-GEORGE-
The dim light of the holding cell flickered as George and Liam stood before Lyra. Her wrists still bore the marks of the wolfsbane-soaked bindings, but her gaze was steady, her green eyes sharp with purpose. She leaned forward slightly, her voice low but firm.
“You wanted answers,” Lyra began, her tone tinged with urgency. “I’ll give them to you. But first, I need to ask—Freya. Is she truly a white wolf?”
George exchanged a glance with Liam, his jaw tightening. “Why does it matter?” George asked cautiously.
“Because if she is,” Lyra said, her voice trembling slightly, “then the prophecy might be unfolding.”
George frowned. “Prophecy?”
Lyra nodded, her expression serious. “There’s an old tale among shifters, spoken of in fragments by scholars and seers. Two wolves, powerful beyond measure, will either destroy the world of shifters or change it forever. Most believe it speaks of a shift in leadership—a new era. But it’s not just about one white wolf. It’s about more than one.”
“More?” Liam asked, his deep voice cutting through the tension.
“Yes,” Lyra said, her gaze flicking between them. “The prophecy speaks of white wolves, plural. And a huge dark wolf who stands with them. Together, they lead a group of powerful wolves into a great battle—a war that brings about this change.”
George crossed his arms, his dark eyes narrowing. “You’re saying Freya might be part of this prophecy?”
Lyra hesitated, then nodded. “If Magnus is right—and I’ve no reason to doubt his obsession with her—then she’s one of the wolves foretold. But she isn’t the only one. If the prophecy is real, there are others.”
Liam frowned, his amber eyes thoughtful. “You’re basing this on fragments of a story. What else do you know?”
“My father,” Lyra said softly, her voice tinged with sadness. “He was a seer. He told me the prophecy when I was a child, but he was killed before he could explain it fully. The rest, I found in an old book, but even that was incomplete. All I know is this:
The rogue king’s reign shall meet its end,
By claw, by fang, as packs defend.
But beware the whispers, the turning tide,
For betrayal and power walk side by side.
the moon’s tears fall,
And the pack’s strength falters,
Two wolves shall rise,
And with them, the dark one and the unknown pack
Together, they will bring either ruin or renewal.
The past shall foretell the future.
“My father believed it was a warning. That the wolves in the prophecy would choose their path—destruction or salvation.”
George and Liam were silent for a moment, the weight of her words sinking in. Finally, George spoke, his tone sceptical. “Even if this prophecy is real, why should we trust you? You were working with Magnus.”
Lyra’s jaw tightened. “I helped Freya escape. I risked my life for her because I don’t want Magnus to succeed. He doesn’t want change—he wants control. Absolute power. And Freya, if she truly is a white wolf, is the key to his plans.”
Liam studied her carefully, his gaze steady. “You’re asking us to trust you. But you’re a rogue, and Magnus’s second. How do we know this isn’t another one of his schemes?”
“I’m not asking for your trust,” Lyra said firmly. “I’m asking you to think about what’s at stake. If I’m right, if the prophecy is real, Freya needs allies. She needs to be protected. I want to help. This is bigger than all of us and I had to choose a side.” She sighed, her eyes sad. “I have chosen.” She said quietly.
George shook his head, his expression resolute. “You’ll stay here for now. Rogue or not, you’ve been in league with Magnus, and we can’t risk letting you roam free.”
Lyra sighed, leaning back against the wall of her cell. “Fine. But remember this: if Freya is truly a white wolf, she’s only the beginning. Another will come and the battle will follow. Whether you’re ready for it or not.”
George and Liam exchanged another look before turning to leave. Lyra’s voice followed them as they stepped out of the cellblock, her final words hanging heavily in the air. “The prophecy isn’t just a warning. It’s a choice. And you’d better hope you’re on the right side of it.”
—————–
The training grounds hummed with tension as the gathered group stood in a loose circle. Freya, Tobias, Finn, Mira, Zara, and Liam had been called together by George who wanted to discuss what Liam and he had learned from Lyra. He could not talk to the Alpha about it as something was just wrong there. Every time he had tried to talk to him that morning, the Alpha been locked in his office. Normally George was included in all pack business as that was, after all, his job as the Alphas second in command, however, for some reason he was unable to access any word on what was going on in there and it made him very uncomfortable.
