Chapter 2: Bloodline Secrets & New Enemies

The walls pressed in, too silent. Too damn ordinary for someone who’d clawed her way back from death just an hour ago. The familiar paint and gilded trim mocked her, as if daring her to pretend nothing had changed, as if the world could possibly be the same after what she’d endured.

Celeste paced her room, boots scuffing the marble, violet eyes burning bright enough to catch their own reflection shimmering in the polished stone. Her heart hammered too fast, too loud. Her wolf prowled just beneath her skin—restless, edgy, wild with a kind of electricity that made every hair along her arms stand on end. She could almost taste the change in the air—sharp, metallic, bristling with promise and threat.

A low hum buzzed through her bones. It was everywhere: in her jaw, her knuckles, in the base of her skull. A warning. A whisper. Something’s coming. Something old, something hungry, something that had noticed her return.

She tried to ignore it. Sort of. Not really. Every instinct screamed at her to run, to fight, to tear the room apart until she found the threat, but she forced herself to move with purpose, not panic.

Rage still trembled through her limbs as she snatched up the purple phone from the dresser. The screen stayed frozen on that last, infuriating frame—Adrian’s smug, traitorous grin, the mistress’s hand sliding over his chest as if claiming what wasn’t hers to take. The betrayal burned hotter than fire. She’d died for them. Given up everything for their lies.

A growl rumbled in her throat. Her wolf approved, lazy and cruel. We’ll gut them, the wolf promised, voice a velvet snarl. Slow. Make them beg. Make them bleed.

Celeste grinned, sharp-edged. “You’re bloodthirsty.”

You expected less? Please. I have standards. The wolf’s tone dripped with disdain, but there was a flicker of pride there too.

She snorted, couldn’t help it. The wolf’s sarcasm was almost… comforting, grounding her in a reality where at least one part of her was familiar and unbroken.

Still, beneath all that bravado, Celeste felt it. The gaze. The chill. Somebody watched her. Not her mother, not the servants, not some distant, loyal packmate. No one she could name from this house or the world she’d left behind.

Something else.

She strode to the balcony and shoved the doors open, hungry for the bite of fresh air. Morning air slapped her awake, stinging her cheeks. The Vale Estate sprawled beneath her—gardens bursting with late-blooming violets, fountains that caught the rising sun, pillars shaped like crescent moons slicing the sky. All symbols of their sacred White Wolf line, reminders of a bloodline that was supposed to be untouchable.

A bloodline she never got to awaken last time. Now it pulsed under her skin, desperate to break free, thrumming in her veins with a promise of power she barely understood.

Celeste closed her eyes, letting the scents and sounds of the estate filter through her senses. Her wolf breathed: There’s a spy. In the house. Close. The certainty of it made her stomach plunge as if the ground had dropped away beneath her feet.

“What the hell do they want with me?” she whispered, voice raw.

What do all weak little bastards want? Power. Blood. Or to finish what they botched last time. The wolf’s contempt was a cold knife, slicing through Celeste’s confusion and anger.

A cold shiver knifed down her back. Flashes hit her—claws slashing, blood slick on marble, a dark hallway echoing with footsteps, a shadow she couldn’t place no matter how hard she tried. The memory twisted inside her, half-formed, half-hidden.

Her wolf growled. Focus. We’ll hunt down the rat soon enough. No one gets away with crossing us twice.

Celeste stepped away from the balcony, fury and fear warring inside her. She needed answers, and she needed them now. Every second wasted felt like a risk, another chance for her enemies to strike.

The Walk of Whispers

She barely crossed the hallway before every eye snapped her way. Servants froze mid-step, dusters and trays going still. Guards straightened, hands twitching toward their weapons. An Elder stopped mid-stride, staring at the wild glow of her eyes as if he couldn’t decide whether to worship her or flee.

She raised an eyebrow, daring him to speak. “The fuck are you staring at?”

The Elder swallowed hard. “Y-Your eyes, Lady Celeste. Your… aura.” He bowed so low she thought he’d snap in half, voice trembling. “It is… unprecedented.”

No shit. Her wolf purred, satisfied. They fear us.

“They should,” Celeste muttered, letting the words hang heavy in the stillness.

She kept walking. The whispers chased her down the hall, too quiet for human ears but clear as day to her sharpened senses:

“Her aura—did you see—”

“A Vale white wolf hasn’t awakened in centuries—”

“That power…”

“She shouldn’t be this strong—”

And the worst one, the one that twisted tight in her gut, colder than any winter wind:

“Shouldn’t she be dead?”

