Betrayed and Claimed by the Lycan King Chapter 246

Isolde's POV

The first thing I noticed was the chandelier hanging from the ceiling above me, its sparkling facets sending sharp needles of pain through my eyes.

I squeezed them shut with a groan, my head pounding like someone had taken a sledgehammer to my skull. Every muscle in my body ached, and I felt like I hadn't eaten in days—which, considering where I'd been, was probably true.

My throat was so dry it felt like sandpaper, and there was this bitter, metallic taste coating my mouth that made me want to gag.

I forced my eyes open again, blinking rapidly until the world came into focus. This wasn't right.

This wasn't my shared room with Thalia in the Moon Alliance Program.

It definitely wasn't Ezra's penthouse with its cold, modern elegance. And it sure as hell wasn't that concrete fucking hellhole where they'd been keeping me.

*Where the fuck am I?*

I pushed myself up on my elbows, taking in the room around me. It was beautiful—warm and inviting in a way that made my chest tighten with something I couldn't name. The walls were painted a soft cream color, with landscape paintings hanging in elegant frames. A bookshelf stood against the far wall, filled with volumes that looked actually read rather than just for show. Everything about this place screamed home, family, comfort.

*But whose home?*

"Lyra," I whispered, my voice coming out as a rasp. "You know where we are?"

Silence. My wolf was unusually quiet, which did nothing to ease the growing panic clawing at my chest.

The last thing I remembered was lying on that thin mattress in the detention cell, so weak I could barely lift my head. I'd been calling for my mother in my delirium, crying out for someone who'd walked away from me years ago when she couldn't handle my father's betrayal anymore.

*Am I dead? Is this some kind of afterlife?*

I threw back the soft cotton comforter—definitely not the scratchy prison blanket I'd been wrapped in—and noticed I was wearing a comfortable pajama set. Someone had changed my clothes. Someone had moved me. But who?

My bare feet hit warm hardwood floors as I stood, immediately regretting the movement when my head spun violently. I had to grip the edge of the bed to keep from falling over.

I padded to the door on unsteady legs, my hand trembling as I reached for the brass handle. Taking a deep breath, I slowly turned it and peeked out into the hallway.

What I saw made my heart rate spike. A long corridor stretched before me, carpeted in soft burgundy with family photos lining the walls in matching frames. At the end, a wooden staircase led downward. The scents that hit my nose were completely foreign, yet somehow... familiar? Like a half-remembered dream.

I closed my eyes and took another deep breath, letting my enhanced senses gather information. There were definitely people in this house. Multiple heartbeats. The lingering scents of breakfast and coffee. The warm, lived-in smell of a real home.

*Fuck it. I need answers.*

I stepped into the hallway, one hand trailing along the wall for balance as I made my way past several closed doors toward the staircase.

As I reached the top of the stairs, voices drifted up from below. Not raised in anger or urgency—just normal conversation, like a family gathering around the kitchen table.

One step at a time, I made my way down the stairs. The voices became clearer—four people, it sounded like, discussing something in low, serious tones. I couldn't make out the words yet.

When I reached the bottom of the staircase, I could see into a warm, inviting living room. Four people sat around a coffee table, and every one of them looked up at me.

I froze like a deer in headlights, suddenly hyperaware of how I must look—pale, shaky, wearing borrowed pajamas with my hair probably sticking up in every direction.

One of them, an elegant woman with silver-streaked hair, rose from her chair with fluid grace. She moved toward me with a gentle smile, and the scent that reached me as she approached made something deep in my chest clench with recognition I couldn't quite place.

"You're awake," she said, her voice warm and melodious. "I'm so glad to see you've finally regained consciousness."

I remained frozen on the last step, my mind racing as I tried to process everything.

"Where am I?" I managed to croak out.

"Oh, sweetheart," she said, her smile growing sad. "You must be so confused right now. Why don't we go back upstairs? I'll explain everything."

She turned to the others, who were watching our interaction with rapt attention. "Continue without me. I need to talk to Isolde."

The sound of my name on her lips sent a shock through my system.

*She knows who I am. This isn't random.*

"How do you know my name?" I demanded, though my voice came out weaker than I'd intended.

Her eyes—so much like my own—filled with an emotion I couldn't quite read. "Of course I know your name. Now, come with me."

Against every self-preservation instinct I possessed, I followed her back up the stairs. There was something about her presence that made the constant tension in my shoulders ease just slightly, even as my mind screamed warnings about trusting strangers.

Back in the bedroom, she settled on the edge of the bed and patted the space beside her. I remained standing, too wired to sit.

"You must want to know what happened," she said gently.

I nodded, not trusting my voice. My brain was working overtime, trying to piece together the impossible puzzle in front of me. Her voice, her eyes, the way she carried herself—it was all tugging at memories I'd buried deep.

"It's a long story," she continued, watching my face carefully.

And then, like lightning striking, the impossible thought that had been lurking at the edges of my consciousness finally formed into words.

"Are you my mother?"

The question came out barely above a whisper, my voice breaking on the last word.

She went completely still, her face cycling through shock, pain, and something that might have been relief. For a long moment, we just stared at each other, two pairs of identical eyes searching for truth.

"Yes," she whispered. "I am."

My heart stopped.

*My mother. She's here. She's real. She came for me.*