WEIRD OMENS 

Tyra"s POV

The worst part wasn't the anger. The worst part was the stupid, starving voice in the back of my head that had noticed he'd been watching whether I came down for dinner and wanted to read something into it.

I hated him for making me feel it. I hated myself even more for feeling it at all.

The air between us tightened like a wire stretched to its snapping point. People around us had started to notice, throwing curious glances down the table.

Osric leaned forward, trying to smooth it over. "Come on, let's not start the day like this, huh?" he pleaded softly, looking between us. "We can just pretend last night was…"

"Was what?" I cut in, my voice coming out much sharper than I meant it to. "A misunderstanding? Because that's exactly what I'm hoping it was."

Osric's smile faltered, and the hurt that flashed across his face was so raw it hit me square in the chest.

"Tyra, please don't say tha—" he began quietly.

"No," I snapped, cutting him off. "Both of you, just… stop looking at me like that."

The words rang out louder than I intended. Even the omegas serving our end of the table stopped pretending not to listen.

Alaric's jaw worked once. "Try to be civil," he said in a low, cold voice, his eyes flicking to the curious faces around us. "You're the one calling attention to us now."

"Then tell him to stop acting like this," I threw back, jerking my chin toward Osric.

Osric went very still. The light in his eyes dimmed like someone had switched it off.

"That's not what I…" he started, then stopped and swallowed hard. "I'm sorry, Tyra," he said softly, his shoulders sinking. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

Guilt crashed over me so fast it made me dizzy.

He looked like a man who had waited years for something only to have it slapped out of his hands, and I was the one who had done the slapping.

"Forget it," I muttered, unable to look at him a second longer. I pushed my chair back and stood. "I'm not hungry anyway."

For a moment, no one moved.

Then my mother's voice floated down from the head of the table, where she sat beside Lucius's empty chair, low and calm and laced with steel. "Tyra," she said quietly. "Sit down."

I froze.

Her eyes held mine across the length of the table, and the warning in them was unmistakable. I could ignore it. I could walk out with my head high and let them all talk.

But almost every eye in the room was on me now, so many of them judging, waiting, hungry for the wolfless girl to make a scene.

I refused to give them that satisfaction.

Slowly, I lowered myself back into my chair, every muscle in my body rigid.

Lucius chose that moment to walk in, and the entire hall rose to its feet to bow.

Once he took his seat, conversation slowly resumed in a ripple of forced normalcy. The twins turned their attention to their father, his Beta and the elders seated closest to them, and within minutes they were deep in talk of border patrols and northern alliances.

I tried my best to focus on my plate.

But the eggs tasted like ash, and my eyes kept straying back to them.

Alaric spoke with the clipped precision of a born leader, every word measured, every answer two steps ahead of the question. Osric softened every sharp edge with warmth, a joke here, a teasing comment there, his laughter coaxing easy smiles out of elders who probably hadn't smiled since the last century.

Together, they were flawless, two sides of the same blade.

And I sat right in the middle of them like a ghost.

No one spoke to me or even looked at me unless it was to whisper. I pushed a piece of toast around my plate and listened to the clink of cutlery and the rumble of laughter, and the loneliness crept in so slowly that I didn't notice it until it had wrapped itself all the way around my ribs.

It was the same loneliness I had felt at fifteen, sitting at this exact table, praying for someone, anyone, to say my name like it meant something.

This is their world, a world I have never fit into, I thought bitterly, blinking hard against the burn behind my eyes.

So why did some stubborn, stupid part of me still ache to belong to it?

The moment breakfast ended, I shot up from my seat to escape before anyone could decide to come talk to me.

But as soon as I stood, my pulse skipped, and the room tilted sideways.

A large, warm hand caught my elbow before I could stumble.

The scent of woodsmoke and sandalwood wrapped around my senses, and I didn't need to look to know it was Alaric.

I tensed, ready to yank myself free, but the feel of his fingers on my bare skin sent a pulse of heat straight through me. It shot up my arm and bloomed in the center of my chest, and my nipples tightened painfully against the lace of my bra.

He froze too. For one suspended second, his eyes darkened to something almost black, and his grip tightened like his hand had forgotten how to let go.

Then he snatched it back as if I had burned him.

"Careful," he muttered, his voice rough and strained.

"I said I'm fine," I hissed, though even I could hear how badly the words shook.

I walked out before anyone could stop me.

The corridor stretched long and bright with morning sunlight, but my vision tunneled until all I could see was the floor in front of me. Every breath felt thick, like I was breathing through wet cloth. My heart pounded so hard it felt like it was trying to claw its way out of my chest.

Then pain speared straight through my sternum.

"What the hell?" I gasped, slapping a hand to my chest as I stumbled sideways into the wall.

I leaned against the cool stone, dragging in air, squeezing my eyes shut.

And for a split second, I swore I heard something.

It didn't come from the hallway or from outside. It came from inside me, a low, wild sound like a muffled growl rising from somewhere deep beneath my ribs.

My eyes flew open, and my whole body went cold.

Then, just as suddenly as it came, it was gone. The pain faded, my heartbeat slowed, and I was left standing there trembling, cold sweat prickling along my spine.

I heard footsteps behind me and turned just as Osric rounded the corner, his face etched with worry. "Tyra, what's wrong?" he asked urgently, slowing as he took me in. "You look pale."

"I'm fine," I lied for what felt like the hundredth time that morning, pushing myself off the wall. "I just need some air."

He studied me for a long moment, the argument sitting right on the tip of his tongue. Then he exhaled and nodded. "Alright," he said softly, his eyes searching my face. "Just… don't go too far, okay? We have a lot of guests on the grounds right now, and not all of them can be trusted."

I tried to smile at him, to give him something after the way I had treated him at the table, but my lips wouldn't cooperate. So I nodded instead and slipped past him toward the garden doors.

Outside, the sun warmed my face, and the air smelled of pine and morning dew. I gulped it down like water.

But the tremor in my hand wouldn't stop.

I lifted it and stared at my palm, willing it to be still. That was when it happened.

A faint silver glow was pulsing beneath my skin. It was there for a single heartbeat.

Then it was gone.

"What the hell is going on?" I whispered to myself, fear crawling up my spine.

"It's coming," an old female voice suddenly said, making me jolt and look around wildly.

There was no one around me, so how was I hearing them so clearly, like they were whispering directly in my ears?

"Goddess, help us," the woman continued, her voice trembling and weak, as if speaking alone was a chore.

My head snapped up as I finally caught where the voice seemed to be coming from….

High above me, in one of the top windows of the east wing, an old woman with long grey hair stood perfectly still behind the glass. Her face was turned toward me, and even from that distance, I could see her eyes were milky white.

A chill raced down my spine. I blinked, but she was still there, staring down at me with eyes that shouldn't be able to see anything at all.

I shook my head hard. It was impossible. Even with my hearing, there was no way I could have heard someone whisper from that high up, behind closed glass. I had probably pieced it together from some stray conversation drifting out of the house. Stress did strange things to the brain, and I knew that better than anyone.

I turned away, wrapping my arms tightly around myself, and told myself it was nothing.

But even as I dismissed it, a small, quiet voice in the back of my mind refused to let it go.

If she really had said it… what exactly was coming?