Celeste spun on them, eyes blazing with a fury that left no room for mercy.

“Say that again,” she snapped, each word a threat.

The two omegas nearly tripped over each other in their haste to back away, eyes wide with terror.

“N-no, my lady—w-we just meant the prophecy said—”

Her wolf surged, voice a razor winding through her mind: Back down. Not worth killing.

Celeste turned away, jaw clenched so tight her teeth ached. But their words kept echoing, twisting inside her like a blade.

Shouldn’t she be dead? Why would they say that unless— Unless someone here already knew. Someone in this house. Someone close.

Her hands curled into fists, nails biting into her palms as she forced herself to keep moving. She wouldn’t let them see her break.

The Library of Lies

Celeste slipped into the ancient library, the door whispering shut behind her. The smell of old parchment hit her, sharp as a memory, dust and ink and secrets lingering in the air. Shelves ran from floor to ceiling, packed with volumes older than the estate itself, moonstone pillars holding up a balcony that circled the room in endless shadow.

She remembered hiding here as a kid, tucked behind towers of books, reading until her eyes ached and her mother dragged her out by the ear. This was her sanctuary, her refuge from the world’s expectations.

Now? She came for the truth. Answers she was owed, answers that might finally set her free—or damn her for good.

Her wolf rumbled, Top shelf. Far right. Lavender book. The certainty in its tone left no room for doubt.

“How the hell do you know that?” she muttered, scanning the shelves for the faded spine.

I’m ancient. Don’t question me. The wolf’s voice was smug, almost amused.

Celeste climbed up, fingers brushing over dusty tomes, grabbing the lavender book as instructed. Dust coated her skin, gritty and cold. She cracked it open, breath caught in her throat.

Ice filled her veins.

The White Wolf Prophecy

"When the moon bleeds purple, the White Wolf reborn returns with a vengeance so divine the world will tremble.

She will rise from death.

She will be unstoppable.

And she will be hunted."

Celeste’s throat closed up, mind spinning. Her hands shook so hard the book nearly slipped from her grasp.

“That’s me.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

Obviously, her wolf snorted. Who else did you think?

“And hunted by who?” She turned the pages with shaking hands, desperate for more.

She kept reading.

The Betrayer’s Line

"The one she trusted most will end her first life."

Celeste stilled, blood roaring in her ears.

Not Adrian. Not the mistress. The prophecy wasn’t about them. The betrayal she’d clung to, the one that had fueled her rage—it was just the surface, just the knife, not the hand that guided it.

Her chest went tight, breath stuck somewhere between a sob and a scream.

Her wolf whispered, cold and low: It wasn’t Adrian that killed us.

“What are you talking about? I saw him stab—”

He did the stabbing, the wolf growled, voice raw with old pain. But he wasn’t fate’s ‘betrayer.’

Celeste went cold. Frozen, as if she’d stepped out into a blizzard with nothing but her skin.

“Then who the fuck—” she started, dread curling in her gut.

She didn’t get to finish.

A book crashed down from the balcony above, hard and loud, the sound echoing like a warning. Way too close.

Celeste snapped her head up.

Someone was standing at the railing, shadowed and silent, watching her with eyes she couldn’t quite see.

Someone stood at the balcony, leaning against the rail. Just a black shape. Hood up. Watching her, not moving an inch. Not a flicker of breath, not a glint of eyes—just presence, thick and silent, sinking into her bones.

Her wolf growled, low and certain. That’s the spy. Go. Get them. Every instinct in her snapped taut, a primal urge to chase, to hunt, to end the threat before it could become something worse.

Celeste didn’t hesitate—she sprang forward, feet barely touching the marble, muscles coiled and ready to strike. Her senses stretched, searching for any weakness, any slip.

But the shadow flickered away, slipping behind a shelf. Too fast. Too silent. Gone before she could blink, like the air had swallowed them whole. She lunged for the last trace, but the darkness just closed in, empty and cold.

She hit the top of the stairs and found… nothing.

No scent.

No footprints.

No hint anyone had ever been there.

Just a hollow silence, thick with unease, echoing her own pulse as it thundered in her ears.

“Who the hell was that?” she muttered, voice barely more than a breath, as if the shadows might answer.

Her wolf sounded grim. Someone who wants you dead. Again. The memory of past hunts, past betrayals, flickered at the edge of her mind, sharp as broken glass.

The Glitch

Celeste barely made it into the main hall before pain knifed through her skull. It was sudden and savage, a spike of agony that twisted behind her eyes, shattering her focus.

