When fate and worlds collide

08 | Restless Pack

Four years later.



Daegon sat at the long stone table overlooking the main hall, his presence a silent weight as two Lycans grappled below for sport. The clash of bodies echoed through the chamber—controlled violence, sanctioned and necessary. Restlessness had settled into the pack like a slow fever, and many needed a desperate outlet.

Four years had passed since the confrontation with the Dark Aura. Four years since their world had been torn open and stitched crudely onto another. And in all that time, they were no closer to home than they had been on that first, disorienting day. The mansion they now occupied—once opulent, now fortified—sat on the outskirts of a vast and unfamiliar city. Stone walls had been reinforced, vantage points claimed, supply routes mapped and guarded. Survival had become routine. Comfort had not.

The first year had nearly broken them.

Other werewolf packs—fractured, leaderless—had found Daegon’s Lycan pack, temporary territory, and came pleading. Most had lost their Alphas during the merge. Sanctuary had been begged for with bowed heads and broken pride. At the same time, the corrupted rogues created by the Dark Aura had multiplied with horrifying speed, infecting humans and swelling their numbers until they outpaced even Daegon’s combined forces.

He had made one rule absolute: no one entered the city.

The risk was too great. The streets were overrun, lawless, and crawling with things that no longer resembled what they once had been. Distance was logical. Three years ago, Daegon, Trixa, Treyton, and the silver-moon delta twins had scouted the city’s edge, hunting signs of the Dark Aura. They had not found the witch. Instead, they had found something worse.

A vampire—if it could still be called that. Its body had been twisted and scarred beyond recognition, flesh warped as though the world itself had rejected its form. Only its eyes remained familiar—burning with unrestrained hunger. Although cautious of him and his pack, the bloodlust unmistakable. It attacked without provocation, driven by violence alone, and it had taken far too long to kill.

Now, as Daegon watched the mismatched pack of werewolves and Lycans below him, frustration coiled tight in his chest. Back home, this would never have been allowed. His elite consisting of only Lycans had been chosen with precision, trained by his own hand. Weakness had been excised without hesitation, and Omegas had served, nothing more. Order had been law. But extinction had a way of rewriting principles. If survival meant accepting fractured packs, untested warriors, and unfamiliar blood beneath his banner, then so be it. Daegon would adapt—or his people would die.

Boots clicked against stone, followed swiftly by a rush of white hair, before Trixa dropped unceremoniously into his lap. Daegon snarled at the intrusion, muscles tensing instinctively, but she only laughed softly and flicked her hair over her shoulder—entirely pleased with herself.

She lived to test his patience.

“Eggie,” she chided lightly, “you’ve been sitting here for three hours without moving, wearing that goddess-awful scowl. You’re going to crack stone if you keep it up.” Half the hall fell silent. More than a few eyes flicked toward them, uncertain. Trixa’s casual disregard for the Lycan King still unsettled those who didn’t know her well—or at all.

“I am not in the mood, Trixa,” Daegon growled. “Watch yourself.”

She frowned, just slightly. “You’ve been on edge since our last border scout. Angry and broody.” He held her gaze for a moment longer than necessary before exhaling sharply.

“I felt a shift in the Aura flow,” he admitted. “At first, I thought it was nothing. But the closer we moved toward the city, the stronger it became.” Her attention sharpened. He continued, eyes returning to the fight below. “There’s a pull whenever close, like something tugging at my instincts. As if I’ve missed a threat—or one is closing in that I can’t yet see.” Trixa remained silent, studying him.

“We already know our power here is diminished,” she spoke carefully. “But our instincts haven’t failed us yet.” A pause. “Maybe that pull is telling you we need to look again. The Dark Aura’s trail led into the city Four years ago. That hasn’t changed.” Daegon rubbed a hand over his brow.

For three months now, she had been pushing this. Pressing the boundary he had drawn in blood and law.

And the most dangerous part? A part of him was beginning to listen.

