The Voice Within CHAPTER 13
The Things Blood Knows
“That doesn’t work.”
Daniel stared at Elva.
She stared back, waiting for him to explain something he clearly didn’t understand himself. The ruins around them had gone strangely quiet, the waterfalls still pouring over the cliffs and the wind still moving through the trees, but none of it seemed to reach her anymore. Twenty-six years old. She was eighteen. The numbers sat in her head like pieces from two different puzzles, and no matter how many times she rearranged them, they refused to fit.
“What doesn’t work?” Daniel asked.
“You.”
That earned the smallest crease between his eyebrows.
Elva pointed at him. “You’re twenty-six.”
“Yes.”
“I’m eighteen.”
“I know.”
“And Hati just called me your sister.”
Daniel’s mouth opened, then closed again.
Elva folded her arms. “So either someone has been lying to one of us for our entire lives, or there is something very wrong with the math.”
Daniel looked away.
That bothered her more than if he had argued.
“You said you were an only child.”
“I was.”
Elva’s eyebrows lifted.
Daniel rubbed both hands over his face. He looked exhausted, but there was something else there too, something new to her, though she recognized it instantly for what it was. Fear. Not the kind that came from being hunted through the forest. This was deeper, quieter, the fear of someone discovering that the foundation beneath his entire life might have been built on something false.
“That’s what I was told,” he said.
Elva went still.
Daniel looked back at her.
“My parents never mentioned a sister. Not once. There were no photographs. No stories. No birthday cards tucked away in a box somewhere. Nothing.” He swallowed. “I grew up believing I was an only child, Elva. I didn’t have any reason to question it.”
“Until Hati.”
“Until Hati.”
Elva glanced toward the woman who had brought Daniel into the valley.
Hati stood several yards away, speaking quietly with Kael. She wore the dark uniform of an elite W.A.R.D. operative, immaculate despite everything they’d been through. The silver insignia at her collar caught the light whenever she moved, and the sword at her side looked like it belonged there.
Everything about her seemed wrong.
Or maybe everything about the world Elva had believed in was wrong.
“Do you know what she meant?” Elva asked.
Daniel shook his head.
“You’re lying.”
“I wish I were.”
That stopped her.
Daniel looked down at his hands. “There are gaps in my memory.”
Elva said nothing.
“Not normal gaps,” he continued. “Not forgetting where I left my keys or what I had for breakfast. There are years of my childhood I can remember pieces of, but not the whole thing. Places I know I lived, but I can’t picture the rooms. People whose names I should remember, but don’t.”
Elva felt something tighten beneath her ribs.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t know.”
The answer came too quickly to be rehearsed.
Daniel looked toward Hati again.
“And because W.A.R.D. teaches you very early that some questions are safer left alone.”
Elva understood that.
She hated that she understood it.
Her whole life had been built around not asking questions. Where had she come from? Why had nobody ever wanted to talk about her parents? Why did the people who raised her look at her like she was an obligation instead of a daughter? Why did the Voice know things she couldn’t possibly know?
Every question had eventually led to the same answer.
Stop asking.
She looked down at her hands.
The crescent beneath her skin seemed almost brighter than it had before.
“Did you know about me?”
Daniel followed her gaze.
“No.” He was staring at her palm now. “Not until today.”
Something about his face made her believe him.
That was almost worse.
Because if Daniel was telling the truth, then someone had gone to an extraordinary amount of trouble to separate two children and erase one of them from the other’s life.
And Elva had a pretty good idea who would have been capable of doing that.
“W.A.R.D.,” she whispered.
Daniel didn’t answer.
He didn’t have to.
A low voice came from behind them.
“Not entirely.”
Elva turned.
Hati stood there. Up close, the woman looked older than she had at first glance. Not old in the ordinary human sense, but worn. There were faint lines around her eyes and gray threaded through her dark hair, yet nothing about her posture suggested weakness. She carried herself with the quiet confidence of someone who had survived things that would have killed most people twice over.
Elva didn’t trust her.
She wasn’t sure she was supposed to.
“Then explain it,” Elva said.
Hati studied her. “I intend to.”
“Good.”
Hati’s mouth moved slightly. It wasn’t quite a smile.
“Still stubborn.”
Elva’s eyes narrowed. “You keep saying things like that.”
“Because they’re true.”
Daniel looked between them. “How do you know her?”
Hati’s gaze shifted to him. For the first time, something softened in her expression.
“You ask the wrong question.” She looked back at Elva. “The question is why I know you.“
Elva felt the Voice stir.
Not words.
Recognition.
She hated that feeling.
“Hati,” Daniel said quietly. “Tell me what you know.”
Before Hati could answer, a voice came from the edge of the ruins.
“Well. This is a cheerful gathering.”
Elva turned.
