A Mate To Three Alpha Heirs novel Chapter 70

{Elira}

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I began to move through the archive room slowly, the way one would wander through a sacred place—not because of any rule or sign, but because it felt like that kind of space.

Shelves towered high, dust motes twirled in golden light, and everywhere I turned, something called out to be discovered.

I brushed my fingers across the spines of leather-bound books and old scrolls, their labels handwritten in neat, ancient scripts. Some were faded, others crisp and recently re-inked.

A few shelves held rolled maps stacked like scrolls in a wizard’s study.

The first scroll I opened revealed an illustrated map of the Eastern forests, dating back over a century. I ran my fingers across the inked rivers and shaded hills, then turned to Rennon, who was seated at a desk nearby, flipping through a worn binder.

“Do you know what this map is?” I asked.

He looked up, glasses low on the bridge of his nose. “That’s the territory line before the Northern packs merged. It no longer exists.”

“Oh.” I rolled it up carefully and tucked it back.

From there, I moved from shelf to shelf, sometimes finding a document so peculiar or intriguing that I couldn’t help but bring it to Rennon’s attention.

Every time, he answered patiently, as if he’d been waiting years for someone to ask these questions finally.

But it was when I reached a shelf marked Historical Conflicts

that my fingers hesitated.

One of the thick tomes was titled in gold foil: The Black War: Five Centuries of Witch-Werewolf Turmoil.

My heart skipped as I pulled it out and flipped open the cover. The pages were dry, but strong. And there, in crisp serif type, were the accounts of one of the most violent wars in our supernatural history.

I started reading.

Names of generals. Packs that no longer existed. A bloodline that went extinct.

Witchcraft that tore lands apart. The formation of the ESA years after the war, built to prevent such chaos again.

I was hooked.

I didn’t even hear Rennon approach until his voice stirred behind me.

“That’s not what fate is leading you to.”

Startled, I turned to look at him. “How do you know?”

He tilted his head slightly. “Do you feel something… different when you read it? Not just curiosity. Something deeper. Resonant. Like a pulse beneath your skin.”

I blinked.

Was I supposed to?

I looked down at the page. “I… I mean, no. I’m interested. It’s fascinating. But that’s it.”

He nodded gently. “Then that’s how I know. When you find the right thing, you will feel it. And so will I.”

A sigh slipped out of me, and reluctantly, I shut the book.

“Can I come back to read about the war, though?” I asked. “Later?”

A soft smile touched his lips. “You have my promise.”

I returned the book carefully to its place and resumed my search, my senses now sharpened with purpose.

The volumes were stacked in neat chronological order. Each one was a different colour, but identical in size and shape.

I scanned their spines, my fingers brushing the worn leather until I stopped at one that said 1988.

My pulse spiked.

I didn’t know why, but something in my chest pulled tight.

This might be it, the reason fate brought me here—the thing that was connected to me. But how?

Hands trembling, I pulled it out and cracked it open to a random page, and rows and rows of passport-style photos stared back at me.

Students who had once sat in classrooms like mine. Young faces frozen in time, each one labelled with names and a brief note about their role in the school, their elemental strength, or supernatural classification.

I turned the page. And then I saw her.

A younger version of the face I saw in the few photographs I had at home. Her hair was curled around her shoulders, her eyes clear and bright. The name under it:

Kathryn Morgan.

My breath caught. Then the book slipped from my fingers—too fast for me to even react.

But it didn’t hit the ground. Rennon’s hand caught it mid-fall.

I turned, eyes wide. He was standing right beside me, and I hadn’t even heard him approach.

For a moment, I couldn’t speak. My lungs didn’t work. The only thing I could hear was my heartbeat—loud and ragged.

“She… she was a student here,” I whispered. “My mother.”