Novel & Cerita Harbinger Series

I feel my heart thundering berserkly in my chest at the memory of her face morphing and twisting in fury, the baby blue turned blood-red eyes, and the sinister expression that told me she was ready to killl in a blink of an eye. "Vampire." Hunter blurts. Again, as if he knows exactly what's running in my head every damn minute, in every fucking second. And he's not even looking at me! How on earth does he do that? "Scarlet Tate is the only hybrid werewolf in the Wintermist Pack. She's the Alpha's daughter, so you better not underestimate her or you'll be dead before graduation." He warns. I look up and stare at his devilishly handsome face, his amber eyes cold and serious.

" Understood eight twelve, reinforcement is already on the way." A child's birthday, oh god. Proles, these genetically engineered animals were monsters and Maddox had already seen with his own eyes what these beasts could do. He didn't want to imagine what she would be waiting for at her destination. But he would find out, because he was Venator, a state-approved hunter whose job it was to get the prole plague under control.

She wasn't looking for love but he made sure to snatch the bit of her truce leaving her with no choice but to go with Agatha. Silvia still felt goosebumps recalling the vision she had in that guest room at Catherine's wedding when Hunter cornered her. It was Hunter, he was coated in blood from head to toe, reeking of terrifying death while prowling towards her with an ax in his hand. Murder danced in his demonic eyes and she knew it was her end as he lunged at her. They say being a seer was a blessing but only if they knew.

**“Because you’re evolving. The static, the Rootmother’s rot, the Verse’s entropy—they’re merging in you. You’re the first of a new kind. A *Harbinger*.” The word coils in my gut. “A Harbinger of what?” He smiles, sharp and hollow. **“The end of their war. The Verse aren’t apex predators. They’re soldiers. And you’re the weapon they’ve been desperate to claim.”** --- **The First Transformation** The golden sapling’s song grows urgent. When I approach, its roots lash out, fusing with the sigil on my chest. Agony erupts—not pain, but *revelation*.