn’t.

Brandon had been my happy little crush since he started working for Grandpa two years ago. Not only was he handsome, but he also had a good thinking head and was so capable that he earned Grandpa’s trust quite quickly.

But seeing him again after meeting my fated mate didn’t make my heart flutter anymore. Gone were the mild rush of excitement and the quiet thrum of happiness I used to get whenever we ended up in the same room.

Even his kind brown eyes, his wavy brown hair, his dimpled smile and the masculine frame of his body—the features that attracted me before—seemed to pale in comparison to Gallahan.

I bit down my lower lip as I mentally groaned over the fact that I would probably start comparing Gallahan to every man who would catch my eye. And unfortunately, I was quite sure that Gallahan would come on top every time, despite having questionable and twisted beliefs.

I cleared my throat and nodded primly at Brandon. “Don’t sweat it, Brandon. You came with something urgent to give to Grandpa.”

“Right. You seemed to be mildly ruffled, Brandon,” Grandpa noted as he gestured for the missive in Brandon’s hand.

“Ah, it is from Gallahan Wick, sir. It was also delivered by Zuleika Banfey herself,” Brandon explained, walking further inside my room and handing the sealed navy blue envelope he had. “She insisted you must read it as soon as possible.”

The atmosphere instantly became heavy and tense.

The Culling Army, much less Gallahan Wick himself, had never written to the League before.

The urgency and the seriousness of the letter was also amplified by Zuleika Banfey, a known potion master and reclusive witch from the respected Banfey family of the great and honorable Belleza Coven. She had been rumored to be the second-in-command of the Culling Army, and her act of delivering the letter served as a subtle but loud declaration of her involvement and stance in this ongoing divide between werewolves.

“Thank you, Brandon.”

“Of course, sir.”

“My paper knife is in the top left drawer of my writing desk,” I said, pointing at the white oak desk near one of the large bay windows.

William quickly stood up from the bed and retrieved the item. Then after Grandpa accepted it with the nod of thanks, William returned to plop down near the foot of the bed, his curious green eyes glued on Grandpa.

I watched with bated breath as the letter opener sliced through the flap of the envelope, leaving the silvery wax embossed with the Culling Army’s insignia intact. Grandpa probably wanted to keep it undamaged as a proof to the rest of the League that the letter truly came from Gallahan’s camp.

Grandpa’s fingers, wrinkled in age, slipped the missive out of the envelope and gingerly unfolded the pristine white paper.

My heart thudded loudly, watching Grandpa’s shrewd eyes move from one line to another as he read through the penned words. I didn’t know what to expect, seeing how with each word Grandpa read, the more his eyes squinted in suspicion and the more his brows knitted together in confusion.

It was as if he was having a hard time believing what he was reading.

“What is it? What did it say, Grandpa?” William asked, unable to hold himself any longer.

Grandpa wordlessly handed William the missive, and I quickly moved to sit beside him so we could read it together.

At the very top and center of the missive, there was a clear image of a red-eyed black wolf that was biting on a crushed human skull with butterfly weeds popping out of its eye holes and mouth. It was the infamous insignia of the Culling Army.

Then below the dark insignia were words written in black ink, curling and swirling on the pages in slightly slanted but still eligible cursive. It read:

To the honorable Greggory Alfiero, former Alpha of Wolverham, Headmaster of the Elfyre Institute for Gifted Beings.

I, Gallahan Wick, heir of the Alpha King and the General of the Culling Army, hereby propose a ceasefire between the Culling Army and the League of the Moon. However, I demand for a parley in which certain conditions and proviso would be comprehensively discussed by the two parties.

For this parley to push through, I require all of these conditions to be met and/or agreed upon:

1. The Culling Army shall have the discretion to decide the time and place for the parley.

2. The League of the Moon will only bring a total of five people to the parley, and in return, the Culling Army shall also do the same.

3. The commander and the second-in-command of the Peacemakers should be present to accompany Greggory Alfiero, Overseer of the League of the Moon.

4. The League of the Moon, along with its subgroup, the Peacemakers, and the Culling Army shall cease and desist all of their respective planned movements and activities, starting from the moment Greggory Alfiero agrees to the parley. This condition shall apply until three negotiating attempts have been made and failed, and until all possible means for a compromise between two parties have been exhausted.

Hence, I, Gallahan Wick, hereby solemnly swear that the contents of this letter is true and free of any deception. In the case it shall be proven that I have been duplicitous in this letter in any way or form, I will willingly bear the curse of the Blood Moon for the rest of my life. So mote it be.

I shall be expecting a reply within a week, lest, the offer for a ceasefire will be rescinded. May the moon goddess enlighten the League of the Moon in whatever decision it will make.

Cordial regards,

Gallahan Wick

By the time I finished reading, my ears were ringing, and my heart thumped wildly against my ribcage, demanding freedom. My tongue felt heavy and dry in my mouth, and I seemed to have lost the ability to make logical sense of my own reeling thoughts.

“Do you think he’s truly being truthful, Grandpa?” William asked, returning the missive back to our Grandpa.

“There is a possibility that he is indeed being truthful. That he is really extending an olive branch to us. But I believe there is an ulterior motive to this, and that is what we must discuss among the council members of the League.”

William nodded, his shoulders slumping down heavily. “I see.”

“You may not be the commander of the Peacemakers anymore, but you are still your father’s son. Feel free to bother him for information once our meeting has adjourned.”

William and Grandpa exchanged subtle mischievous grins, but I wasn’t really in the right state to pay full attention to them anymore.

My breaths had become shallow and quick, as apprehension flared bigger and bigger in my chest.

William’s words—of how Gallahan might launch a continent-wide search for me with the hopes to use me as a pawn or a bargaining chip to his agenda—surged to the forefront of my mind, ringing repeatedly. It was further amplified by Gallahan’s third condition that he demanded in the letter.

My thoughts swirled ceaselessly until I was sure I was slowly losing grip on reality. Black spots danced around my vision, while my hands and feet had gone so incredibly cold that I could hardly feel them.

Suddenly, the blurry form of my brother’s face was within my line of sight, and I could barely make out the shape of his brows that seemed to be furrowed in concern. Then there was his voice as he called my name over and over again. It oddly sounded warped and so far away.

The last thing I thought before I finally succumbed to the darkness that had wrapped its tendrils tightly all over my mind was how I deeply wished I wasn’t pregnant.

But when I regained consciousness after who knows how long, the first thing I heard—even before I got the chance to open my eyes—was Grandpa's gruff murmur of, “So she is indeed pregnant.”