The first rain drop hit the split windowpane, followed by the deluge. I leaned my shoulders hard into the buckled doorframe, cloak pulled tight to me, every nerve rippling with unsheathed need. The pouch of Rowan the healer was lying empty at his feet, its leather folded like lifeless wings. On the other side of the threshold, a man in a fitted charcoal suit was perfectly stationary, as though the storm itself had cleared for him.
The color of his eyes were like approaching storms- cold, relentless. In one hand there was a bright revolver, and in the other a sort of ivory envelope, fastened with wax made into the form of my crescent. A cold line was formed with every drop of the torrential rain down his lapel, but calm expression of his eyes never shook.
"Maris Hayes," he said, his voice slick as black silk. "Blackwood Enterprises demands your loyalty." With a snap of his hand he tossed the envelope on the table. The wax seal shattered under my gaze, and hairline cracks webbed the brand traded into my skin.
Rowan's hand found my waist, his body a solid wall between me and this corporate specter. "You're not going to take her," he growled.
The man's lips curved into the slightest of smiles. "God forbid I take out the town doctor." He nodded toward Rowan's satchel. "But if not, we will see how your wolf snarls."
My heart thumped against my chest wall. The envoy's words were a knife through the tenuous truce we'd established within these wooden walls. A gust of wind rapped at the door like a warning. My voice was thick with fear, but I managed to produce it, dry and forced. "I owe him nothing."
He clicked his tongue. "Blackwood saved your pack once. Remember the night in the ravine, the accident with the silver mine? He paid for your escape, held the Council off. He took a slow step forward. "Now he wants you to bring him the blueprints your mom stole—at midnight. Failure, and you, your pack, and your lover Rowan die."
Rowan's jaw clenched. "Those schematics are property of the Council. They have no right—"
"Council?" The envoy's laugh was brittle. "The Council threw you to the wolves to save their own asses. They had your pack's blood for money." He expanded an arm, his hands hovering over my silver crescent. "You think they protect you? They harvest you."
A cold spark churned into life behind my eyes. Show them. Show them I wasn't prey. I straightened, voice steady. "What proof do you have?"
He bent his head, as if following a script. "The letter." He pushed the wax‑sealed envelope toward me. "Open it."
I swallowed hard and picked up the envelope. The second my fingertips brushed the wax I felt a searing pain jab through my palm—ice to fire. Rowan swore beneath his breath, an inch from my ear. "Don't," he warned.
But I needed to know. I broke the seal, the parchment flapping in the breeze. Neat, looping script covered the page in spilled ink:
Maris,
You have felt the power awakening- felt the prophecy reside within your blood. But with it comes betrayal. The Council are planning on giving those schematics to Blackwood so that they will not be eliminated. You need to get the original designs to Sanctuary Hall by midnight. Trust no one—especially Rowan Councilor. He believes in the old order. I believe in your destiny. —C
My chest constricted. Prophecy. My blood. The words resounded with every pulse of the accursed brand. The Council? Rowan Councilor? He had cautioned me of the Council's growing power—but never of this depth of deceit.
I glanced at Rowan's face. His eyes, usually pools of reflection, were roiling with indecision. Betrayal tainted its glimmer — poisoned by my silence. "He said everyone was to be trusted by no one," I said, my voice breaking. "He says you work for them."
Rowan's expression wavered. "Maris, it's a lie. I would never—"
"Would never what?" I shot back, trembling. "Would never protect me? Or would never betray me?" Cass my she-wolf growled and bunched claws at the walls of my sanity. The rain beat on the roof like a thousand hooves driving the warmth from my bones.
The envoy looked up, eyes laser focused. "Decide. Now."
High tension crackled between us. Rainwater dripped down from the envelope to pool on the table, smudging inked lines like tears. I felt Rowan's touch on my arm — an anchor in the storm — but his pause pierced me as surely as the blade of betrayal.
Now and then a howl pierced the storm, a far-off chorus of wolves ranging in the fields. My flesh tingled as the silver crescent on my wrist darted with light, eager for a fight. Rowan stiffened next to me—our silent connection tingling under the weight of the envoy's ultimatum.
In that charged breath, I had recalled a prophecy that would dictate my own fate, a prophecy written into my dreams: "When moon and blood align, fate's door will be opened." The crescent was blinding white against my skin. Destiny demanded a choice.
I snatched the envelope from the table and hurled it to the floor. "I'll go." My voice was a whisper down a steel tube. "But alone."
The envoy's smirk deepened. "Wise." He turned on his heel, bringing his gun into line just so. "You know the road. Midnight at Sanctuary Hall. Don't be late, Miss Hayes."
He hiked up against the gale past Rowan and me with his shoulders squared. His suit was awash with rain, liquid steel in its appearance. Rowan caught at his arm, but the envoy easily brushed him aside. Behind the envoy, the door clanged and left us rattling in thunder's echo.
Rowan whipped around at me, eyes lit. "Maris—"
I cut him off. "Don't." My coat hugged me closer, as if safeguarding a fragile truth. "I have to see this through."
He opened his mouth, then closed it, wavering between duty and despair. Shaky breath in then, low but determined voice. "If I don't come back — come for me. But not tonight. They'll be watching."
Rowan's chest tightened. He brought my hand to his chest, heartbeat hammering against cold, hard cloth. His skin was warm beneath my glove, and a pain ignited in my bones. "Be safe," he rasped. "And Maris—come back."
I nodded, still unable to look him in the eye. With one last look at the wax‑scarred envelope, I crept out into the storm.
Outside, fields lay out like shadows beneath a charcoal sky. The street to Sanctuary Hall was clammy with wet mud and rainwater. My every footstep fell into the dark earth, reverberations of the howl still drumming in my ears. My cloak snapped behind me in the damp, wet beyond saturation, but I forced myself forward, blood in water on my cheeks.
Halfway in the lane, I stopped. I see my breath in the cool night air. I pressed my palm against the crescent, murmured the words of the prophecy, and tasted the weight of it on my tongue. "Fate's door will open." For a heartbeat, the silver shimmer became more brilliant, I think to verify somehow my decision.
Suddenly—a crack. A pistol shot rang out, shattering the silence of midnight. My heart lurched. A roar responded—Rowan's defiant bellow rang across the wind, fiercer than any hammer's fall.
I found my own way forward, boots slipping in mud, adrenalin flowing. Somewhere behind me Rowan's howl slashed through the rain, the storm a damnable call to battle. I didn't look back. I had Sanctuary Hall to look forward to, and what my blood had woven as my future.
The prophecy had begun. And there would be no looking back.