The storm hadn't relented. Thunder rippled above the obsidian mansion like a beast growling in restless slumber, and Dahlia Moon stood at the balcony, damp strands of hair clinging to her face as violet lightning bathed the sky. She hadn't slept. Not even a minute. The bed was too soft. The silence, too loud. And the walls alive, whispering, watching. Something pulsed beneath the floorboards. A heartbeat that didn't belong to her. She could still feel Valemont's voice in her ear, the words etched into her like a second skin: "Because I dreamed your name… every night for a year."
A gust of wind slammed against the windowpanes. Her fingers curled tighter around the iron railing. She was no longer in chains, but this place—this house—was a cage all the same. And something inside it was stirring. Her palm still shimmered faintly with silver, though the glow had dimmed after the collar disintegrated. Whatever magic lingered in her veins, it wasn't gone. Behind her, the door creaked. She turned. Damon. No jacket. Sleeves rolled. Collar undone. You broke into my room. Doors don't stop an Alpha in his own house. He crossed to the window, watching rain streak across the glass, blurring the lights of distant towers.
"I expected you'd sleep."
She didn't move from the window. I don't sleep in unfamiliar cages. He stepped forward. Not aggressive. Not soft. Measured. Calculated. Dangerous. You're not a prisoner, Dahlia. Then open the gates. Silence stretched between them. A wolf's distant howl punctured the air outside. He spoke at last. If I do, they'll find you before sunrise. The Hollow Order hunts anomalies. They branded you to contain or harvest whatever lives in your veins. But last night proved they failed. She rubbed the scar at her throat. Because of you. Because of us, he corrected. My shield. Your light. They didn't expect partnership. Partnership? She let out a cold laugh. You paid a million credits. Call it an investment. In survival—mine and yours.
"What do they want with me?"
That's what we're going to find out. She turned from the window, facing him fully. Why should I trust you? Valemont approached the table near the fireplace, where a crystal decanter sat untouched. He poured two glasses of dark amber liquid, set one down across from her. "You shouldn't," he said, and drank from his glass. But you have no one else. She didn't touch hers. He set the glass down and reached into his coat. A folded slip of paper emerged—old, yellowed, singed at the edges. He unfolded it carefully and slid it across the table. This came from my family's vault. Sealed by blood oath, dated before I was born.
It was a sketch. Crude but powerful. A woman suspended in silver chains, hair like a dark halo, a blazing mark on her chest.
Dahlia.
Or someone who looked like her. Exactly like her. Her throat dried. What is this? A prophecy, he said. One my father spent his life trying to prevent. Why?
Because that woman, Valemont said, is supposed to burn down every last Alpha bloodline. Starting with mine. Dahlia staggered back. "You think I'm her?" I think you're what they feared she'd become. Her laugh came sharp. Well, I'm flattered. But I'm not some walking omen. You broke a sigil collar, destroyed a Hollow specter, and your touch disarmed blood-wrought bindings, he listed coldly. I don't care what you think you are. The facts say otherwise.
Outside, thunder cracked again. The air inside thickened. Then why not kill me now? she asked. Valemont met her gaze evenly. Because I don't believe in fate. And I don't believe in killing someone just because I'm afraid of them. That, oddly, shook her more than threats ever could. He leaned forward slightly, voice low. He held out a small leather case. Inside rested a blood-red gem set in a silver pendant, pulsing faintly. "A Nullstone," he said. Older than the first packs. Wear it, and the pain lessen. Strings attached? Only that you live long enough to get answers. She slipped it over her head. The pendant kissed her skin cold, calming. Peace spread across her thoughts like falling snow. "Thank you," she whispered.
If I'm right, you're going to need my help to survive what comes next. Before she could reply, a knock came from the door. The butler entered—silent, pale, almost too still. He bowed slightly. "Master Valemont. They've arrived." Damon stood instantly. A distant howl echoed through the halls. Damon stiffened. "My brothers." Will they storm in? Only if invited. But they'll want answers. They smell power. He turned to go. Stay here. He left without another word. Dahlia stared at the closed door for several seconds. Then she looked back at the old parchment—the version of her drawn in chains.
Chains she now feared might wrap around her future, not her past. From deep below the mansion, she felt it again. That pulse. Like something vast and sleeping… waiting. And in the reflection of the glass, just for a moment, her eyes shimmered silver.
Barefoot, silent, she followed until she stood on the balcony above the grand hall. Three Alphas waited below. Roderick—hair like embers. Lucan—eyes like rot. Varrick—massive and snarling. Damon descended. You bought an Omega for a million, Roderick drawled. Word travels. My coin, Damon replied. And our bloodline, Lucan said, sneering. If she's Moonblood, the Council will demand she be shared. We came to collect early, Varrick added.
Damon smiled faintly. "Come and take her."
Roderick lunged, shifting mid-stride. Damon met him halfway, claw against claw. Lucan unsheathed a poisoned blade. Dahlia's heart pounded. Power surged beneath her skin. She gripped the railing, whispered a Moon-scar sigil, and thrust her palm forward.
A spear of silver-white light split the air, cracked the railing, and struck Lucan square in the chest. He screamed, smoke rolling off seared flesh. Roderick hesitated just long enough. Damon drove him through a table, fangs at his throat.
Varrick cursed, retreating as he dragged Lucan's smoldering body. "This isn't over," he spat. The brothers fled through shattered doors.
Silence fell. Damon looked up, half-shifted, silver fire in his eyes. You ignored my order. You needed a miracle. He wiped blood from his lip, smile sharp. So you keep saying. She stepped onto the landing. They'll come back. With friends, he agreed. Which means we leave tonight. Where? To find someone who owes me a favor, an oracle who speaks in shadows. He extended his hand, blood-streaked but steady. Travel with me willingly, and I'll teach you how to survive your light.
Dahlia hesitated then took it. The Nullstone pulsed between them. Thunder rolled like judgment. She followed him down the stairs littered with shattered wood and splintered pride, and as the doors opened to the storm beyond, she wondered if she'd just stepped into another cage or finally found the key.