Sköll stood among the trees, one hand resting against the trunk of an old pine, his expression carrying the faintest trace of amusement. Elva had grown used to his presence over the last few days, but something about the way he was looking past her made the hairs rise along her arms.
He wasn’t looking at her.
He was looking at Hati.
The amusement disappeared.
Hati went completely still.
Sköll stepped out of the trees. For several seconds neither of them moved. Elva looked from one to the other. Kael had noticed too, and moved closer to her, his eyes fixed on the pair.
Sköll took another step.
“Hati.”
Her face changed. It was subtle — the hard lines around her mouth softened, and something almost painfully human passed through her eyes.
“Sköll.”
Daniel looked at Elva. Elva looked at Kael.
Kael whispered, “Do you know what’s happening?”
“No.”
Sköll walked closer. Hati waited.
“You’re late,” he said.
Hati’s mouth twitched. “You’re still ugly.”
Sköll laughed.
The sound caught Elva completely off guard. She had heard him growl. She had heard him threaten people. She had heard him speak in the low, measured voice he used when teaching her something he considered important.
She had never heard him laugh like that.
He crossed the remaining distance between them and pulled Hati into his arms. Hati let him. For one brief moment, the ancient warrior in the W.A.R.D. uniform disappeared, and Elva saw something else — a sister who had been separated from her brother for so long the years had become meaningless, someone who had carried the absence without ever admitting how heavy it had become.
Then Hati shoved him away.
Sköll staggered backward half a step.
“A century,” she said, “and you still haven’t learned when to let go.”
“A century,” he replied, “and you’re still pretending you didn’t miss me.”
Hati’s eyes narrowed. Sköll grinned.
Elva looked at Kael. Kael looked at her.
“Is this normal?” he whispered.
Elva shook her head. “Nothing about today is normal.”
Sköll’s grin faded as he looked at his sister properly — the uniform, the sword, the silver insignia, the gray in her hair.
“You joined them.”
Hati glanced down at the uniform. “I survived them.”
Sköll’s expression hardened. “That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting right now.”
The warmth between them disappeared. Elva felt it happen. The reunion was over.
Hati looked toward Daniel, then Elva.
“We don’t have much time.”
Daniel stepped forward. “Voss?”
Hati nodded. “He knows the forest is protecting you.”
Daniel’s face tightened. “He’s already started clearing operations.”
Sköll’s eyes narrowed. “Burning?”
“Not yet,” Daniel said. “But that’s where it’s headed.”
Hati looked almost bored. Elva noticed. That bothered her.
“You don’t seem worried.”
“I’ve seen worse.”
“That doesn’t mean this one won’t be different.”
“No.” Hati’s eyes moved toward the cliffs. “It means this one is still made of trees.”
Elva stared at her. Kael frowned. Daniel looked genuinely confused.
Hati sighed. “Voss thinks the forest is a wall.” She rested one hand on the hilt of her sword. “He doesn’t understand that it’s a living thing.”
Something moved beneath Elva’s skin. The Voice stirred again.
She knows.
“What does she know?” The question came out before Elva could stop it.
Everyone looked at her.
Hati’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you talking to?”
Elva closed her mouth immediately. Sköll looked at her with sudden interest. Kael answered for her.
“The Voice.”
Hati went still.
Daniel noticed. “So you know about that, too?”
Hati’s gaze never left Elva. “I know enough.”
Elva felt irritation rise. “Apparently everyone knows enough except me.”
“That,” Hati said quietly, “is the problem.”
Elva stepped closer. “I am getting very tired of people saying that.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
Hati’s expression didn’t change. “You’re eighteen. You think you’re trying to discover what you are.”
Elva’s eyes narrowed. “How would you know?”
Hati’s expression softened, just a little. There was something in her eyes Elva hadn’t expected to see there. Empathy.
“Because I went through it too.”
Elva stopped.
Hati held her gaze. “Let me guess. You’ve spent your entire life believing something was wrong with you because you could hear a voice nobody else could hear. You learned to hide the things your body could do because people laughed when you were young, and eventually fear became easier than ridicule. Then, on the morning you turned eighteen, everything you were taught to fear became real.”
Elva stared at her.
Hati’s voice softened. “You think you’re trying to discover what you are.”
She glanced toward Sköll. “You’re not.”
Elva’s stomach tightened. “What am I doing?”
“Learning what you are.”
The words settled over the clearing.
Elva looked at Sköll. He wasn’t smiling anymore. She looked at Daniel. He had gone pale. Then she looked at Hati.
“What does that mean?”
Hati took a breath. Before she could answer, Sköll spoke.
“It means the Voice isn’t the stranger you thought it was.”
Elva’s chest tightened. The Voice remained silent. That frightened her more than anything it could have said.
“Then what is it?”
Sköll looked at her. “It’s you. Your wolf.”
Elva shook her head. “No.”
“Yes.”
“No.” her voice cracked.
