Page 50 of Claimed By the Alpha

The first painting showed the castle in the same way it was earlier; the second showed the throne room. But there was a difference.

There were two thrones, neither made from bones. This sense of peace radiated of the painting.

The next one showed a coronation, a woman and a man both on their knees as they received their crowns.

A woman in silver, with long grey hair, stood before them; a white glowing aura surrounded her, and my mind filled in the blanks.

Moon goddess, Celine.

Every painting after that showed their lives, seeming a loving couple, but their faces were never in focus until the last painting.

The same throne room, but this time one throne; a dead body lay at his feet, long brown hair drenched in blood.

I shivered, fear crawling under my skin. A mixture of green and icy blue eyes lured me closer. I brushed away the dusty layer, meeting the gaze of the one I loved with all my heart.

Holy shit, was that Isaac?

Chapter eighteen

First mate

Thiscouldn’tbereal;this couldn’t be him. But the similarities were spine-chilling. It was him, the slight curve in the corner of his lip, always a tad above the other side, Logan showing himself in his eyes, drifting in the green depths. And there was this shimmer over his hands, a hue that I could recognize, seen too many times before.

It wasn’t his ancestor; it was him. But it couldn’t be him, it was impossible.

“That’s Isaac Blackwood.” Finlay’s voice startled me, and I edged back, shaking my head in disbelief.

“No, it’s not.” I didn’t even believe what I was saying. There had to be some explanation for this.

“He only brings death, Joanne.” He moved closer, not a guard in sight.

“Where are the others? Did they give up?” I chuckled, hoping to ease this sense of restlessness inside me.

“Nobody is allowed to come here, so they wouldn’t dare follow you in here.” The softness in his voice made me relax slightly. I wanted to hate him, but something inside me said he was on my side.

I hummed and brushed my fingers over the painting again, wanting to know what else was on there, needing a better look at the female.

“Who is she?”

“A Monroe.”

Following the lines the brush had left, trailing the curves of her dead body, I saw no similarities. Yes, we shared the same brown locks, but that was it. Her face was hidden behind her blood-stained hair, but she felt like family. I knew she was.

“How did she die?”

“He killed her. They weren’t meant to be together but chose each other over their bonds with others, and she paid the price of her betrayal to her true mate with her life.” He explained it so easily, but it held so much weight.

My mind went back to the fairy tale my father shared, which I knew held some truth. From what I saw in the paintings, it had to be a combination of Isaac’s story and the one I remembered.

A king and queen ruled in peace. Their love for each other vibrated from the paintings, but what changed? What was the cause that the queen lay dead at the king’s feet?

Was my father’s version the truth, that the king took everything for himself and that his betrayal left him cursed? But what curse, I didn’t know.

And then in Isaac’s version, the queen left the king for another and destroyed everything in the process, forcing the moon goddess to create mates.

And now, with what Finlay said, I knew one thing. They weren’t mates. They chose each other over the mates they already had.

“Did mates exist back then?”

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