I didn't sleep.
Not even for a second.
After the vision, I sat on the edge of my bed, gripping the thin blanket around my shoulders like armor, trying to breathe through the rising dread coiling in my stomach. The Omega quarters were still, wrapped in the hush of early morning, but I felt anything but calm.
My wolf was restless. She paced inside me, tail lashing, growling low with unease. Every time I closed my eyes, the image returned silver fire, a throne made of bones, my own face crowned in light, and the shadow.
Always the shadow.
"He will destroy you before you rise."
The words echoed in the hollows of my mind like a curse etched in my bones. It didn't feel metaphorical. It felt final. A declaration from something ancient and unbending.
And I knew exactly who "he" was.
Lucian.
The man who had once been the center of my dreams, my hopes, my heart. My mate. Now, the same man who had shattered me with his rejection stood at the edge of something darker something I couldn't quite name yet, but every part of me screamed to stay away from.
But how do you run from someone who already owns part of your soul?
The first rays of dawn hadn't yet touched the horizon when I slipped out of bed and pulled on a hoodie and boots. I needed space. Answers. Air that didn't feel like it was trying to crush me.
I found myself in the packhouse library.
It was the most deserted wing at this hour, and that made it perfect. The scent of old books, wax, and dust wrapped around me like a cloak as I walked through the narrow aisles, fingertips trailing over cracked leather spines and long-forgotten texts.
I wasn't looking for fiction or comfort. I was hunting for truth.
The throne. The wolves. The crown. The prophecy.
There had to be something. Anything.
I dug through shelves, pulled loose volumes from cobwebbed nooks, stacking dusty books on an old oak table. I flipped through pages with frantic hands, scanning for mentions of moon-blessed wolves, divine visions, chosen mates, or... vessels.
One journal caught my eye. The spine was nearly broken, but it held notes from a seer long dead. The writing was messy, but one line jumped out and grabbed me by the throat:
"The Moon does not delay without purpose. Those who shift late are not broken they are being prepared."
A chill crawled up my spine.
That was me.
I wasn't just late-blooming. I was being prepared. But for what?
I found another entry, buried in an old lore book about ancient lineages of Alpha blood and moonlight touch:
"Some she-wolves are marked not just with a bond, but with destiny. Their dreams are not dreams. They are warnings."
"They are vessels."
That word again.
Vessel.
I shut the book with trembling hands.
Just then, a sound made me jump a door creaking open, footsteps echoing through the quiet like thunder.
I turned quickly, muscles tensing.
Kieran.
His broad frame filled the doorway. His shirt clung with sweat, hair messy like he'd been training. Or maybe like he hadn't slept either.
"I've been looking everywhere for you," he said, walking over. His gaze moved to the pile of books. "You researching prophecy now?"
I nodded slowly. "I had another vision. Last night. Worse than the first."
He went still.
I told him everything. The throne. The wolves. The crown. The shadow behind me. The destruction. The warning.
"He will destroy you before you rise," I repeated in a whisper.
Kieran pulled out the chair opposite mine and sat, his expression unreadable. But I could feel the tension rolling off him like heat.
"You think it's Lucian," he said flatly.
"I don't want to. But yes."
He nodded slowly, staring at the table. "I do too."
I blinked. "You… what?"
He looked up, and there was something heavy in his eyes like he was carrying a truth too sharp to hold any longer.
"There's a part of Lucian most people don't see. He's not just cold, Aurora. He's cruel when he wants to be. He's calculated. Since his father died, he's been… different. More obsessed with power. Control. Image."
I swallowed hard. "You think he could actually hurt me?"
"I think," Kieran said carefully, "you've become something he doesn't understand. Something he can't control. That makes you dangerous to him. And when someone threatens his place, he doesn't back down. He eradicates."
The words landed like ice water on my skin.
I sat back in the chair, numb. "So what do I do?"
Kieran leaned forward, voice low. "You learn. You get stronger. You don't hide. And if he comes for you, you be ready."
By evening, the skies had turned strange.
The wind picked up, carrying the scent of ozone and something else… something feral. Storm clouds churned over the mountains, and a hush fell across the pack grounds as the first drops of rain began to fall.
The storm didn't feel natural.
I slipped outside, ignoring the way the cold droplets stung my skin. The wind whipped through the trees, and the clouds overhead swirled like smoke.
I crossed the training field and moved toward the forest edge, drawn by something I couldn't explain. My wolf was alert now, prowling beneath my skin.
That's when I heard it.
A twig snapped.
Soft. Deliberate.
I froze.
My head turned sharply to the trees, every hair on my arms rising.
At first, I saw nothing. Just shadows and rain.
But then…
A figure.
Cloaked in black, tall and unmoving, standing half-shrouded in mist between the trees. I could see only the outline. No face. No features.
But it was watching me.
I stepped forward, heart racing. "Who are you?"
Silence.
The wind howled louder.
The figure didn't move.
Didn't answer.
And then… it vanished.
Melted into the woods like it had never been there.
I stood in the rain, skin soaked, breath ragged. My wolf snarled, ears flattened.
Something was out there.
Something that knew me. That was watching. Waiting.
I turned and ran back inside, not stopping until I reached my room and slammed the door shut. My hands trembled as I locked it.
That night, I lay awake in the dark, wrapped in a blanket and fear.
I wasn't imagining things.
The prophecy wasn't just a metaphor.
Lucian wasn't my biggest threat anymore.
And whoever, whatever that figure was, it wasn't Nerissa playing dress-up in the woods.
It was something ancient. Something cold.
And it wanted me.
My wolf whispered to me again, low and firm.
We were chosen. But chosen does not mean protected.
It means hunted.