Rejected His Miracle Luna (Dorothy and Ignatius)

Chapter 103

-Dorothy-

“This feels pointless.” I dropped my head down on the dusty table in front of me. “Maybe we should be

looking in the fantasy section instead.

“There’s got to be something here Ignatius insisted, bus nose buried in a fraying book beside me. “This

is the oldest library on Bielke territory, there has to be mention of vampires somewhere.” This is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

Ignatius and I had come to scour the library in search of vampires. Any information we had found so far

was outdated and barely believable. It all sounded like half-truths and tables, bedtime stories and

crazed ravings. It had been over a century since anyone had interacted with the cold skins.

The Belke library was housed in an old, dingy building set on the rocks beside the tumultuous gray sea.

The foundations creaked occasionally, as the walls were pummeled by brutal winds sweeping in from

over the ocean I couldn’t understand why anyone would put a library so close to the raging ocean

waves, but Ignatius told me that back when the library had been built, the sea was much further away.

It was a very old building, carved into the blackened rock and holding fast against the waters that drew

ever closer.

The interior consisted of dust, and cobwebs, yellowing pages, and ancient books coming apart at the

seams. The library had a briny smell to it, mingled with the musk of mothballs and old books. We

browsed through pages and pages, pouring over scrolls, books and records of all kinds. But despite our

searching covering books from every dark comer, we couldn’t find anything about vampires.

I groaned, turning my head to the side to look at Igratists. “Your pack spent a lot of time waging war, not

turning pages. It’s no surprise this library is sp ars e when it comes to vampire knowledge.”

Igmaius ignored my quip, dropping the book on the table and walking away to pull another one off the

shelf. When he didn’t find anything of interest in that one either, he sighed and came to sit beside me.

This is your pack too. We may not have had much use for books back in the day, but we always made

sure our history was well preserved. If Elliot did have any dealings with bloodsuckers, the evidence

would be here.”

1 straightened up, folding my hands in my lap. “Do you really think Elliot confronted vampires?”

Ignatius ran a hand through his hair, ruffling his white locks until they looked like the foamy waves

outside. “There were rumors about Elliots interactions with ‘cold ones. Whispers around Bielke territory

and beyond. But I always thought they were just that- rumors. It seemed like the type of story that

would spring from my fathers reputation.”

I propped my chin on my knuckles, examining the grainy wooden table in front of me. “What if we send

a scout Covenstone Rise Let them report back on what they find.”

over

The towering mountain range was where the vampires had allegedly retreated to all those years ago.

Reports from various ancient packs stated that the vampires, both ethereally beautiful and dangerously

c unning, used to reign in prosperous houses. They once had interacted with shifters, before retreating

back to their own territories, shaded by the eternal night that hung over Covenstone Rise.

It was Ignatius’s turn to groan. Tve already considered that. But you and I both know the story. It’s the

one piece of information that everyb*dy seems to agree o t

I nodded in defeat. Despite all the varying accounts of vampire sightings we had uncovered, one truth

rang clear among them no one who crossed The Covenstone kise mountains range ever came back,

Vampires had been so secretive, it was impossible to find any more information on the matter.

Allegedly, centuries ago, there had been a great war between the ruling council and one of the

prominent houses. But the details of the story had been blurred by years of word-of-mouth storytelling.

Nob*dy knew for certain what had happened to the vampires. We had noddea where they went, nor

why they had decided to come back.

“Maybe we should take one last look around?” I suggested blandly. As much as I wanted to know more

about the vampires that may or may not be plotting against us, seeing Ignatius in such a state was

disheartening.

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586

My mate, who was usually-in stoic and strong, was an anxious wreck now that nob*dy was looking.

Ignatius looked paler than usual, the stress of war weighing on his shoulders, both the war of the past

and the coming chaos. We could both feel something stirring, a storm on the h orizon. Ignatius was

afraid for his family, for me and the children. But he was also afraid of his family, of Elliot and the part

he might have played in all of this.

As if he had been listening in on my thoughts, Ignathus stiffened, and a cool, controlled mask slipped

over his features again. He wore that mask often these days.

“One last look won’t hurt,” he stated curtley, before standing up and pulling files from the shelves once

again. “But 171 need to have a talk with the old librarian. It seems there are a few things missing from

the Bielke archives,”

“Missing?” I got up and went to stand beside him, snaking my arms around his waist. “How can you

tell?”

The contact was just as much for my own reassurance as it was for his. Ignatius felt distant from me

lately. He was so invested in protecting me that he had closed himself off from caring for me. He was

trying to carry everything alone.

The embrace softened him slightly, and Ignatius gripped my hip like an anchor pulling him back to

earth. He shook his head, gesturing with a file still open in his hands. There are pages missing,

important pieces of my father’s history have been torn out. Some of them from when he was still with

Moira, but there is a larger chunk missing from the few years after her.”

Ignatius fabered for a moment, old wounds still aching. “After she left.”

I squeezed my arms around him a little tighter, and we both moved on from that stumble like it hadn’t

happened. Ignatius lowered the file for me to look at, pointirig to page numbers out of order and cut-off

sentences amid the records.

“Elliot was trying to hide something. I murmured, scanning the files intently. There is something here

that someone was trying to cover up. But what?”

A sudden gust of wind shook the library, punched through the small sea-facing window and flung open

the door at the other end nearly tearing it off its rusting hinges. Pages and files went flying and candles

were snuffed out. I clutched Ignatius. tighter and we both huddled against the chill air, my hair whipping

around us like scarlett snakes. One of the booksh teetered precariously. A few of the books it housed

were shaked free and fell to the floor in a chorus of dull thuds

When the wind finally subsided, we both turned to look at the crumbling pages and weathered books

that now were sca ttered across the floor. I walked over to the shelf they had fallen from, feeling a deep

and sudden compulsion to ha closer look. I scanned the shelves, not knowing what I was looking for.

But the same deep feeling compelled me to kee looking, I crouched down to check the lower shelves,

while Ignatius retrieved some of the books on the floor.

Through the gaps that some of the fallen books had left on the shelf, something glinted on the wall

behind it, catching my eye. “There’s something here.”

“What is it?” Ignatius raised his eyebrows.

“I’m not sure yet. Help me with this.”

Together, we dragged the shelf away from the wall, dislodging a few more books in the process. Behind

it, there was a small metal door, built into the stone wall. Without the weight of the shelf to keep it

closed, it swung open heavily on its hinges with a grating creak.

I stared in bewilderment, hesitantly stepping closer to examine the rusted metal and the entrance to the

void beyond. “Do the Bielke have any records of secret library hiding places?”

“Not that I know of, Ignatius answered me quietly.

We knelt in front of the dark opening, gazing into its depths. The space behind the door was barely

larger than a postbox Inside, perfectly placed and open to the first page like it had been waiting for us,

was a blackened, half-burned journal.