Rumors and Revelations
The news reached Midnight Crest like wildfire, spreading through the pack faster than any scout could deliver it. Isla wasn’t just Crimson Fang’s Luna—she was their miracle. A white wolf, a descendant of the Moon Goddess herself. The revelation struck the Midnight Crest wolves like a blow, leaving a wake of unease, jealousy, and bitter reflection.
In the Alpha’s quarters, Garrick paced relentlessly, his movements sharp and angry. “We made a mistake,” he growled, his voice a low rumble that filled the room. “A grave mistake.”
Lenora sat by the fire, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her expression as cold and unreadable as ever. “What do you propose we do now? It’s too late to change what’s done.”
Garrick stopped mid-step, his fists clenched. “Do you not understand what this means? Crimson Fang’s strength has just doubled. No, tripled. Draven will use her power against us. Against every pack that stands in his way.”
“Perhaps he will,” Lenora said evenly. “But what do you expect to do about it? Isla is no longer ours to control.”
Seraphine, who had been lingering outside the door, stepped inside, her voice sharp and accusatory. “You keep saying ‘ours,’ as if she ever truly was. She’s nothing but a thorn in our side.”
Garrick turned to her, his expression dark. “Careful, Seraphine. You may have gotten away with your petty games before, but Isla’s rise has consequences. Real ones.”
Seraphine’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. “And yet, all you see is her success. What about me? I’ve done everything to secure this pack’s future. And now you’re acting like I’m the problem.”
Lenora’s gaze flicked to her daughter, a rare glint of emotion crossing her cold features—something close to pity. “Perhaps it’s time you knew the truth, Seraphine.”
The air in the room shifted, the weight of Lenora’s words settling heavily over them all. Seraphine frowned, stepping closer. “What are you talking about?”
“You and Isla,” Lenora said quietly, her voice tinged with an unfamiliar softness. “You aren’t our blood. You never were. You were both adopted.”
The silence that followed was deafening. Seraphine’s eyes widened, disbelief and anger warring for dominance. “You’re lying,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
Lenora shook her head. “You were chosen to save this pack, Seraphine. To hide my inability to conceive and to provide heirs to the Midnight Crest name.”
Seraphine staggered back, her hands shaking. “You expect me to believe that all this time, I was just… convenient?”
Garrick’s voice cut through the tension, low and bitter. “You were necessary, Seraphine. But that doesn’t change what you’ve become.”
Before Seraphine could retort, the heavy doors to the study swung open, revealing an old figure draped in deep green robes. The pack’s sorceress, Sorcha, entered, her gnarled staff tapping against the wooden floor with every step. Her presence silenced them all, her piercing gaze sweeping the room.
“You’ve kept secrets too long,” Sorcha said, her voice carrying the weight of years. “But you cannot keep them from me.”
Garrick stiffened. “Sorcha, this is not the time—”
“It is exactly the time,” Sorcha interrupted, her voice rising. “The prophecy you have ignored for years is upon you. The doom of Midnight Crest walks among us.”
Seraphine froze, her breath hitching. “What are you talking about?”
“The prophecy,” Sorcha repeated, her tone grave. “Two wolves, bound by blood yet not of blood. One to bring salvation. One to bring ruin.”
Garrick exchanged a tense glance with Lenora. “We’ve always known this, Sorcha. It was Isla. She was the one destined to doom us.”
“Was she?” Sorcha asked, stepping closer, her sharp eyes locking onto Seraphine. “You were so certain, weren’t you? Certain enough to cast her out, to deny her at every turn. And yet here we are, watching her rise to power, while Midnight Crest falters.”
Seraphine’s chest tightened, her voice rising defensively. “What are you saying? That I’m
Sorcha didn’t answer immediately. She lifted a hand, her bony fingers pointing directly at Seraphine. “The signs are there. Your jealousy. Your ambition. The lengths you are willing to go. The darkness that festers within you.”
Seraphine’s face twisted in fury. “This is absurd! Isla is the one who abandoned this pack. She’s the one who brought shame to our name!”
“No,” Sorcha said firmly. “She was driven away. By you.”
Lenora rose from her chair, her voice cutting through the tension. “Enough, Sorcha. You’ve made your point.”
Sorcha turned to Lenora, her expression grim. “Have I? You kept these girls because you thought it would protect your pack. But the prophecy was clear. Salvation and ruin walk hand in hand. And unless you stop this madness, the doom of Midnight Crest will be of your own making.”
With that, Sorcha turned and left, her staff tapping against the floor as she disappeared into the shadows.
Seraphine stood frozen, her mind racing. For the first time, doubt crept into her thoughts. Could it be true? Could I be the one to doom the pack?
But just as quickly, she shook the thought away, her anger flaring. “This changes nothing,” she said, her voice cold. “I’ll prove to all of you that I’m the one worthy of this pack. And I’ll start by taking back everything Isla stole.”
