The Winterfall Pack hall was tense, every wolf's senses sharp, ears straining for the faintest sign of danger. Hunters, elders, and guards stood alert, eyes darting toward the doors, claws twitching, breaths shallow. A charged energy thrummed through the room—a warning instinct every wolf felt in their bones. Something was wrong. Something catastrophic.
A guard burst in, panting, eyes wide.
"Alpha! The pack is under attack! People… they're dying!"
Whispers spread like wildfire, fear coiling in every chest. Zephran's jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He didn't speak, didn't even move—his wolf senses already scanning, measuring the threat, preparing for the worst.
Far away, in her private quarters, Soraya hunched over her big brown book, quill in hand. The pages were filled with ancient runes, spells, and cryptic diagrams. She murmured softly, tracing the symbols, trying to decipher their secrets.
Suddenly, the door flew open. Maids rushed in, frantic, skirts rustling like leaves in a storm.
"Princess! You need to hide! The pack… it's under attack! People are dying!"
Soraya's stormy grey eyes narrowed, fierce and unyielding.
"Hide? I'm not hiding like a coward. I will fight for my pack!"
One maid grabbed her wrist, trembling.
"Princess, please! Alpha Zephran said we must protect you! You cannot go out there!"
Soraya's hand darted beneath her cloak. Fingers wrapped around the heavy brown book she always carried—the one that had burned her palm, pulsed with light, whispered secrets in her dreams. She pressed it tight to her chest, feeling its weight grounding her, even as her pulse spiked with panic and fury.
She swallowed, fury and frustration simmering beneath her calm exterior. She knew the stakes—but she also knew she couldn't just watch while her pack bled. Still, the maids and guards forced her compliance, guiding her through the ornate hallways to a nondescript panel beneath the main dais. With a soft click, the secret passage revealed itself.
Snow crunched faintly above, the wind moaning like a predator circling its prey. Soraya's pulse raced as they moved down the narrow, winding tunnels—Winterfall's hidden arteries designed to keep the pack safe in emergencies. The air smelled of damp stone and old magic, a warning in its stillness.
Then—a sound. Footsteps. Deliberate, slow, echoing through the stone corridor. A whisper of air, like a knife sliding through silk.
The guards stiffened, weapons raised, senses flaring.
"Something's coming," one hissed, voice low.
A figure emerged from the shadows. Tall. Imposing. Confidence dripping from every movement. Dark hair framed sharp, flawless features, piercing blue eyes cutting through the dim light. A smirk tugged at his lips, and the air seemed to bend around him.
"Found you, Princess," he said, voice smooth, cold, deliberate.
The guards lunged, but before they could even take a step, his eyes flared silver. Light poured from them, unnatural and deadly. In a heartbeat, the men were flung against the walls, groaning, crumpling, dazed and broken.
Soraya's breath caught in her throat. Power like this… cold, precise, merciless. Impossible to fight. Her claws itched instinctively, but she froze, unsure of how to act against such a force.
The intruder stepped closer, calm, inhumanly powerful. Soraya's stormy grey eyes met his silver-glowing gaze. Time seemed to stop. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears; the air itself felt thick with tension.
Then his hand shot forward. Fingers wrapped around hers.
Electricity exploded—jagged, scorching, sharp enough to make her gasp. He yanked his hand back, staring at it in disbelief. Sparks lingered in the air like fireflies caught in stone.
Something about her—something in her blood, in her very essence—was alive. Powerful. Dangerous. A force he hadn't felt since… since Cordelia. Raw, untamed energy, brewing beneath the surface, whispering secrets and strength beyond reckoning.
He turned, gaze locking with hers, silver eyes piercing her stormy grey. The world around them seemed to blur. She wasn't ordinary. Not a wolf. Not a witch. Something deeper, older, stronger.
"You are mine now," he said, low, venomous, yet carrying the weight of inevitability. "Whether you like it or not."
In a heartbeat, the air shimmered. Reality twisted. Time bent. And in the blink of an eye, they vanished—gone from the secret passage, leaving stunned guards and Soraya's protectors behind, the echo of their disappearance still hanging in the stone corridors.
Silence fell. The only sound—the distant, frantic wind outside and the faint, electric hum that seemed to linger where they had stood. Soraya's heart pounded—not from fear, but from a fierce, unnameable recognition. This was far from over.