Rejected Luna Returns with Secret Twins (Lysandra) novel Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Lysandra’s POV

I froze, the words hitting me like a physical blow. My heart stuttered in my chest as I stared at the man before me, searching his features for any sign of deception. But all I found was genuine emotion in those familiar green eyes -eyes that mirrored my own.

“This isn’t possible,” I managed, my voice barely a whisper. “I’m an orphan.”

Alaric leaned forward, his expression softening. “You were taken from us years ago. We’ve been searching for you

ever since.”

I studied him carefully. He appeared to be three or four years older than me, around Tristan’s age. His manner was dignified yet warm, completely different from Tristan’s cold distance.

Despite his kindness, I couldn’t bring myself to believe him. My entire life had been built on the understanding that I had no family–how could that suddenly change?

“I don’t understand,” I said, pulling my hand away from his. “Why would you think I’m your sister?”

Alaric’s eyes swept over me with unmistakable concern, noting how I winced when I shifted position. He reached for a glass of water on the bedside table and offered it to me.

“Elysia,” he began gently, “are you in any pain? The doctors said you were severely dehydrated when we found

you.”

I frowned at the unfamiliar name, taking the water with shaking hands. “That’s not my name. I’m Lysandra.

A flicker of confusion crossed his face before understanding dawned. “They changed your name.”

“Look,” I said, pushing myself up against the pillows. “I think you’ve made a mistake. I’m sorry, but I’m not your sister. I’m not Elysia. I’m Lysandra.”

Alaric’s eyes traveled to my arm. “You have a scar on your forearm.”

I glanced down, puzzled. “I don’t see any scar.”

As I examined my arms, realization struck. During my desperate flight through the forest, branches had torn at my skin, leaving dozens of cuts. Yet now, mere hours later, my skin was completely unmarked.

“How did they heal?” I whispered, running my fingers over unblemished skin.

“Relax, Alaric said, watching my growing panic.

“No! How can I relax?” I checked my right leg, searching for the wound where the silver thorn had pierced me. Nothing remained–not even a hint of the injury that had nearly crippled me. “I don’t understand how my wounds. could heal so quickly, like they were never there at all.”

1/3

Chapter 7

Alaric reached for my hand again, his touch gentle but insistent. “You have a powerful healing ability, so there’s no visible scarring. But I can smell them, including the scar on your arm.”

Before I could process his words, he leaned forward and inhaled deeply near my neck. The gesture should have felt intrusive, threatening even, but something about it triggered a primal sense of recognition.

“You carry the Ravencroft scent,” he said. “Even after all these years away, the scent of bloodline never changes.”

My body tensed instinctively, then relaxed as something deep within me responded to his proximity. A strange sense of kinship, like my body recognized what my mind couldn’t yet accept.

“I need to get our parents,” Alaric said suddenly, rising to his feet.

“P–parents?” I stammered, tears springing unbidden to my eyes. The word felt foreign on my tongue. I’d never imagined my biological parents might still be alive, that I might have the chance to meet them.

Alaric reached into his pocket and withdrew a delicate silver chain. A small wolf pendant dangled from it, catching the light. “This belongs to our mother. She’s kept it all these years, waiting for the day she could place it around

your neck herself.”

As I touched the pendant, a distinct scent wafted from it–sandalwood and forest after rain, hauntingly familiar. The scent triggered something deeper than memory, something cellular and instinctive. My hands trembled as I cradled the necklace, unconsciously breathing in the scent, letting it fill my senses.

“That’s… my mother’s scent,” I whispered.

Alaric nodded, his own eyes glistening. The undeniable authenticity of that scent shattered my last doubts. This man was my brother. Somehow, impossibly, I had family.

He wiped a tear from my cheek and pulled me into an embrace. The gesture was foreign yet achingly familiar, bringing with it an instinctive sense of safety and belonging.

“We’ve been looking for you for so long,” he murmured into my hair. “You have no idea how happy they’re going to

be.”

I surrendered to the embrace, letting tears flow freely as I clutched at my newfound brother. Years of believing myself unwanted crashed down around me, replaced by the knowledge that I had been missed, searched for, loved.

After a moment, Alaric pulled back, his hands still on my shoulders. “Where have you been all this time? What happened to you?” His gaze dropped to my stomach. “And how did you come to be with child?”

I lowered my eyes. “I’m divorced.”

“From whom?” he asked cautiously.