When fate and worlds collide

32 | Next steps

My hand tore free from Clarice’s as if struck by lightning. I gasped, scrambling away from her, defenses slamming into place before my mind caught up, vision swimming and heart thundering heavy in my chest. I blinked hard, forcing my eyes to focus, breath hitching as I blinked again. And again.

Her eyes were blue. But I would have sworn—sworn—they had been red a fraction of a second earlier.

My chest heaved like I’d sprinted for miles, sweat breaking across my skin. Clarice stared back at me, confusion and regret etched across her small face. Through the pack link, voices erupted. Liam and Xavier, alarmed and demanding an explanation on the burst of Aura.

I guess they’d felt it too.

‘I need to speak with you, Liam. Now,’ I sent back, pushing urgency through the link before he could ask questions. ‘You too, Xavier.’ I didn’t know what had just happened—but I needed confirmation I wasn’t losing my grip on reality.

“I’m sorry,” Clarice whispered. “They… they didn’t like you being there.” Ice slid through my veins.

“…They?” I asked carefully.

She twisted her hands together. “The voices. The ones that tell me things I shouldn’t know.”

Oh. f**k. I swallowed hard, tamping down the surge of panic clawing at my throat.

“Did they say why?” She hesitated, clearly uncomfortable about answering.

“They…don’t like your kind.” I was on my feet in an instant, staring down at her as every warning bell in my head went off at once. So this was the feeling I’d ignored. The instinct I’d overridden. I should have listened.

“We’ll, ahh… continue another day,” I instructed, forcing calm into my voice. “Go…find your dad.” She stood, hesitating, then looked back at me—apologetic, sadness radiating off her in waves. “Don’t use your powers until our next lesson.”

“Because I’m dangerous?” Her eyes filled with tears. My heart clenched; she was just a child. I knelt in front of her, bringing us eye to eye.

“No,” I replied firmly. “I give that instruction to all my students. Using your power without guidance can have serious consequences. Until you understand what you can do—and how—it’s safest to only access your Aura during lessons.” She sniffed, trying not to cry. “You’re not dangerous, Clarice,” I added gently. “You’re just… unknown.”

And unknowns require caution. She nodded. I waited until she walked away before turning toward Liam’s war room, dread coiling tighter with every step.

I hoped—desperately—that I was right.

~*~

Daegon.

Sweat beaded along Daegon’s brow as the final clash of training rang out across the yard. His bare chest gleamed in the rising light, muscles flexing as he stepped back from his opponent and dismissed the circle with a sharp nod. The sun was already climbing, patrols assembling at the edges of the compound, weapons checked and packs slung over shoulders.

Something sat wrong in his chest.

It had been there all morning—a low, persistent tug—preceded by a brief, vicious spike of pain that had nearly dropped him to one knee. It hadn’t come again, but its echo lingered, unsettling in a way he didn’t care to name. Trixa had noticed. So had others. In truth, most of the pack had felt something—a ripple through the bond, faint but shared. For a moment, Daegon had wondered if his Aura was responding to a disturbance beyond his reach, something brushing the edge of his power without fully revealing itself.

He wiped the sweat from his face and pulled on his shirt, pointedly ignoring the lingering stares from the she-wolves training nearby. Many were still unmated, hopeful in the way they watched him—calculating and patient. Once, he might have indulged them in their company. On many occasions in the past, he had. Lately though, the idea held no appeal.

From the balcony railing above the yard, Trixa perched like a smug white-haired specter, pale eyes glittering with far too much satisfaction. Daegon didn’t look at her. She had been needling him all morning with her favourite theory—that his mate was nearby—and he had no intention of encouraging it by engaging.

Beta Treyton handed him a bottle of water. Daegon accepted it with a nod, his attention already elsewhere, gaze sweeping the compound with practiced efficiency, mentally accounting for every member of his pack—who was training, who reinforced the boundary, who was currently scouting. Order. Discipline. Survival.

At the far end of the yard, Blayde—a delta elevated to secondary beta under Treyton—was issuing patrol instructions, his voice carrying with confident authority. To appease Trixa, and because his instincts refused to quiet, Daegon had ordered an additional sweep along the city’s border. A simple pass. Eyes open. No heroics.

