Hades' Cursed Luna novel Chapter 237

Hades

I smoothed out my expression, but every nerve sizzled beneath my skin, and the horrible, indescribable heaviness sank low in my gut.

I clenched my fist and released, the Flux rearing its head.

"Of course," I replied, still not managing to release the strain from my voice. "Her blood will be tested."

Montegue's eyes narrowed, wary, gauging my expression. "You will have no problem with that, Your Majesty?"

I managed to ensure my eye did not twitch and nodded. "Why would I be against it?"

It was not possible. It would mean…

A knock on the door snapped the taut tension in the room. Everyone turned sharply as Kael walked over to open it. Standing eagerly on the other side was a man in a coat.

The badge stitched onto his chest told me he was from the forensic lab.

He bowed nervously, seemingly noticing the tension that still lingered in the air like a sour taste clings to the mouth.

"Your Majesty, you have a message from the lab concerning the ferals that kidnapped your nephew. You have to come now."

I glanced at Felicia and Montegue, a silent message passing between us—that we would revisit the issue soon—before I walked out with Kael at my tail. They would meet us there.

The forensic lab was as sterile as any other medical facility chamber in the tower, just with a little more of a dark, clinical aura that seemed to cling to you long after you left.

I made sure to concentrate on what was at hand and the information we needed at the moment… but how could I extinguish the eerie whisper of dread that crawled up my spine like ice?

Even in the sterile brightness of the lab, the shadows of Felicia's words clung to me.

The possibility—the impossibility—echoed louder with each step I took.

She tried to kill you once before…

I shook my head sharply.

Now wasn't the time.

Not here. Not in front of them.

Kael kept glancing at me from the corner of his eye, as if he could feel the unraveling happening behind my mask. He said nothing—wisely—but I knew he was cataloguing every crack.

A young forensic aide approached, tablet in hand. "Right this way, Your Majesty," he said, voice tight, eyes darting.

We followed him into a secure analysis chamber, its air thick with a sharp chemical tang and the buzz of machines running comparative scans. Inside, the Chief Analyst stood with arms folded, lips set in a line that did not bode well.

"Report," I ordered.

Mara tapped her screen, and a set of images and genetic sequences lit up the display.

"The ferals…" she began, eyes flicking toward me, "they're neither werewolf nor lycan, Your Majesty."

The air in the room shifted.

Kael stiffened beside me. My jaw clenched.

"What does that mean?" I asked, voice low.

Mara's tone was grave. "It means both DNA sequences are present. They are… something in between."