“Fuck—!” She buckled, grabbing her head, every nerve screaming. The world tilted, colors bleeding at the edges, sounds warping into a dull roar.

Her wolf howled inside her chest, wild and afraid.

Power surged, white flames licking along her arms, alive with an energy she couldn’t contain. The magic roared through her veins, burning and bright.

The lights above her stuttered, then popped, glass raining down in sharp, glittering shards.

A vase shattered, porcelain dust clouding the air.

Marble cracked under her feet, splitting in jagged lines that hissed with raw power.

Her wolf snapped: Your powers are waking up way too fast. Panic tangled with pain as she fought to hold herself together, every breath a battle.

Celeste bit down, jaw tight. “Make it stop!” Her voice was ragged, desperate, edged with fear she couldn’t hide.

I can’t. You’re ascending too fast. Someone’s tampered with your rebirth. The words echoed, cold and certain. She felt the violation, the wrongness deep in her soul.

Her vision went sideways, purple and white flashes blinding her. Shadows danced at the corners, shapes she couldn’t name.

A guard dashed over. “Lady Celeste! Are you—” His face was a blur, concern drowned by the storm of her magic.

BOOM.

Her aura exploded out. The guard flew back, smacked the wall, and slumped. Out cold. Not dead, thank god. Her power recoiled, guilt slashing through her as she stared at his crumpled form.

“Oh, shit,” Celeste whispered. “I didn’t—” Her hands shook, white fire still crawling along her skin.

Control yourself, or you’ll bring the whole estate down. Her wolf’s warning was fierce, desperate.

“I’m TRYING!” But the power just kept rising—harder, hotter, wild, as if it belonged to someone else entirely.

Her wolf hissed: He’s close.

Celeste froze, every sense sharpening. “Who?”

Your mate. He’s coming. And he feels every single thing you feel. The words landed like a blow, vibrating in her bones.

Her breath hitched, chest tight with anticipation and dread.

Her mate.

Her second damn chance.

The one fate owed her. The one she’d thought she’d never see. The one who could either save her—or destroy her.

Her wolf purred, dark and sly. He’s furious, Celeste. You’re in heat, you’re scared, and he’s losing his fucking mind to get to you.

“What?! I’m not in heat—” she snapped, cheeks burning with something hotter than anger.

Emotionally, idiot. The wolf’s exasperation was a growl, a nudge toward honesty she didn’t want to face.

Celeste let out a strangled groan, part laugh, part sob, the tension almost too much to bear.

Then another voice thundered down the hall—deep, sharp, edged with murder:

“MOVE. OUT OF MY FUCKING WAY.” Every syllable shook the walls, a command that brooked no argument.

Her heart just stopped, caught between terror and longing.

The air thickened, heavy as stone, pressing down on her until she could barely move.

Her wolf rumbled in pleasure, anticipation buzzing under her skin.

Power surged again, marble splitting under her feet, the world narrowing to a single impossible point.

Then his scent hit her—smoke, pine, danger. It filled her lungs, claimed her senses, grounding her even as it threatened to undo her completely.

He wasn’t even in the room yet, and her knees were already about to give out. Every instinct screamed for him, for battle, for union.

Her wolf purred, savage and thrilled. Oh, he’s going to be a problem. And she could already feel how true that was, deep in her bones.

Celeste swallowed, hard, bracing herself against the storm.

The doors at the end of the hall slammed open, the sound a gunshot in the silence.

Heavy boots.

Electric tension prickling up her arms, down her spine, heat curling low in her belly.

A growl so deep it shook the floor, rattling even the stone foundations of the estate.

And then—

He stepped into the light.

Tall. Dark. Shoulders built for war, every line of him danger and promise, shadow and strength.

His eyes locked on her—like a predator spotting prey, or a king reclaiming his throne.

His aura hit the guards so hard they staggered, whole bodies bowing under the sheer force of him.

Then his gaze met hers—violet on black.

His pupils went wide,

his jaw locked,

and his wolf surged forward, ancient and undeniable.

“Mine.”

That one word echoed down the hall, a promise, a threat, a prayer.

Celeste forgot how to breathe. The world narrowed to just the two of them, every other sound fading to nothing.

Her wolf howled, wild and delighted, recognition singing in her blood.

Her power snapped so hard the lights blew, plunging the hall into darkness, every shadow suddenly alive.

This wasn’t a meeting.

It was a collision.

A goddamn war.

And it was just getting started. The tide of fate was rising, and there was no turning back.