The group stood waiting around him, their breaths visible in the crisp air. The unease was palpable, especially as Tobias’s temper simmered just below the surface, his wolf dangerously close to taking control as George spoke, with Liam occasionally breaking in with anything he had not remembered.
Standing in the middle, his commanding presence keeping the group focused, George said “We’re here for a reason,” his dark eyes scanning each face. “Something is going on and it all connects to Freya. If the prophesy is true, and Freya is the white wolf mentioned in it, which I think it is safe to assume she is…..” he looked around at them all as they nodded and stared at Freya, who ducked her head in embarrassment.
“What are we even looking for?” Freya asked softly, her voice laced with uncertainty.
Mira tilted her head, her sharp green eyes narrowing. “I don’t know, but I can already feel it,” she murmured. “Something…pulling me to you. Can’t you feel it?” The others looked at Mira, shocked that she felt the same as they did. They all looked back at Freya expectantly as if she could answer all their questions, but before Freya could respond, a faint glow surrounded her. The others gasped and moved back as shimmering threads of light began to emerge from her chest, each one a different colour. Freya froze, her breath hitching as the glowing cords stretched outward, attaching to each wrist of the people in the group.
Finn’s blue eyes widened as a light cord connected to his wrist, the soft golden hue pulsing with life. “This is insane,” Finn said, inspecting the gold thread, waving his arm around, realising he could not actually feel it. “But, you know, I look good in gold. Guess the goddess has great taste.”
Mira’s cord was silver, flickering like moonlight as it tethered her to Freya. Zara’s was a deep, fiery red, while Liam’s shone a steady, earthy green. George’s cord gleamed a bold bronze, his connection to Freya unmistakable. Tobias’s, however, burned the brightest—a vivid blue that shimmered with intensity, crackling like lightning.
Freya blinked, her heart racing. “What does this mean? I am not doing anything!” Her voice broke. Tobias took a step closer, his blue eyes blazing with emotion as he held her hands in his. “It means you’re the centre of something bigger than we understand,” he said, his voice low but steady. “And we’re all a part of it. We all belong with you”
As they stared at the cords, two more threads began to form. One stretched away from Freya, disappearing into the dense forest, its blue light, the same colour as Tobias’, weaving through the trees. The other a soft pink, extended toward the packhouse, vanishing into the shadows of the main building.
“Two more?” Zara asked, her voice tinged with confusion. “But who?”
Freya shook her head, her hands trembling slightly. “I don’t know,” she said softly. “But they’re out there.”
The group fell silent, the weight of the revelation settling over them. Suddenly, a soft gasp broke the stillness, and they turned to see Helena standing at the edge of the training grounds. Her expression was one of shock and disbelief as a bright lavender thread emerged from Freya, hidden under the others, and tethering itself firmly to Helena’s wrist.
“Helena?” George asked, his brow furrowing. “What are you doing here?”
“I was training in a clearing” she said faintly, her hand resting over the cord as if she could feel its pull. Her blue eyes darted between Freya and Tobias. “What…what the hell is this?”
Freya stepped forward, her voice gentle. “I don’t know and nor do I know why, but you’re part of this. You’re connected to me.”
Helena’s lips pressed into a thin line, her emotions flickering across her face. For a moment, she looked as though she might turn and leave, but then her shoulders straightened. “If I’m part of this, then as lead female warrior I’ll do my part,” she said firmly, though her voice held a tinge of uncertainty.
The group exchanged glances, their wariness toward Helena tempered by the undeniable evidence of her inclusion. George nodded, his expression thoughtful. “If the thread says you’re meant to be here, then you’re one of us now.”
-TOBIAS-
Tobias, however, was struggling to keep himself composed. The glow of his cord burned brighter, its energy crackling as his wolf growled in frustration. Freya turned to him, concern etched across her features.
“Tobias?” she asked softly, placing a hand on his arm.
His gaze snapped to hers, his blue eyes flashing with desperation. “We need to talk,” he said abruptly, his voice low but firm. Without waiting for a response, he took her hand and led her away from the group who watched them knowingly.
As they reached the edge of the training ground, Tobias stopped and turned to her, his emotions raw and unguarded. “Freya, I can’t do this anymore,” he said, his voice trembling with restraint. “I can’t think straight. I can’t protect you the way I need to. My wolf—he’s losing control.”
Freya stared at him, her heart aching at the vulnerability in his voice. “What are you saying? Are you rejecting me now?”