“It’s crawling with Vargulfs and vampiric abominations,” Daegon growled. “I will not risk more of my pack on a hunch, Trixa. The city is too dangerous.” The words came sharp, but beneath them sat a bone-deep exhaustion he hadn’t felt in years. His body felt heavy, overworked—like he’d burned through too much power without realizing it. Every muscle ached as though he’d run for miles and never stopped.

Trixa didn’t respond immediately. She just stared at him. Her mind was closed—deliberately—from the entire pack, including Daegon. She’d been doing that more often lately, and it scraped at his nerves worse than a challenge. Daegon’s irritation flared.

“Trixa,” he warned, power rolling subtly through his voice, “I swear by the Goddess if you don’t—”

“I have a theory,” she cut in quietly. The interruption stopped him cold. Their eyes locked—his emerald, hers pale and unflinching. “You won’t like it,” she added. Daegon exhaled through his nose and rose, gripping her by the arm just long enough to guide her off his lap. He turned and strode toward the study, already knowing she would follow. Once inside, he shut the door with a decisive click and faced her, arms folding over his chest.

“Speak,” he ordered flatly. “And no games. You’ve had your warning.”

Trixa rolled her eyes. “Goddess, you’re insufferable when your moody.” She studied him instead of backing down, hands planting on her hips. “Have you been…tired for no reason?” she asked. “Mood swings without a trigger? Thoughts that don’t belong to the moment—emotions that aren’t yours?” Silence stretched between them. Daegon had spent weeks keeping his link muted, dampening the spillover of things he couldn’t explain—feelings that rose without warning, flashes of irritation, heat, longing, anger. None of it his. None of it welcome. Trixa’s gaze sharpened as she watched his reaction, head c****d to the side a fraction.

Understanding slid into place. His face darkened, a low snarl rumbling from his chest as he snarled.

“It is not the mate bond.” The command in his voice hit hard, Alpha power surging. Trixa staggered a half step—then straightened, jaw tightening as she fought his Alpha command. Her eyes flared.

“Then you explain it,” she snapped. “If you’re so determined to reject your mate, if you’re so certain it’s not the bond, then tell me what is causing this.” The challenge in her tone caught him off guard. There were few who dared speak to him like that. Fewer still who survived it. Even when she did, those moments could be counted on one hand.

However, Daegon had no answer.

The truth—unwelcome and infuriating—sat heavy in his chest. He had suspected the bond. Had sensed it tightening, growing louder the more he ignored it. He’d sworn to reject his mate once found. So, he chose denial instead.

And denial, it seemed, only fed the fire.

Trixa scoffed softly. “That’s what I thought.”

“It’s irrelevant,” he snapped. “We are not entering the city.”

She laughed without humor. “Wake up, Daegon. We can’t hide out here forever.” His eyes narrowed. One more push and his wolf would have seen it as a direct challenge. “My powers are unpredictable, and unstable,” she continued, voice tightening. “Ever since that b***h tore into my neck, they don’t respond properly. If I draw too much, they fracture. I can’t support the pack the way I used to.” The crack in her voice was subtle—but he heard it.

Trixa had always been a proud Lycan. Strong. Powerful. Dependable. Losing control of her abilities had cut deeper than the wound the dark Aura had given her.

“Finding my mate won’t fix that,” he replied firmly.

“And I think you’re wrong,” she shot back. “Especially now. She’ll stabilize you. Strengthen you. What you’re feeling—this turmoil—it’s because she’s close, but not with you.” Daegon scrubbed a hand down his face.

“It’s too dangerous to enter the City,” he said again—but the conviction was gone. Fatigue seeped into every word.

“If we don’t find the Dark Aura,” Trixa replied quietly, brushing past him toward the door, “we never find a way home.”

She left without another word. Daegon stood there for a long moment, fingers threading through his hair as the weight of her words settled in his chest.

She was right.

But he’d kept his pack alive by setting boundaries and laying out laws. Every pack of Vargulf had been eliminated quickly and efficiently, and the vampire creatures didn’t leave the safety of the abandoned buildings.

With a final breath, he turned and left the study, heading back toward the pack—toward Treyton, and the next scouting mission.