My Sister Stole My Mate, And I Let Her Chapter 487 BENEATH THE LIE

SERAPHINA’S POV

For an instant, I froze, unable to grasp why every fiber of my being urged me to retreat from the arrival.

His features were recognizable in the vein of a recurring nightmare one can't escape.

Next to me, Kieran became rigid, a palpable wave of tension emanating from him.

His gaze sharpened, and the words that left his lips dripped with a venom I seldom heard from him.

“Damian Rooke.”

The name pierced me as if struck by a blade.

The inn flashed in my consciousness: the cruel transaction, Mireya’s vacant stare, the cloying perfume failing to mask the scent of fear and spilled blood.

So potent was the memory that the island vanished, replaced by that subterranean chamber where opulence concealed vile acts.

My fingers instinctively clenched into tight fists.

Damian’s grin widened, as though our shared recognition brought him gratification.

“Alpha Kieran,” he greeted, offering a shallow bow laden with feigned respect. “Luna Seraphina. I had anticipated that Catherine’s little welcoming gesture would occupy you for a longer duration, yet it appears I underestimated your eagerness.”

Kieran advanced, the sand compacting beneath his boot as his Alpha aura intensified.

“Your presence here is unwelcome.”

Damian’s eyes glinted. “I lacked a cause to be present until you presumed to meddle in my personal affairs.”

The atmosphere shifted as his attention pivoted from Kieran to me, and I sensed the precise moment his charade ceased.

His smile dissolved, his expression hardening with a sudden, lethal intensity as he drew a slow, deep breath.

Then, all pretense of control vanished, replaced by a seething, brutal possessiveness that sent a sickening twist through my gut and a burn of bile to the back of my throat.

“You.” His voice throbbed with barely suppressed fury. “You are the one who claimed her.”

Mireya.

I had remained by her side after we extricated her from that hell. I had provided solace on nights when plagued by nightmares that plunged her back into the clutches of the auction.

I had waited patiently while Alois worked to unravel the curse of linkage, had let her cling to me when panic threatened to overwhelm her, had repeatedly assured her that Damian would never lay a hand on her as long as Nightfang endured.

Her unique scent must have adhered to me.

Not strongly enough for others to detect amidst the chaos of this ongoing conflict, but Damian was no ordinary observer.

He was her mate.

The term had never sounded so vile.

“You treated her as your own,” he stated, the calm veneer of his voice cracking at the edges. “You laid your hands upon my mate.”

Kieran’s visage contorted into a mask of murderous rage.

“Your mate?” he echoed, disdain lacing every syllable. “You kept her confined within a cage.”

Damian’s gaze snapped toward Kieran, a dark fury simmering beneath his skin.

“She was mine, and your Luna abducted her!”

Damian attacked without a moment's notice, traversing the distance between us with an unnatural swiftness.

Kieran intercepted him just before he reached me, and the force of their collision ripped through the beach with such power that sand, splintered shells, and bits of shattered roots erupted into the air.

I stumbled back a pace, regaining my balance.

Kieran shoveled Damian sideways, but the latter recovered with chilling agility, evading the blow and retaliating with a strike so fast it seemed to tear the air.

Their forms became a blur, weaving between the trees and the shoreline, each impact sending tremors through the very ground we stood upon.

“He’s been augmented,” Maxwell stated gruffly from my right, articulating my own observation.

Damian wasn't like Jack—not consumed by a savage corruption and falling into darkness—yet Catherine’s influence was undeniably present in his actions.

It coiled around his movements in slender, elegant tendrils, intensifying the inherent cruelty within him.

Kieran deflected a blow aimed at his throat and countered with a strike that would have pulverized the ribs of any ordinary man.

Damian slid back through the sand, emitted a brief, sharp laugh, and surged forward again as if physical pain merely amused him.

“Kieran!” I cried out.

“I have him contained,” he retorted curtly. Ashar’s rage blazed so intensely it felt akin to standing too close to an uncontrolled inferno.

Another surge of rogue attackers attempted to encircle us while Damian kept Kieran engaged, and the true scope of Catherine’s stratagem became increasingly apparent with each passing moment.

She hadn’t dispatched Damian simply for a solitary victory. Her objective was to detain us, to compel Kieran into a confrontation that was personal enough to ensnare him, brutal enough to distract him, and perilous enough that I would be unable to abandon the fight.

Brett perceived the unfolding plan simultaneously.

He moved closer, his claws already extending from hands that were partially shifted. “Leave.”

I turned toward him abruptly. “Absolutely not.”

Maris positioned herself beside him, blades drawn, her expression serene in a way that caused a pang in my chest.

“Sera, his purpose here is to stall you.”

“I am fully aware of that,” I responded.

