Leah's POV
The moon hung low that night, its crimson glare spilling over Redwood Mansion like a wound torn open in the sky. I stood before it, breath fogging in the chilled air, my boots sinking into the cracked earth where grandeur once reigned. The luxurious manor where my grandfather had held court was a husk now, its walls sagging, its windows blind and gaping. Yet the murals - those gorgeous, sprawling tales of Lycan triumph - clung to the stone, and the carved beams overhead still bore the weight of forgotten glory. A ache bloomed in my chest, sharp and unbidden, not for the place itself, but for the blood that tied me to it, the lineage crumbling like the house before me.
A werewolf guard shifted in the shadows, his eyes catching the moonlight as he tracked my approach. He stepped forward, then froze, nostrils flaring as the Lycan aura rolled off me - thick, primal, a warning stitched into my bones. His gaze dropped, and he shrank back, a mutt knowing its place. I didn't spare him a glance. My pulse thrummed, a war drum calling me deeper, pulling me toward Leo.
The Crystal Society palace stretched ahead, a cavern of ruin where my grandfather once greeted the powerful and the damned. I stepped inside, boots grinding against shattered glass, and caught my reflection in the broken crystal mirror - a million jagged pieces staring back, each one a shard of me. My face splintered into chaos, eyes hollow, mouth twisted, as dilapidated as the walls around me. I pressed a hand to my chest, feeling the steady thud beneath my ribs, and wondered how something so whole could feel so fucking fractured.
Then I saw him. Leo, locked in a glass display box like some grotesque trophy, hunched over his instruments, his thin frame swallowed by shadow. The sight clawed at me, a visceral punch of pain I couldn‘t shake. Shackles bit into his ankles, heavy and rusted, and his skin - Gods, his skin - was a map of wounds, festering where wolf poison had sunk its teeth. I reached out, fingers brushing the glass, and a high-voltage jolt seared my hand, a white-hot lash that should've hurt. I shook it off, watching the flesh knit itself whole in seconds, but the ache in my heart stayed, a relentless, gnawing thing. Physical pain was a ghost to me, but this -- this was a blade I couldn't dodge.
I didn't think. My fist crashed through the glass, the whole damn box exploding in a storm of shards that rained down like broken stars. The bang echoed, deafening, but Leo didn't flinch. He didn't even turn.
"Dear sister," he said, voice flat, bored, "are you here to end my life?"
I stepped closer, glass crunching underfoot, my blood simmering. "What did you do to Darren?"
He turned then, slow, deliberate, and I sucked in a breath. Half his face was a ruin - burned, twisted, the skin pulled tight over bone. He smiled, a jagged, bitter thing that didn't reach his eyes. "Is he still alive? It's really unbelievable."
"I'm asking you a question," I snapped, voice like ice, though my insides churned.
He laughed, a hollow sound, and turned back to his work. "I don't want to answer."
Fury surged, and I grabbed his collar, yanking him close. His burned face loomed, a grotesque mask, but that smile - fuck, that smile - cut deeper than any claw. "You have to cure him!"
"Or what?" he taunted, eyes glinting with madness. "Steal my life, kill my lover, destroy my appearance, lock me up in a glass box like a slave for entertainment? I've experienced all of these, dear sister. Unless you can come up with some other way to threaten me, your Darren will spend the rest of his life like a mad dog."
His words sank into me, heavy as chains. I swallowed, forcing the tremor from my voice. "I can help you resurrect Gean. My company has already managed to bring direwolves back to life. All I need is Gean's DNA. You can raise him like your own child and spend the rest of your lives in the human world with him."
He stared at me, searching, his gaze peeling me back layer by layer. "Dear sister, we are like siblings. For so many years, you really didn't know me, and I didn't know you. Do you think I want my lover to come back to life? You're wrong. I never thought about living with him again. I just want to die with him."
He slid to the ground, laughter spilling from him - wild, unhinged - and I felt it, the echo of his despair, a mirror to the void gnawing at me. A tear slipped down my cheek, hot and traitorous, and I didn't wipe it away.
A slow clap broke the silence, and Finn stepped from behind the shattered mirror, his cruel smile gleaming like a blade. "Seeing you so heartbroken is the greatest joy of my life, Leah. I thought you couldn't feel any emotions anymore."
I turned, eyes narrowing, my voice a low growl. "Finn, I've tolerated you for too long. My family granted you life, freedom, and power, but you haven't learned to be grateful for a fucking moment."
He glared, his eyes blazing, madness dancing in their depths. "Ah, about that. Leo gave me life, you gave me freedom, and Lucian gave me power. But what I can't understand now is, why did you take away what I was born with? Why did you give me what I lost and regained? You Lycans manipulate and trample on the lives of ordinary werewolves, dreaming of becoming gods, but have you ever thought that you're just a game of gods?"
His words hit like a slap, confusion curling in my gut. "A game of the gods?" I echoed, the phrase hanging heavy, unanswered.
Before I could unravel it, Leo snarled, a guttural sound that ripped through the air. He lunged, a shard of glass clutched in his hand, and drove it into Finn's chest. Blood bloomed, dark and thick, as he twisted the blade, his eyes locked on Finn's. But Finn - he didn't flinch, didn't howl. He just smiled, serene, like the pain was nothing. Like me.