Chapter 2

Heather's POV

An Oracle.

Cole and I drop to one knee, heads bowed. A hum of raw power presses against my skin, heavier than any royal aura. Cole’s voice barely rises above the rustle of leaves. “Oracle, what an honour.”

“Rise, my children.” The words are soft, yet they vibrate through bone and marrow. We stand.

The night exhales. Behind us the main bonfire surges, sparks spiralling like copper fireflies. Wind whips through the pine tops, snapping branches, driving the smoke in a sudden circle around the clearing.

Then the Oracle speaks—and her voice is no longer one voice. It is a chorus, a cathedral of echoes folding over themselves:

“Under the Pink Moon, a white wolf shall rise,

Forged in hardship, scarred by fate.

She alone shall stand against the coming darkness,

A force born of the Fallen One’s will,

Seeking to end the children of the moon.

Beware those who seek to claim her,

For only through love shall she ascend.”

The gale dies. Pine needles drift to earth in absolute silence. I realise I am shaking so hard my teeth chatter.

Cole’s hand locks on my forearm. “What does this mean?” fear roughens his words.

The Oracle’s clouded gaze shifts from him to me. She closes the distance, takes my hands, and the forest tilts. Cold slams into my palms, races up my arms, then flips to blistering heat that settles behind my ribs. I cannot flinch. I cannot even breathe.

Again the layered voices speak but this time they crash through my skull:

'Four shall be bound to her soul,
Their fates entwined, their strength united.
Through their bond, the lost shall awaken,
And the ancient bloodline shall be reborn.
From their union, a king shall rise,
A son of both past and future,
To reclaim the throne long forsaken,
And restore balance to the world.
Bound by five, her strength shall awaken,
And through their bond, the Lycans shall rise.
The time nears—the White Wolf stirs.'

She releases me. I stumble backward, heels skidding on the forest floor. Echoes of that chorus still riot behind my eyes.

“A daughter of Selene has been conceived,” she says, matter-of-fact, as if commenting on the weather.

Air whooshes out of my lungs. She knows. She knows about the tiny heartbeat tucked below mine. My hands fly to my belly.

The Oracle leans close, voice for me alone. “She will change everything.”

Terror knots with fierce, wild love. “What can I do?” My plea is a rasp.

“Be ready, Heather. She will face trials you cannot imagine, and there are those who will seek to control her or end her before she can fulfil her destiny.”

She touches my forehead. Warmth blooms outward, settling the tremor in my limbs, leaving a fragile ember of hope.

“You carry the future, child. Protect her well.”

Then she turns, cloak swirling, and the shadows swallow her. The night air settles as if nothing extraordinary has happened, save for the crackle of distant fire and the thud of my heart.

Cole’s breath saws in and out behind me. I grope for his hand and grip it until my knuckles blanch. The prophecy pounds in my skull, but one vow rises above the din:

I will guard my daughter with every drop of blood in my veins.

Nothing will ever be the same again.