Nevertheless, acknowledging the truth didn't lessen the feeling of tearing something vital from within myself at the thought of departing.

Brett’s gaze flickered toward Damian, who had just been slammed by Kieran into the base of a palm tree with enough force to split its trunk.

“Then do not grant Catherine the outcome she desires.”

More adversaries pressed in from the flanks. Maxwell and his companions dealt with them swiftly, but the route to the estate would soon be blocked again if we lingered.

Maris’ voice, though gentle, retained its sharpness. “Your mother is inside. The injured are within. Catherine is counting on you to be unable to resist every challenge she presents.”

For a fleeting moment, I despised her for stating the obvious.

Then, my animosity turned entirely towards Catherine.

Across the chaotic scene, Kieran’s gaze locked with mine. Blood stained one side of his face, and I couldn't discern if it was his or Damian’s. He comprehended the situation instantly.

“Go!” he bellowed. “I’ll be right behind you.”

Damian chuckled, swiping a smear of blood from his lip with his thumb. “Will you, now?”

Kieran responded not with words, but with a blow that struck Damian with the force of thunder splitting the air over the beach.

Brett positioned himself between me and the ensuing conflict, his expression grave but resolute. “Maris and I will secure the passage. If he attempts to pursue, he’ll have to get through us first.”

A subtle curve graced Maris’ lips. “And making it easy is hardly my intention.”

Looking at them, at the blood on Brett’s arms and the steely calm in Maris’ eyes, a sharp, painful sensation tightened in my chest.

“Don’t perish,” I managed to say.

His expression softened. “We will hold the line.”

It wasn't the assurance I had hoped for.

It was the only honest promise he could offer.

With a single nod, I turned away, lest my resolve waver.

“Move out!”

The team surged forward with me, cutting down the remaining foes as we advanced towards the ridge. Maxwell fell into step on my right, while several warriors cleared a path ahead, their movements precise and efficient as we veered from the open battlefield onto the narrower trail winding through the trees. Behind us, Kieran and Damian clashed once more, their impact so powerful it dislodged birds from branches that had remained unnaturally still since our arrival.

I compelled myself not to glance back.

A backward glance would induce hesitation.

Hesitation would mean Catherine’s victory.

The island seemed to envelop us the farther we ventured inland. Palm fronds, unnaturally glossy and motionless, brushed against us overhead. Flowers of vivid hues lined the path, their perfume overwhelmingly sweet, coating the back of my throat. Gnarled roots snaked across the ground in patterns that appeared natural until a closer inspection revealed their deliberate bends around hidden warding symbols etched into the earth.

Catherine had adorned the island with a deceptive beauty.

Yet, beneath the facade, all was suffering.

The trail opened ahead, revealing the complete structure. From the beach, the estate had appeared as a secluded paradise nestled into the ridge, a vision of pale stone, glass, and elegant terraces overlooking the sea. Up close, however, its beauty took on a chilling aspect. The white walls were impeccably clean, the windows unnervingly dark, and the architecture startlingly precise. Concealed beneath the visible mansion, a lower level was excavated directly into the hillside, its wide entrance artfully hidden between stone columns and trailing greenery. It resembled the gateway to a luxurious sanctuary.

It felt like the maw of a tomb.

We charged towards it without hesitation.

Then, the shadows beneath the archway stirred.

I halted so abruptly that Maxwell nearly stumbled into me. A figure emerged from the shadow of the pristine white entrance. Clad in dark attire, with a pale face and dark blue eyes. Lucian.

For an instant, the world seemed to spin.

Not from surprise at his presence. After all that had transpired, a part of me had anticipated Catherine would place him where we couldn’t avoid encountering him. However, foreknowledge of an impending strike did not lessen the pain of its impact.

He stood with his hands at his sides, his expression unreadable, yet his eyes immediately found mine. A fleeting emotion flickered within them, so rapid I might have missed it had I not once trusted him enough to decipher the unspoken language of his silences. An apology. A warning. Pain.

Then, it vanished.

“Hello, Sera,” he said.

My throat constricted.

“Lucian.”

Maxwell muttered a curse beside me. The warriors behind us tensed, readying for an assault, but I raised a hand. Not yet.

Because Lucian was not alone. A woman stood beside him under the archway, serene and motionless, her aura so captivating that my gaze was drawn to her as if by an unseen force. She had pale blonde hair styled in a braided crown, framing a face I recognized, though never in person. Her features were delicate, almost somber, and her cerulean eyes held a profound depth that seemed to chill the very air around her. Recognition dawned slowly, then all at once. The portrait Lucian kept in the OTS Historical Exhibition Hall, the one he would gaze at with evident grief as he spoke of the mate he had lost. The mate who still held his heart captive. The collar around his neck. My so-called cousin.

“And you,” I murmured, “must be Zara.”