Sköll didn’t move. Elva looked toward the Ancient One, standing beyond the ruined stones, watching with its single pale eye. It had never spoken to her in words, not really. It had guided her. Protected her. Led her into the valley.
And now it was watching.
Waiting.
The Voice finally spoke.
He is right.
Elva closed her eyes. “You could have told me.”
You weren’t ready.
Her eyes snapped open. “I hate that answer.”
I know.
She almost laughed. Instead, she rubbed both hands over her face.
“This is ridiculous.”
Daniel gave a quiet, humorless laugh. “That’s the first thing today that sounds normal.”
Elva looked at him. For half a second, neither of them spoke. Then she remembered what Hati had called him.
Her brother.
The word felt wrong. Not because she didn’t believe it. Because some small part of her already did.
“How old were you when I was born?”
Daniel’s expression changed. “I don’t know.”
Hati answered. “Eight.”
Daniel turned toward her. Hati didn’t look away.
“You were eight years old when Elva was born.”
Daniel’s face went blank. Elva felt the same cold sensation she’d felt when Hati first called her his sister.
Eight. A little boy. An infant sister. A family that had somehow existed and then been erased.
“Where was I?”
Hati looked toward the forest. “Somewhere safe.”
Elva’s jaw tightened. “That’s not an answer.”
“No.” Hati looked back at her. “It isn’t.”
Elva stepped toward her. “Then give me one.”
Hati’s eyes hardened. “Your mother knew what you were.”
Elva stopped. The world seemed to shrink around those words.
Daniel whispered, “What?”
“She knew what your blood carried,” Hati continued. “She knew what would happen when you came of age. She knew W.A.R.D. would come looking if they discovered you.”
Elva’s throat tightened. “My mother?”
Hati nodded.
“You knew her?”
“I did.”
Elva’s anger arrived suddenly — hot, sharp, easier than the grief trying to rise behind it.
“Then why didn’t she tell me?”
Hati looked at her for a long moment. “Because she was trying to keep you alive.”
Elva laughed once. It sounded bitter. “Everyone keeps saying that.”
Hati didn’t answer.
Elva looked toward Daniel. “Did she know him?”
Daniel swallowed. “I don’t know.”
Hati did. “Yes. She knew what W.A.R.D. would do if they found out about either of you.”
“Then why did they take me?” Daniel’s voice came quietly.
Hati’s eyes shifted toward him. “Because someone believed separating you was safer than losing both of you.”
“Who?”
Hati’s expression tightened. “That is a conversation for another time.”
“No.” Daniel’s voice rose. “You don’t get to do that.”
Hati looked at him. Daniel stopped. Something in her expression made the anger drain from him.
Not fear.
Recognition.
A memory moved somewhere behind his eyes, one he’d never been able to place before, a fragment of a night he could feel the shape of but not see. Not a face in a file this time. A face in his own head, buried under whatever had scrubbed the rest of it clean.
His voice dropped. “You were there.”
Hati didn’t answer.
“The night they took me.” Daniel took a step toward her. “You were there.”
Hati looked away.
That was enough.
Daniel’s shoulders dropped. Elva watched him carefully, and for the first time she understood something about Daniel that had nothing to do with W.A.R.D. or his knowledge of Lycans.
He was just as lost as she was.
He had spent his entire life believing he knew where he came from. Now the same ground had disappeared beneath him.
Elva moved closer. Daniel looked at her. Neither of them said anything.
She wasn’t ready to call him brother.
He wasn’t ready to call her sister.
But neither of them stepped away.
That would have to be enough for now.
Hati watched them. Sköll watched Hati. Kael watched everyone.
And somewhere beyond the valley, a helicopter passed over the mountains.
The sound was faint. But Elva heard it.
Every head turned. The Ancient One raised its massive head. The Voice inside Elva went very quiet.
Then it spoke.
They found the edge.
Elva’s heart began to pound.
Daniel looked toward the cliffs. “How long?”
Hati’s hand settled around the grip of her sword. “Not long.”
“How many?” Sköll asked.
Hati listened. For the first time since Elva had met her, the ancient Lycan looked tired.
“Enough.”
Another distant sound reached them. Then another. Engines. Rotors. Machines moving through the forest.
Elva looked at the valley around them — the ruined buildings, the old stones, the wolf statue standing frozen beneath the trees. The place had survived for centuries. W.A.R.D. had spent decades trying to erase everything like it.
And now they were coming here.
For her.
Elva’s hands curled into fists. The Voice did not tell her to run. It didn’t tell her to hide. It simply waited.
Elva looked at Hati. Then Sköll. Then Daniel.
“What happens now?”
Sköll looked at Hati.
Hati drew her sword, the blade coming free with a quiet metallic scrape.
“Now,” she said, “we find out what they forgot about us.”
Above the valley, the first helicopter cleared the ridge.
And the Ancient One opened its other eye.