Whispers of Fate

Dawn sunlight filtered slowly into my attic, streaming through the cracked window panes and casting golden strips across my threadbare blanket. The light pulled me from restless sleep, my eyelids heavy as if I had just closed them moments before.

The nightmares had returned. Hazy glimpses of a silver-gray wolf running beneath a blood-red moon, its eyes blazing with fierce intensity. My wolf, Nyra, felt distant yet present, her heartbeat a faint echo within me.

But this dream was different. Not a nightmare, but something that felt like a promise, something I couldn't quite grasp.

I sat up slowly, my dark curls spilling over my shoulders in tangles. My fingers brushed the crescent moon tattoo on my neck. It tingled like it always did when something significant was approaching.

Two days.

Only two days until the Blood Moon Festival.

Two days until the Moon Goddess might finally grant me a mate.

Two days until my omega curse could be lifted, or perhaps shattered beyond repair.

I pulled on my faded gray dress and stood. The Black Fang Pack fortress hummed with energy beneath my feet. Even from my high perch, I could feel the power thrumming through the air.

Laughter echoed from below. Metal clashed in the training yards. Warriors snarled during sparring sessions. The entire pack was preparing for the festival.

To most wolves, the Blood Moon was sacred, beautiful, joyous. But for me? It was a gamble. A dangerous one. Omegas rarely received mates, and when we did, it was less a blessing than a chain.

Still, I hoped. Even though that hope was tiny and bruised, it existed within me like a stubborn flame.

I picked up my wicker basket and crept down the creaking attic stairs, walking through the narrow stone corridors of the fortress. The ancient structure was a cold maze, candlelight flickering to create dancing shadows on walls marked with claw scratches and old lunar symbols.

Other pack members passed around me, carrying crimson ribbons and moonstone decorations. They barely noticed me as they hurried past, too busy with their preparations.

The feast had to be perfect. It was tradition. It was law.

My job wasn't glamorous, but it was important: gathering herbs for the ritual altars. Elder Mara had been displeased yesterday when I returned with dirt-stained herbs. She wouldn't tolerate another mistake.

The cold mountain air kissed my cheeks as I stepped outside. I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the scent of dew and distant pine. The forest path stretched before me, empty and still. Even the training fields were quiet, likely abandoned while the warriors rested before the festival.

It was a peaceful moment, rare and precious. No Tessa and her cruel friends. No mocking laughter. Just me and the forest.

Nyra stirred within me. I could feel her yearning to shift, to run free. But I hadn't let her out in years. Her sadness mingled with mine, a constant ache.

I knelt among a cluster of sage, the sharp scent anchoring me as I carefully plucked the leaves. Sunlight caught the pale scars that marked my arms. Nyra whimpered softly in my mind.

"We'll be okay," I whispered, more to myself than to her. "Maybe someone will choose us this time."

Then I heard it.

A snap. Like a branch breaking behind me.

I froze, my heart leaping to my throat. Slowly, I gripped my basket tighter. I expected to see Tessa or one of her spiteful friends.

But when I turned, there was nothing. Just trees and shadows.

Everything was still. The kind of stillness that raises the hair on the back of your neck.

I breathed deeply. There was a scent in the cold air, unfamiliar but not entirely foreign.

Nyra awakened fully, her senses straining. She didn't speak, but I could feel her pressing against my consciousness, every instinct on high alert.

Someone was watching.

I scanned the woods but saw nothing.

"Get a grip," I muttered to myself, rubbing my arms. "It's just the dreams messing with your head."

I gathered the last of the sage and pressed deeper into the woods, toward the stream where moonpetals grew. They glowed white in the dappled light, ethereal and precious.

I stepped into the freezing water, my dress clinging to my legs, and began picking the delicate flowers. That strange feeling returned, stronger this time.

It wasn't fear. It was a pull. An invisible string tugging at something deep within me.

Nyra stirred again, more insistently. The word formed in my mind without her speaking it: mate.

I gasped. "That's impossible," I whispered, trying to shake off the sensation.

But the pull didn't fade. It coiled around my spine, warm and insistent.

I gathered the flowers quickly, my hands trembling, and forced them into my basket. Then the forest seemed to exhale. Life returned: birds singing, wind rustling the trees, everything settling back into natural rhythm.

At the fortress, I delivered the herbs to Elder Mara. She nodded in approval, though her expression remained stern.

"Good work, girl," she said, carefully storing the moonpetals away. Her silver braid caught the candlelight. "Stay out of trouble. Everyone's on edge."

"I will, Elder," I said softly, bowing slightly.

But as I turned to leave, her voice stopped me.

"You'll be at the festival, won't you?"

I paused. "Yes," I replied, uncertain of the right answer and trying to sound calm.

Her sharp gaze fixed on me. "Omegas like you still get chances during the Blood Moon. Small ones, but real."

I nodded and stepped away, my heart racing.

A chance. That word carried too much weight.

A chance at love? Or a chance to become a slave to a different master?

I made my way to the great hall where decorations were being hung. More tasks awaited me, reminding me of my place. Still, I didn't complain. Working was better than thinking too deeply.

Inside the hall, red banners were being draped around tall stone columns. Laughter filled the vast space. At the center stood an enormous lunar altar, carved with wolves and moons, adorned with sacred herbs.

I joined the other low-ranking wolves, tying ribbons with quick, practiced movements, even as my muscles ached from the day's work.

But that pull in my chest hadn't disappeared. That invisible string. That tug.

And then, like a shadow crossing the moon, he appeared.

Alpha Kael Blackthorne.

He strode through the hall like controlled thunder, speaking quietly to Beta Roland. But his eyes, those storm-gray eyes, were locked on mine.

He didn't look away.

My breath caught.

Nyra shifted inside me, heat spreading through my limbs.

Kael was overwhelming. Scars, strength, presence. That intense gaze. Why was he looking at me?

I turned away and bent back over the ribbons, my hands shaking.

The bond. The pull between us flared to life like silver fire. I could feel it, a hum along my ribs.

Mate. Nyra's voice was clear and certain.

But no. Kael was meant for Luna Celeste. Everyone knew that.

He wouldn't choose me.

He couldn't.

And yet his eyes had never left mine until Roland spoke again and pulled his attention away.

I breathed raggedly, every muscle in my body thrumming with something too immense to name.

The room came back into focus: the noise, the light, the warmth of candles. I finished my task with trembling fingers before backing away, needing air.

I leaned against the cold stone wall and traced the crescent mark on my neck.

Kael's eyes.

Nyra's certainty.

The bond pulling taut.

Was this real, or was the Moon Goddess playing a cruel joke?

Nyra shifted again, soft but insistent. "Soon," she whispered.

I closed my eyes and let the last edge of daylight surround me.

Tomorrow, the Blood Moon Festival would begin.

And maybe everything would change.

But for now, I was just me, Aria Lane, a scarred omega with a desperate hope and a future that seemed impossible to claim on my own.