“No Freya!” Tobias snapped, then lowered his head and sighed, pushing a hand through his hair. “I need you,” his hands gripped her shoulders gently. His claws were partially extended, and his eyes flickered between their usual blue and the glowing amber of his wolf. “I need to mark you. To mate with you. To complete our bond.”
Freya’s breath caught, the intensity of his words sending a shiver down her spine. “Tobias…” she began, but he cut her off.
“I can’t lose you,” he said, his voice breaking. “Please. Tell me you’re ready. Now!”
Freya searched his eyes, her heart pounding. Slowly, she reached up and placed her hand on his chest, her touch soft but steady. “I’m ready,” she said quietly.
Tobias’s eyes widened, his wolf surging with joy. Without another word, he swept her into his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. He carried her toward the packhouse, his steps purposeful, his every thought consumed by her. He growled loudly at everyone they passed, causing them to turn away in submission. Freya could not help but giggle and pushed her head into the crook of his neck.
As the door to his quarters closed behind them, the glow of their cord intensified, casting the room in a shimmering blue light. Tobias set Freya down gently, his hands trembling as he cupped her face. “I’ll never hurt you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re my everything.”
Freya smiled softly, her own hands trailing down his chest as she leaned into him. “And you’re mine.”
-DAEMON-
Daemon stood in the heart of the forest, away from the chaos of the rogue camp, hidden, the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the dense canopy. His wolf stirred within him, pacing with restless energy that made his chest feel like it might burst. Something was coming—something undeniable—and his entire being hummed with anticipation.
Then he saw it.
A thin, glowing thread stretched from his wrist, cutting through the dense forest in the direction of the packlands. The strand shimmered a deep royal blue, twisting and pulsing faintly as if alive. It seemed to call to him, an otherworldly force urging him forward. His grey eyes narrowed, and he took a cautious step closer, his breath hitching as he reached out.
“What in the Goddess’ name…?” Daemon murmured, his voice rough as his fingers brushed the glowing thread. There was no resistance, yet the connection was unmistakable. The energy coursing through the thread pulsed within him, awakening something deep and primal.
The whispers in his mind, which had been faint and fragmented for days, suddenly grew louder. They overlapped, a chaotic rush of voices that made his ears ring. He pressed a hand to his temple, his teeth clenched as he tried to make sense of the cacophony. Then, amidst the noise, came a singular voice, clear and commanding.
“Go. Find them. The time is now. It has begun.”
A sharp jolt of energy surged through Daemon, and he stumbled, catching himself against the rough bark of a nearby tree. His vision swam, the world tilting precariously as power roared through his veins. His wolf howled within him, not in pain but in a surge of raw strength.
The whispers returned, no longer fragmented but unified into a rhythmic cadence that resonated with his very soul. The words came like a declaration, powerful and absolute.
“Wolves of the past, present, and future. Protect what is sacred. Lead what must follow.”
The forest around him seemed to shimmer as the words sank in. His breathing was ragged, his heart pounding in his chest as the thread before him glowed brighter, more vivid than ever. The connection was undeniable. He could feel them now—Freya, her mate, and something more. Their presence pulled at him, a tether that demanded his attention.
“I’m coming,” Daemon growled, his voice low and resolute. His wolf surged forward, its energy merging seamlessly with his own as he broke into a sprint.
The thread guided him, cutting through the underbrush and weaving around the trees as if the forest itself parted to clear his path. Each step brought clarity, the whispers now a steady hum in his mind, a guiding force that left no room for doubt.
As he neared the packlands, more threads appeared, faint at first but quickly brightening. They stretched from his chest, pale strands of different colours that pulsed with quiet intensity. Daemon’s jaw tightened, a mix of confusion and determination flashing in his eyes. Whoever these threads connected to, they were part of this, too.
“More threads,” he muttered, his mind racing as he pushed onward. The pull was undeniable now, the energy in his veins surging with every step.
The edge of the packlands came into view, the faint glow of the settlement’s lights filtering through the trees. Daemon slowed, his chest heaving as he approached. The threads were stronger here, brighter, and the connection to Freya burned within him like a beacon.
He stopped just outside the clearing, his grey eyes scanning the distant figures most of the threads led to, gathered near the training grounds. His wolf bristled with anticipation, its energy coiled and ready. Daemon’s lips curled into a faint smile, his voice a low murmur as he stepped forward.
“The time has come.”
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