Chapter 8: The Breaking Point

Celia's pulse roared in her ears as Damon's grip on her chin tightened, his dark eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that sent a chill down her spine.

"You should have come to me."

His voice was low, dangerous.

She swallowed hard, trying to suppress the fear creeping up her throat.

"Then tell me the truth, Damon."

A slow, calculated smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"The truth?"

He released her chin but didn't move away.

Instead, he reached for the parchment on the floor, his fingers brushing over the ancient words as if they held the weight of something far greater than she could comprehend.

Celia's breath hitched.

She had expected him to deny everything.

To dismiss it as lies.

But the way his gaze darkened, the way his jaw clenched, told her otherwise.

"So, it's true," she whispered.

"I'm not just your mate… I'm meant to be your queen."

Damon let out a slow exhale, his expression unreadable.

"You were always meant for more than you realized, Celia."

His voice was softer now, almost regretful.

She shook her head, stepping back.

"No. Don't do that. Don't act like you didn't know what you were doing when you claimed me."

His eyes flickered with something unreadable.

"I never lied to you."

"But you didn't tell me the whole truth either," she shot back, her voice rising.

"You kept me in the dark while you… while you planned whatever this is!" She gestured wildly at the documents.

A muscle in Damon's jaw ticked.

"I was going to tell you, Celia."

"When?" She glared at him.

"When I was too deep in this to turn back? When I no longer had a choice?"

Silence stretched between them.

Celia felt the weight of Killian's presence behind her, but he didn't speak.

He was watching Damon, waiting. The tension in the room was thick, suffocating.

Damon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I never wanted to trap you."

"Then why didn't you tell me?"

His gaze flicked to Killian, a silent conversation passing between them.

Something unspoken.

Something Celia wasn't meant to understand.

Her chest tightened.

"What else are you hiding?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Damon's eyes snapped back to hers, and for the first time, she saw something raw in them.

A vulnerability she hadn't expected.

"There's more, isn't there?" she pressed.

Damon was silent for a long moment before he finally spoke.

"The prophecy."

Her stomach dropped.

"What prophecy?"

He hesitated, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

"It's not just about you being my mate, Celia. It's about what you are."

She stiffened.

"What I am?"

"You're not just anyone," Damon said, his voice laced with something almost reverent.

"You're the last of the Bloodline."

Celia blinked, confusion twisting inside her.

"I don't understand."

Damon exhaled.

"The first Alpha—the original ruler of all packs—his blood runs through your veins. Your family was meant to lead, to rule. But they were hunted, wiped out. Only a few knew the truth. You were hidden away to protect you."

She staggered back, her mind reeling.

"No… that can't be true."

"It is."

She shook her head, trying to process.

"Then why didn't I know? Why didn't my mother tell me?"

"She was trying to keep you safe."

Safe.

The word felt like a cruel joke now.

Celia's breaths came faster as panic clawed at her chest.

"So, what does this mean? That I was… destined to be with you?"

Damon's expression darkened.

"It means you were always meant to rule beside me."

Her heart pounded.

"And if I don't want to?"

A flicker of something dangerous passed through his eyes.

"Then others will come for you."

Celia's breath caught.

Killian, who had been silent all this time, finally stepped forward.

"You don't understand, Celia. The moment you were discovered, you became a target. There are those who would kill you before they ever let you take your rightful place."

Dread settled in her stomach.

"This isn't just about you and Damon," Killian continued.

"It's about survival."

Celia felt her legs tremble.

She reached for the bedpost to steady herself.

"So, what? I have no choice in this?"

Damon's gaze softened, but his voice remained firm.

"You always have a choice, Celia. But walking away doesn't mean freedom. It means war."

The room was spinning.

She wanted to scream, to demand why this was happening to her.

Why she had been thrown into a world of secrets and prophecies and destinies she never asked for.

But before she could say anything, a sudden knock at the door made them all freeze.

Killian's posture tensed immediately, and Damon's entire body shifted into a stance of readiness.

Celia's pulse spiked.

"Who is it?" Damon called out, his voice sharp.

A pause. Then—

"My Lord, there's been an attack."

Damon's expression hardened instantly.

"Where?"

"The eastern border."

Killian cursed under his breath.

"It's starting."

Celia's stomach knotted.

"What's starting?"

Damon turned to her, his jaw tight.

"They know you're here."

Panic surged through her.

Killian moved toward the door, already shifting into action.

"We need to move. Now."

Damon turned to Celia, his hands gripping her shoulders. His touch was firm, grounding.

"You have to trust me."

She swallowed hard, staring into his stormy eyes.

Did she trust him?

She wasn't sure.

But she did know one thing—

Everything had changed.

And there was no turning back now.