THE ALPHA'S FORSAKEN ORACLE'

(Mirabel's POV) The vision hit me during breakfast, and I knew immediately that this one was different. My fork clattered against the plate as my whole body went stiff, and the scrambled eggs I had been eating turned to ash in my mouth. The dining room disappeared, replaced by flames and screaming, and I could smell blood and smoke so strongly that I choked on it. Vincent was there, standing in the pack temple with his back to me, and someone was coming up behind him with a silver blade raised high. The killer's face was hidden in shadows but I could see the moonlight glinting off the weapon, could hear Vincent's last breath rattling in his chest, could feel the exact moment his heart would stop beating. Then the vision released me and I fell forward, smashing my face against the table hard enough that pain exploded across my cheekbone. Vincent jumped up from his seat across from me, his chair scraping loudly against the floor, but he did not come to help me. He never did anymore, not since my visions started getting worse six months ago. "Another one?" he asked, and his voice sounded tired rather than concerned, which hurt worse than the throbbing in my face. I pushed myself upright slowly, tasting blood where I had bitten my tongue, and tried to catch my breath. My hands were shaking so badly that I had to grip the edge of the table to steady them, and sweat was running down my back even though the room was cool. The vision was still playing behind my eyelids every time I blinked, showing me Vincent's death over and over like a horrible loop I could not escape. "You are going to die," I whispered, and my voice came out raw and broken. "In ten days, during the full moon ceremony, someone you trust is going to kill you in the temple." Vincent's expression went from tired to angry in an instant, and he slammed his palm down on the table hard enough to make the dishes jump. "Not this again, Mirabel. I have told you a hundred times that I need specific information, not vague warnings about danger and death. Who is going to kill me? How? Why? Give me something I can actually use." "I do not know who," I said, forcing the words out even though my head was pounding. "The face was hidden. But it is someone close to you, someone you trust completely, and they will stab you from behind while the temple burns. I saw it so clearly, Vincent. Please, you have to cancel the ceremony and investigate everyone around you." "Cancel the ceremony?" Vincent laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Do you have any idea how that would make me look? The entire pack is expecting the full moon ceremony. We have guests coming from three neighboring territories. I cannot just cancel because you had a bad dream." "It was not a dream," I said desperately. "It was a prophecy. Every vision I have ever had has come true eventually. You know that." Vincent crossed his arms over his chest and stared at me with cold eyes that once looked at me with love. "Your visions have been wrong before, Mirabel. Remember when you said the northern border would be attacked last month? We stationed half our warriors there for three days and nothing happened. The pack is starting to think you are losing your gift, or worse, that you are making things up for attention." That accusation stung because it was not true, and he knew it. The northern border had been attacked, just two weeks later than my vision showed, but by then Vincent had already decided I was unreliable. He never apologized when my prophecies proved accurate after he ignored them. "Please," I begged, hating how weak I sounded but too frightened to care about pride. "I am your mate. I would never lie to you about something this important. You are going to die if you do not listen to me." "No," Vincent said flatly. "I am not canceling the ceremony, and I am not starting a witch hunt based on another one of your convenient visions. Maybe if you could tell me something useful, something specific, I would take you seriously. But vague warnings about mysterious killers are not helpful, Mirabel. They are just distracting." Before I could respond, the dining room door opened and Philip walked in, Vincent's Beta and closest friend. Philip was handsome in a sharp way, with dark hair and eyes that never seemed to miss anything, and he smiled at both of us like he had not just walked in on an argument. "Good morning, Alpha, Luna," he said smoothly. "I hope I am not interrupting." "Not at all," Vincent said quickly, his whole posture relaxing now that Philip was here. "Mirabel was just having another vision. Nothing important." The casual way he dismissed my prophecy, right in front of Philip, made me feel small and foolish. I stood up from the table, my legs still shaky, and tried to salvage some dignity. "It is important," I said quietly, looking directly at Philip even though my instincts were screaming at me to be careful around him. Something about the way he was watching me made my skin crawl, but I could not see him clearly in my vision, could not tell if he was the threat or just a witness. "Vincent is in danger. Someone close to him is planning to kill him during the full moon ceremony." Philip's eyebrows rose in concern, but I noticed that his eyes flickered to Vincent first, gauging his reaction before responding to