CHAPTER 1: The Vision
874 Words
The blood was warm, slick between her fingers, and it wasn’t hers.
Seraphina couldn’t breathe. The silver-eyed man was crumpled against her chest, his weight dragging her to her knees. His mouth moved soundlessly, lips cracked and bloodstained, but she could feel the way he whispered her name. She had never seen him before in her life.
And yet she was the one holding the blade.
Moonlight bled cold across his face, illuminating the dark streak of crimson down his jaw. The world around them was chaos—wolves howling in the distance, screams cutting through the night air, a fire crackling somewhere nearby. She felt it all as though it were real: the sting of ash in her lungs, the ache in her arms, the hopelessness like a lead weight in her gut.
The man’s eyes—silver, sharp, haunting—dropped to her hand where it clutched the knife. A tremor rippled through his massive frame, and then he was gone, collapsing in her arms like an empty cloak.
“Kael…” she breathed, though she didn’t know why that name tasted like truth on her tongue.
The vision shattered.
Seraphina’s body convulsed as she woke, clutching her chest, gasping like she’d drowned. Her room was dark, lit only by a stub of candle on the windowsill. The storm outside rattled the shutters, but the world felt muted, like she’d been pulled violently from another place.
Her nose was bleeding.
Seraphina pressed the back of her trembling hand to her face, smearing crimson across her fingers. The visions always took something from her—her strength, her breath, her peace—but this one felt like it had torn her apart from the inside. Her head throbbed with every heartbeat, and a chill gnawed at her bones despite the wool blankets tangled around her.
It wasn’t a dream. She knew the difference.
Visions came with pain—real pain—and that man’s death still burned in her mind like a brand.
With shaky fingers, she reached for the small leather-bound journal she kept under her pillow. Her hands left streaks of blood across the pages as she scribbled fragments of what she’d seen: Silver eyes. Blade. Ash. Wolves.
A loud c***k of thunder rattled the house. She flinched, nearly dropping her quill. Her breath quickened. She’d lived with these visions long enough to know that this one wasn’t distant. It wasn’t a warning for days or weeks from now. Whatever she’d seen… it was close.
The candle flickered violently, casting strange shadows along the walls of her tiny attic room. She froze, listening.
At first, there was nothing. Then—faintly—she heard it. A howl. Long, deep, and chilling enough to curl her toes.
Her blood turned to ice.
She scrambled to her feet, tossing the journal aside. Her head spun, pain clawing behind her eyes as she grabbed the small dagger she kept beneath her bed. Another howl answered the first, closer this time. Her stomach twisted. Wolves. Dozens of them, maybe more.
Seraphina crept to the window, heart hammering, and peeled back the curtain just enough to peer outside.
The village was glowing orange.
She stumbled back as the first scream tore through the night.
Her breath came fast and sharp, panic curling around her ribs like a vice. The fire wasn’t an accident. Wolves didn’t hunt in numbers this large. This was an attack.
She spun toward the ladder leading down from her attic, dagger in hand. The boards creaked under her feet as she moved, every instinct screaming at her to run, hide, survive. She was halfway down when she heard the crash of a door splintering open below her.
Seraphina froze.
Boots hit the floorboards. Voices, low and growling, filled the house. She could smell them before she saw them—wet fur, smoke, and something darker, like copper and earth. Wolves.
She bolted back up into the attic, heart slamming against her ribs. She crouched low against the wall, dagger clutched tight, praying to every god she knew to keep her hidden.
The trapdoor burst open.
A massive figure climbed up, blocking out the dim light from below. He was tall, broad-shouldered, his presence filling the small space with suffocating power. The silver light of the moon caught his face as he straightened, and Seraphina’s breath hitched.
Silver eyes.
The man from her vision stood before her, very much alive.
His gaze locked on her, sharp and unreadable, and in that instant, she felt it—a pull, deep in her chest, like a thread tightening around her heart.
He tilted his head slightly, nostrils flaring. His voice, when he spoke, was low and rich, carrying the weight of authority that could command armies.
“Found you.”
Seraphina’s blood went cold.
Before she could move, he was on her—swift, predatory, impossible to fight. Her dagger clattered to the floor as he pinned her wrists, his strength overwhelming. His eyes glowed faintly, like molten silver, and the sight rooted her to the spot in paralyzed terror.
She knew, without being told, who he was.
The Alpha King.
And if her vision was true… she would be the one to kill him.
- Writer
