The moon hung high in the ink-black sky, casting an ethereal glow over the towering pines that guarded the outskirts of the Nightfang territory. The world was quiet, but inside Seraya, a storm raged.
She stood near the tree line in silence, barefoot on the damp soil. The crisp wind tugged at the hem of her nightdress, and her silver hair glistened under the moonlight. This was where she came when she couldn’t breathe, when the walls of the palace closed in and the whispers of the pack became too loud. Out here, with the scent of pine and soil, she could pretend—pretend she wasn’t mated to the most powerful Alpha alive. Pretend she wasn’t forbidden.
She closed her eyes and leaned against the rough bark of a tree. Her fingers curled into fists as she tried to ground herself. The bond between her and Killian was a living thing, always tugging, always calling. It was worse at night. More intense. Like their souls reached for each other in the dark.
“You always run here when you’re troubled.”
She spun around, startled by the familiar, deep voice. Killian emerged from the shadows like a phantom, his black cloak fluttering behind him, his expression unreadable. How he always found her, she’d never understand.
“You shouldn’t sneak up on people,” she said, brushing her hair behind her ear and pretending her heart wasn’t racing.
“I wasn’t sneaking. I followed your scent,” he said, stepping closer. “You left the palace without your guard again.”
“I don’t need a guard,” she replied, turning away. “I’m not your prisoner.”
He sighed. “You’re not. But you’re still in danger.”
“From who, Killian? Your council? Your Luna-to-be?” Her voice sharpened. “Or from you?”
Silence stretched between them. A heavy pause that said too much and not enough.
“You know it’s not that simple.”
“No, it’s exactly that simple,” she snapped, spinning to face him. “You’re the Alpha King. You make the rules. You could claim me openly, make the bond known. But instead, you hide me like a shameful secret.”
His jaw clenched. “You don’t understand what’s at stake.”
“I understand that you’re scared,” she said, voice trembling. “You’re afraid of choosing me, because if you do, you might lose your throne.”
“I’m not afraid of losing power,” he growled, taking a step closer. “I’m afraid of losing you.”
The words hit her chest like a punch. She blinked rapidly, willing the tears away.
“You say that now,” she whispered. “But when your elders demand an heir, when they push your political engagement with Alpha Linora’s daughter, then what?”
“I’ll burn it all down before I let them take you from me,” he said fiercely.
A beat passed, and Seraya felt it—the shift in the air. The raw truth in his voice. But even so, uncertainty wrapped around her like chains.
Then suddenly, a wolf’s howl pierced the night. Long, urgent, desperate.
Killian’s head snapped up. “That’s the east patrol. Something’s wrong.”
“Rogues?” she asked, instantly alert.
“Possibly,” he said, already moving.
“I’m coming with you.”
“No,” he said immediately. “It could be a trap.”
She stepped into his path, her eyes blazing. “I’m not a child, Killian. I’m a wolf. I can fight.”
For a moment, he hesitated, caught between his instinct to protect her and the undeniable truth that she could defend herself. Finally, he nodded.
“Stay close to me.”
They broke into a run, dashing through the forest in near silence. The cool air rushed past Seraya’s face as the trees blurred beside her. She could feel the thrum of Killian’s energy beside her—commanding, steady, dangerous.
When they reached the ridge overlooking the east patrol path, they halted.
Below, the scene was chaos.
Three pack warriors were surrounded by a group of cloaked figures—rogues, by the look of them. One of the intruders stood out, taller, with glowing red eyes and a strange insignia across his chest.
Killian bared his teeth. “Bloodfang rogues.”
Seraya’s breath caught. “But they haven’t crossed borders in years.”
“They have now.”
He shifted mid-stride, his massive black wolf leaping into the fray with a snarl that made the trees tremble. Seraya followed suit, her silver wolf smaller but swift, slicing through the shadows like moonlight.
They fought as one—Killian taking the brunt of the assault, Seraya weaving between the chaos, striking hard and fast. But something was off. The rogues weren’t fighting to kill. They were distracting. Buying time.
Seraya caught the glint of a dagger before it flew—aimed straight for Killian’s heart.
“No!” she leapt, intercepting the weapon with her own body.
Pain exploded through her side, but she didn’t fall. She snarled, blood dripping from her flank, and threw herself into the rogue who had thrown it.
Moments later, the enemy retreated, fading into the shadows with eerie silence.
Killian shifted back, running to her side. “Seraya!”
She collapsed into his arms, breathing heavily. “I’m fine… it’s just a scratch.”
“It’s not just a scratch,” he growled, his hands pressing against her side. “You almost died.”
“You would’ve died,” she whispered, gripping his shirt.
He didn’t respond. Instead, he held her tighter. “This bond… it’s more than fate. It’s survival.”
And in the darkness, something ancient stirred. The prophecy wasn’t just unfolding.
It had begun.