me. "That is a serious accusation, Luna. Do you have any proof?" "I have my visions," I said, but even to my own ears it sounded weak. "With respect, Luna," Philip said gently, "visions are not proof. They are feelings, impressions. They could mean many things or nothing at all. Perhaps the stress of your position is affecting your gift." I wanted to scream that my visions were real, that they had saved lives and prevented disasters, but Vincent was nodding along with Philip's words like they made perfect sense. My mate was choosing to believe his Beta over me, and the betrayal of it made my chest ache worse than any vision ever had. "I think Philip is right," Vincent said. "You have been under a lot of pressure lately, Mirabel. Maybe you should rest instead of attending pack business this week." "Rest?" I repeated numbly. "Vincent, I just told you that you are going to be murdered in ten days and you want me to rest?" "I want you to stop embarrassing me with these dramatic predictions," Vincent snapped, and finally I saw real emotion in his face, but it was anger and shame, not fear or concern. "Every time you have a vision, you make it into a crisis that disrupts the whole pack. I need a Luna who supports me, not one who undermines my authority with constant warnings about disasters that never happen the way you say they will." The words hit me like physical blows, and I actually took a step backward. "I have never tried to undermine you. I am trying to save your life." "Then give me something I can use," Vincent said coldly. "A name, a location, a specific threat. Otherwise, keep your visions to yourself. I have a pack to run, and I cannot do it with you constantly crying wolf." He turned his back on me then, dismissing me completely, and started talking to Philip about border patrols like I was not even in the room. I stood there for a long moment, feeling the mate bond stretching thin between us, pulled taut by his rejection and my hurt. I wanted to rage and scream and force him to listen, but I was too tired and my head hurt too badly. So I left the dining room quietly, walking through the pack house halls with my head down, and I did not notice Andrea until she was right in front of me. "Mirabel," my former best friend said, and her voice was sweet as poison. "I heard raised voices. Is everything alright?" "Everything is fine," I lied automatically, because I had learned that showing weakness around Andrea was dangerous ever since she started competing with me for status in the pack. "Really?" Andrea tilted her head, studying my face with false concern. "Because you look terrible. Did you have another vision? You know, some of the pack members are saying that maybe your gift is fading. Prophets usually burn out young, do they not?" "My gift is not fading," I said through gritted teeth. "Of course not," Andrea agreed too quickly. "But you have to admit, your recent predictions have not been very accurate. And Vincent seems so frustrated with you lately. I heard him telling Philip that you are becoming more trouble than you are worth." The casual cruelty of her words stole my breath, especially because they might be true. Vincent had said almost exactly that during our last argument, when I warned him about attacks that did not come at the time I predicted. "Vincent is my mate," I said weakly. "He loves me." Andrea smiled, and it did not reach her eyes. "Does he? Because from where I stand, it looks like he is getting tired of you. Maybe you should be more careful, Mirabel. Mates can be rejected, especially when they become burdens instead of blessings." She walked away before I could respond, leaving me standing alone in the hallway with her words echoing in my head. Rejected. The mate bond could be severed through rejection, though it was rare and painful and left permanent scars on both wolves. Vincent would not do that to me. He could not. We were meant to be together. But doubt was creeping in, cold and suffocating, because Vincent had not touched me with affection in months, had not looked at me with warmth in weeks, and just this morning had dismissed my most important vision like it was meaningless noise. I made my way back to our bedroom, ignoring the pack members who whispered as I passed, and locked the door behind me. Then I collapsed on the bed and let myself cry, huge gasping sobs that shook my whole body, because I could feel everything falling apart and I did not know how to stop it. The vision came again while I was crying, forcing itself into my mind without warning, and this time I saw more details. The killer's hand had a distinctive scar across the knuckles, and the silver blade had strange symbols carved into the handle. The temple was burning but the fire looked wrong somehow, too controlled, like it had been set deliberately. And Vincent's last words before he died were not a plea for help or a curse at his killer, but my name, whispered with regret. When the vision released me I was curled in a ball on the bed, shaking violently, and I knew with absolute certainty that I had to make Vincent listen. If he died because I failed to convince him, I would never forgive myself. But a small, bitter part of my heart whispered that Vincent did not deserve saving, not if he was going to keep treating me like a burden and a liar instead of his mate and his oracle.