light In The Dark Full Moon Pack: why is the alpha twins my fated mate

The rhythm of Cassandra's heartbeat resembled a wild animal caged and frantic, its thunderous pulse echoing within her. As she raced through the serpentine lanes of the quaint town, the wind lashed against her features. An invisible burden of countless stares felt heavy on her shoulders; the town folk's whispers piercing the calm nocturnal air like arrows. "Is it not the ill-fated lass?" They remarked, and more heads turned to watch her pass. "Wait until her current companion breathes his last before revealing the truth! Aren't you aware of the pain it causes?" Another chimed in, their laughter echoing in her ears. These harsh utterances stung like a swarm of bees, but Cassandra deflected the hurt, training her focus solely on the road ahead. She was well aware of their hushed discussions about her, the rumors that she was a harbinger of doom, that those she held dear were destined to face death. But she couldn't afford the luxury of giving into their gossip now. Not when Larry's existence was precariously balanced on the edge of life and death. Larry, her partner, her soulmate, was seriously ill, and it fell upon Cassandra to rescue him. Over the past ten years, seven mates had been snatched away from her, each departure leaving a new scar on her heart. She was determined that she would not suffer the loss of an eighth. As she rounded a bend, her breaths becoming increasingly ragged and her legs protesting with each heavy stride, she saw her home looming ahead. It stood as a lighthouse in the blackness, a symbol of hope. Within its walls lay the remedy that could potentially save Larry, and their future together. Failure was not an option. Not now. As she reached for the doorknob, the murmur of whispers and cruel laughter punctured the quiet of the night. The town's rumor mill had assembled, ready to aim their venomous words at her once more. She took a deep, steadying breath, attempting to fortify herself against the imminent tide of shame and mockery. "Behold the accursed one," Mrs. Hannah, wife to the town butcher, taunts from across the way. Her barbed words, as sharp as her husband's cleaver, ricochet off the grimy cobblestones. She's a woman of substantial build, her face flushed from her indulgent lifestyle, and her eyes, those minuscule, malicious orbs, always ready to feast upon another's misfortune. "Ten years, ten men," adds Mr. Peterson, the town's grave digger, resting on his spade as if he were a living embodiment of the Grim Reaper. His voice, gravelly and grim, carries the weight of the many graves he's dug. "All of them are dead, every one." Their laughter rings out, a sound as harsh and grating as sandpaper against the soul. The sound of their mirth gnaws at Cassandra's heart, a pain far more intense than the rain of refuse she knows is about to fall. As discarded papers and rotten fruit begin to shower down on her, the stench of decay permeates the air, but she holds her head high, refusing to grant them the satisfaction of witnessing her retreat. "I'd give the latest lover a month, tops," crows Mrs. Bradley, a widow from down the lane. Her words carry a venomous sting, her laughter cutting through the air like a cold gust of wind. Having lost her own husband to illness years ago, it seems Cassandra's plight brings her some perverse form of pleasure. Suddenly, a rotten tomato splats against Cassandra's chest. The juice seeps through her dress, a cold, stinging reminder of the crowd's contempt. As she looks at the spreading stain, she allows herself a moment to feel: the pain, the humiliation, the despair - it washes over her like waves crashing against a rocky shore. But she remains steadfast. She won't crumble. Not for them. "Is this the fate you've damned me to?" she whispers, her words not intended for the crowd, but for the universe itself. As she wipes a tear from her cheek, her hand comes away smeared with tomato. It would be a lie to say that their words don't hurt, that their laughter doesn't echo in Cassandra's ears long after they've dispersed. Each word is a knife, each laugh a punch to her heart. But she learned long ago that they don't define her. Their cruel words are not her truth. She is Cassandra. She is not cursed. She is not the harbinger of death that haunts her existence. Some continue to taunt her, while others laugh. Cassandra can only pity them. They've forgotten the old saying: 'what goes around, comes around.' What would she stand to gain from bringing death to the partner the moon goddess has blessed her with? No one, but seven. Cassandra had heard tales, tales of the joy that companionship brings, but never had she been privy to tales of the opposite effect. Her past offered no slivers of hope, yet she yearned to trust in her deities. She had offered prayers, performed numerous rituals and sacrifices at the altar, yet her situation remained unchanged. She wanted to believe that her gods were not dormant, that they would absolve her from this heavy curse that had been bestowed upon her. Yet, as she flung open the door, her heart plummeted. She was too late. "Larry!" she cried out, collapsing beside his now lifeless form. His eyes, once lively and brimming with vitality, were now dim and devoid of life. The fading warmth of his body served as a cruel reminder of his extinguished existence. His mother and her brother hurried to her side, attempting to draw her away. Their words were a muffled drone, lost amidst the deafening roar in her ears. Her vision blurred, tears cascading down her cheeks and onto Larry's cold hand. "No, no, no," she wept, clutching his lifeless hand to her chest. She was the accursed girl. The girl who failed to save her mate. The girl whose love bore the weight of a death sentence. But as she gazed down at Larry, a resolve solidified within her. She would not allow his death to be in vain. She would defy their assertions. She was not cursed. She was not a messenger of death. She stood, wiping away her tears. Upon seeing her, Larry’s mother and her brother paused, their eyes wide in shock. They didn't comprehend. They couldn't. But they would. "Keep your distance," she instructed them, her tone firm despite the tempest within her. "I need to decipher this. Alone." And with those words, she turned away, leaving them and Larry behind. She didn't know her destination, nor what she would do upon her arrival. But one thing was certain. This was just the beginning.