Rejected His Miracle Luna (Dorothy and Ignatius)

Chapter 115

-Ignatius-

I had been rifling through Bielke archives for hours and still hadn’t turned up anything that matched up

with the recent vampire attacks. Dorothy had been insistent that the records of Elliot and Morgana’s

attack was somewhere in the archives, but nothing I had seen so far came close to the damage the

vampires had caused:

Ellot had never been particularly good with his paperwork. And even though the hall secretary had

done her best to organize the piles of reports, the entire collection was still a nightmare to sift through All content is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

One thing that I had noticed, however, were twelve Bielke deaths that were completly unaccounted for.

They were there in the records, around the time when Elliot and Morgana would have been together,

but there was no mention of how they died, or why.

Back then, the Bielke saw a lot of deaths. We took on new members almost as quickly as we lost them.

They were cannon fodder before the real Bielke soldiers stepped in to fight, It was no surprise that

twelve shifters had died at the same time with no mention of what battle they had fought in.

I squinted at the report in my hand, scanning the descriptions for any mention of a battle. A single line

caught my eye, words that had been scratched out roughly in black ink.

Whoever Ellot and Morgana had attacked, he hadn’t wanted anyone to know about it. If he had tried to

get rid of the journal, he would have discarded any records of the attack as well.

I threw down the papers in defeat and slumped back in my chair, throwing an arm over my eyes with an

exasperated groan.

It was hopeless. Elliot had done his best to cover his tracks, and the atrocities he had committed under

the sway of Morgana seemed to be buried forever. Or burned, knowing my father.

All of my pent up anger had dissipated after Dorothy and 1 argued in this very room. Now, all I felt was

a beaut fatigue, and it was all I could do to keep from falling into a state of complete despair. I was tired

of fighting, for my fathers mistakes.

I closed my eyes and probed my mate’s mind. Dorothy was back at home, fast asleep after two full

days of se answers and turning up nothing.

It had taken a lot of convincing to get her to go home and rest. Only after I summoned Plato to

personally escort h did she finally relent to a few hours of shut-eye

I wanted to give up then and there, I wanted to lock up my father’s study and never set foot in the room

again. But Dorot would be awake soon, and she’d be determined to keep searching. I owed it to my

mate to keep going.

I hauled myself upright and rubbed my eyes, racking my brain for any new ideas. All I had to go on was

twelve mysterious deaths, and a scratched out sentence. Twelve dead shifters..

I stood abruptly, nearly tipping over my chair, and hurried over to a dusty cabinet in the comer.

The bottom drawer was filled with letters, all addressed to my father. The Bielke received a lot of letters

back then, calls for aid, suggested allyship, and inquiries into lost loved ones. There were a lot of those.

I memorized the names of the twelve shifters, and then got to searching.

After almost an hour of sifting through page after page of unanswered mail, I found what I was looking

for. Someone named Aiden Siliven had wanted to know what had happened to his son Thonus.

Thomas Siliven was one of the recorded twelve whose death was never elaborated on.

According to Aiden’s letter, Thomas had been a ferocious Bielke soldier. One of the best. The last time

Aiden had heard from Thomas was August 28th, the year of Elliot’s encounter with Morgan…

Thomas had informed his father that he was setting out with a group of specialized fighters, on a

discrete mission under the orders of Elliot

G.

Thomas had given no other information, aside from the odd fan that the twelve soldiers were to be

joining forces with another intimidating group. “They’re not shifters, Thomas had said. “There’s

something off about them.”

Ichewed my bottom lip, taking in every word with growing unease. He must have meant vampires.

These were the soldiers Elliot had appointed to take out this special pack.

The letter ended with Aiden Siliven begging Elliot to explain how his son had died. All he had received

in response was a letter of condolence and nothing more. Not even a b*dy to bury

Auden’s letter told me what I had already begun to suspect Eliot had done everything he could to cover

up the evidence. Including killing twelve of his own before they could talk. But the letter also shed some

light on another useful piece of information. The exact date of the attack, 27 August 1990.

I stiffened suddenly, a cold fist closing around my heart. Why did that date mean something? Why had I

heard it before!

“No” Thunched over myself, crumpling the letter in my hands. F***. Please, no,”

The answer was so obvious I was astounded that we hadn’t realized sooner. But how could we have? It

was too unbearable to even consider.

I had always known my father to be ruthless and power hungry. But even I could not have foreseen

this. I could never have imagined just how far he’d go on his quest for power.

It felt like a punch in the gut, a blow that left me gasping for air, my mind reeling.

The dates matched up exactly to Dorothy’s arrival at the Khall pack all those years ago. On the 27th of

August, that same year. Rita had carried her young nicce to Khall territory, begging them to take care of

the child. The exact day that Dorothy’s park had been wiped out.

The room was spinning. I was falling like the ground had given way beneath me. The room slanted

sideways as I sank to my knees, pressing my knuckles to my head in utter disbelief. I wanted to

scream, a loud, long wail.

“F*** I pounded my fist into the ground, guilt crashing down on my shoulders like a tidal wave. “F***.

F***.

It was Elliot, my father, who had allowed it to happen, who made it possible in the first place. Elliot had

sentenc Selveinne pack to their deaths, and nearly took Dorothy out with them.

I was supposed to be her protector. I was supposed to be her loving mate, not kin to the monster that

wiped out the her family.

My knuckles were bloody, and dashes of crimson streaked across the floor. I felt empty, shell-shocked.

I felt unworthy of he love.

I looked up sharply when someone entered, baring my fangs at the sudden intrusion. Plato stood in the

doorway, raising his palms in surrender when he noticed my furious glare.

“Relax, Friend, not foe.”

I exhaled slowly and sat down on the ground, crossing my legs and examining my bruising knuckles,

“What do you want, Plato? You’re supposed to be back at the cottage protecting my mate.”

Plato let out a disgruntled sigh, folding his arms, “Dorothy sent me to come get you. Angie and Fae are

back with news”

His expression softened when he noticed the streaks of blood on the floor, and he took a cautious step

toward me, “Hey, you alright? What happened in here?”

The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them, delivered with clinical plainess. “Elliot killed

the Selveinne pack. My father is the reason Dorothy’s people were murdered”

Plato blinked and started to say something, I ignored him, sinking deeper into my own dark thoughts. It

would seem that the fated connection between Dorothy and me ran deeper than either of us had

thought.

G

Her fate was tied to the fate of every pack. Her

58

stence alone was the reason we had a fighting chance against the vampires

I couldn’t understand how it all fit together, but I knew it in my soul.

Plato’s comment snapped me out of my musing, “We have to tell Dorothy.”

“No!” I scrambled to my feet, gripping his arm. “Not now. Not yet

“You have to!” Plato said incredulously. “She wouldn’t hold this against you. We both know Dorothy, she

would understand.”

“Right now, you and I are the only people who know what happened to the Seilvanne pack. We need to

keep it that way until these attacks blow over”

I pulled him closer, fully aware of how desperate I looked in that moment, “Please, Plato. Don’t say a

word of this to Dorothy. I’ll tell her myself when the time is right.”

Plato looked unconvinced, but he shook his head with a deep sigh, “Alright, fine. I won’t tell her. But

you can’t hide this from her forever, Ignatius.”

On the drive back to the cottage. Plato tried to turn the conversation to lighter topics. But I was barely

listening. The only thing on my mind was my mate, and how I had failed her,

I would not fail again.