The city had been unusually quiet. Weeks without sightings of Vargulfs at the border. No corrupted beasts testing their perimeter. Absence, Daegon had learned, was often more dangerous than an open threat. It left to many unknowns. He took a long pull from the water, eyes narrowing as unease settled deeper into his bones.

Even the Lycan King did not trust silence.

As Daegon continued to survey the yard, the pressure in his skull sharpened without warning—an invisible blade pressing hard against his temple. His jaw clenched, squeezing his eyes shut for a heartbeat and drained the rest of his water, as if brute stubbornness alone might drive the pain away. It faded for a brief moment, before returning in full force. The world tilted and Daegon dropped to one knee with a restrained grunt as his Aura surged violently outward, foreign and electric, carrying with it a wash of sensation that was not his own.

A sharp yelp cut through the yard.

He looked up just in time to see Trixa clutch her head, her balance breaking as she fell from the railing to the balcony with a dull, bone-jarring thump. Around the yard, other Aura-sensitive members followed—hands to temples, knees buckling as the pain tore through them.

Then the pack link shuddered.

A massive ripple tore through it, raw and overwhelming. Several wolves collapsed outright, consciousness ripped away by the sheer force of it. Daegon’s vision exploded into white. His ears rang violently, the world reduced to noise and nothingness. He reached blindly, fingers scraping against cold concrete, and anchored himself there—focused on the rough texture beneath his palm, forcing his breathing to slow until the world obeyed.

Seconds passed.

Sound crept back first. Then shape. Then colour.

He blinked hard, the white haze thinning until Treyton’s face came into focus in front of him, worry etched deep into his beta’s expression as he called Daegon’s name.

“Check Trixa,” Daegon ordered at once. Treyton didn’t hesitate. He sprinted into the house and reappeared moments later on the balcony, dropping into a crouch in front of her. A breath later, Daegon felt her presence brush his mind through the link.

‘I am all right,’ Trixa informed him curtly. She stood, dusting herself off and batting Treyton’s hands away when he tried to steady her. “What in the Goddess was that?”

“I was hoping you’d tell me,” Daegon replied, rubbing at his temple. He reached inward for his power—and paused. His Aura answered instantly, alive in a way it had never been before. Super-charged and restless. Like lightning trapped within the flow itself.

He moved to where several pack members still lay unconscious, others kneeling beside them, murmuring reassurance. Crouching beside a gamma, he examined a shallow cut along her temple where she’d struck the ground. The healing process stuttered—misaligned, sluggish, and wrong. “It feels as though the Aura itself has been interfered with,” Daegon added quietly. Trixa extended her Aura into void, inspecting the flow herself. Her unease bled through the link, sharp and unfiltered.

“Why does it look like that?” she murmured. Her question set his teeth on edge. If anyone would recognize the signs, it was her. She had attended the Academy the longest, studied the hardest, deeper than any Aura in his pack.

“Something is wrong,” Daegon mused. Above him, Trixa snorted.

“Astounding deduction, my King.” her response dripped with Sarcasm. His eye twitched. Standing, Daegon lifted his gaze and took in their surroundings—and realized two things at once.

First: the forest encircling their base had gone unnaturally silent. No birds. No insects. Nothing.

Second: the sharp tug in his chest hadn’t faded. It had intensified, coiling tighter, dragging his attention outward.

His hand rose to his sternum as his eyes slid, unwillingly, past the tree line. Toward the city. Whatever had reached for his pack had not done so by accident.

Trixa appeared in front of him in a blur of pale light, brows drawn tight, eyes faintly aglow as she reached out with her magic and prodded him. Daegon blinked once. Then again. Annoyance flared sharp and immediate. Her lack of respect recently was wearing thin.

“I don’t have the patience today, Trixa,” he growled aloud. She didn’t move. If anything, she leaned in—her frown deepening as her Aura pressed more insistently against his own, testing and probing more urgently. A low, warning rumble rolled from Daegon’s chest as he straightened to his full height and shoved back with his power.

The effect was immediate.

Wolves around them dipped their heads or dropped to a knee in instinctive submission, the weight of their Alpha’s dominance forcing them down. Many staggered under it.

Trixa, did not. She remained upright and unmoving.

“She is here,” she murmured. The growl died mid-breath. Recognition slammed into Daegon like a blade to the ribs. His wolf surged forward, howling in savage, exultant delight.

Mate.