My Sister Stole My Mate And I Let Her (Seraphina) novel Chapter 482

Chapter 482: Chapter 482 LIKE A MAGNET

SERAPHINA’S POV

Sleep did not come gently that night.

It dragged me under with the quiet insistence of deep water, pulling me away from Kieran’s warmth, from the familiar weight of his arm around my waist, from the steady rhythm of his breathing against my hair.

One moment, I was lying beside him in the dark, counting the soft cadence of his breathing, and the next, the world shifted.

The scent reached me first.

Sterile metal. Salt. Old stone. Witchcraft.

My eyes opened to a room I had never entered, yet somehow recognized.

It was small, too elegant to be called a cell and too cold to be called a bedroom.

Pale walls curved slightly at the edges, giving the space the seamless look of something built deep underground, where sunlight had never been invited in.

A narrow bed stood near one wall, dressed in clean white sheets that looked more like a performance of comfort than comfort itself.

A tray of untouched food sat on a low table beside a glass of water. There were no windows, only a panel of reinforced metal for a door and a faint silver circle etched into the floor around the bed.

Margaret Lockwood sat inside that circle.

I couldn’t move.

She looked thinner than I remembered, her face sharper, her shoulders held with the careful dignity of someone who refused to let captivity steal the last pieces of herself.

Her hair had been combed neatly, but streaks of exhaustion threaded through the silver at her temples, and her hands rested in her lap as if she had trained them not to tremble.

“Mother,” I breathed, trembling.

She lifted her head, and her eyes met mine.

“Sera?”

The sound of my name broke something open inside me.

My eyes widened, and I stumbled backward. “Y-you can see me?”

She rose so quickly that the chair scraped the floor behind her. She pressed her hands to her mouth, her eyes wide, her features briefly transformed by a raw emotion so intense that, for a moment, she looked nothing like the cold woman who had once watched me from across Frostbane halls years ago, as if she had already decided that love was a privilege I did not deserve.

She looked like a mother staring at a miracle she had never believed she would be allowed to touch.

“You’re here,” she whispered. “Moon above, Sera, you’re actually here.”

I stepped toward her, reaching out, but the room wavered beneath my feet. The walls blurred at the edges, and the silver circle around her flared faintly, resisting me as though even the dream carried Catherine’s barriers.

Mother noticed at once. “Don’t force it. The distance is too great, and Catherine’s wards are woven through this place.”

“This is a dream,” I said, my voice sounding strange, stretched thin by the space between us. “I’m asleep at Nightfang.”

“Yes.” Her eyes shone as she looked at me, taking in my face with aching longing. “And somehow, you found me.”

“I didn’t mean to. I only felt...” I pressed a hand against my chest, where my pulse beat too hard. “I felt something pulling me, like a magnet.”

Mother gave a small, broken laugh. “Then your bloodline has awakened more fully than I dared hope.”

The words struck through me. “You know what this is?”

“I know pieces.” Her gaze dropped, and shame moved across her face, old and heavy.

“Not enough. Never enough. Your grandmother knew more than I did, and I was too proud, too angry, too willing to believe power was something to survive rather than understand.”

“Mother.”

She looked up sharply, as if she expected accusation.

But there was no room inside me for that tonight. Not with her standing before me in Catherine’s prison.

Not with all the years between us suddenly reduced to this fragile thread of moonlit consciousness.

“I don’t want to waste this on blame,” I said softly.

Her lips trembled. Then she nodded, once, as though accepting a mercy she had not expected to receive.

“You’ve changed,” she said, her voice soft. “No, not changed. You’ve become what you were always meant to be.”

Her voice lowered with awe. “I can feel it even through the dream. Your power has settled in you. You’re anchored.”

My throat tightened. “Sovereign.”

Mother closed her eyes for a moment.

When she opened them, tears had gathered along her lashes.

“My daughter,” she whispered, “my precious little girl, whom I was too blind and too scared to protect, became the thing ancient bloodlines prayed for and feared.”

The words hurt, but not cruelly. They entered old wounds like clean water, painful because they touched places I didn’t even know had never healed properly.

“I’m still learning,” I admitted. “Sometimes it feels like the world is too loud. Every life. Every emotion. Every thread of power.”

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