The Pack's Doomsday Prophetess

Ever since I was little, I could see the red death countdown numbers the Moon Goddess etched above people's heads.

The first time I saw one, I had pointed at Uncle Leroy, a Beta in our pack, and shouted, "The numbers above your head are counting down! Don't go to the East Coast! You'll die!"

He just scoffed, dismissing my words as a child's silly curse.

The next day, he walked straight into an ambush at the docks and ended up dead in the cargo stacks.

The second time, I grabbed my Alpha father's sleeve, trembling with panic. "Dad, you have numbers over your head, too! Please don't go to the peace talks! You'll die!"

Dad's expression darkened as he scolded me for bringing bad luck. He attended the peace talks anyway.

But the peace talks were a trap, set up by an insider who betrayed him.

In the end, Dad stayed behind alone to cover the pack's retreat. His heart was pierced by an enemy's silver bullet, his blood staining the whole river red.

When the pack found his body, his open eyes were still looking in the direction the pack had come from.

One prediction after another coming true made my three brothers convinced my curse was killing our pack members, and they hated me to the bone.

Later, our enemies raided the manor in the middle of the night for revenge.

My pregnant Luna mother could have escaped through a secret passage, but she shifted into a giant wolf and blocked the manor door.

Even as silver nails were driven into her spine one by one, she guarded her stomach and didn't step back half a pace.

That night, I saw the familiar 24-hour red countdown number float up above her head.

That night, my sister, Freya Dale, was born premature, and Mom died in the delivery room as her silver wounds tore open.

I stood in the shadows outside the delivery room, my fingertips ice-cold.

My three brothers all shifted into werewolf forms and slammed me to the ground with their sharp claws.

"You're the cursed jinx!"

"You killed Uncle Leroy and Dad, and now you've killed Mom!"

"You're the one who should die!"

I lay on the ground, tears covering my face. "No, I just wanted to save them…"

They ignored me, leaving me with one last sentence telling me to shut up.

After that, someone threw the first stone, and right after, candlesticks, fruit pits, and dinner plates rained down, covering my face in blood.

"Jinx!"

"Hex!"

"Get out of here!"

I curled into a ball in the corner, looking at the hatred in my pack's eyes, unable to even make a sound.

In the end, I passed out from the beating. The last thing I heard was my brothers gently comforting Freya.

When I woke up again, I had been thrown into the manor's tower.

In the empty tower, only the rustling of mice kept me company.

I leaned against the wall, trying to stand, but my legs went soft, and I collapsed back onto the floor.

The combined agony in my body and heart finally made me unable to hold back, and I cried out loud.

Just then, my three brothers holding the baby Freya appeared in front of the iron gate. Their faces were filled with disgust.

My eldest brother, Aaron Dale, who had inherited Dad's position as Alpha, warned me on their behalf, "From now on, Freya is the only princess of this pack. A jinx like you only deserves to rot in here."

The iron gate shut, and the last bit of light was put out.

From that day on, everything changed.