OMEGA

CHAPTER TWO

THE LETTER 💌

The letter trembled in Amara’s hands.

The seal was real. She had seen it on her mother’s journals, waxed over private messages, sealed with a wolf etched in gold—the mark of the Lunar Crest bloodline. Her bloodline. It had no business being here, not two years after her mother’s death, not in the hands of a strange man with golden eyes.

She took a breath and peeled the seal open.

The parchment inside was old, soft at the edges. Her mother’s handwriting, delicate and elegant, stretched across the page.

---

MY DEAREST AMARA,

If you're reading this, then you've turned eighteen. That means you're ready. Ready to know what I couldn’t tell you before.

There are truths in your blood, secrets older than this land, and you must be prepared for what’s coming. You are not like the others. You never were. You carry something rare… something sacred.

You are one of the White Wolves.

The last one was born a hundred and twelve years ago. A she-wolf of moonlight fur and eyes like frozen fire. You are the next. The only one.

White Wolves don’t just lead. They awaken. Power. Prophecy. War.

Which is why the world will come for you. And why they killed us.

Don’t trust the mate bond blindly. The moon goddess has her reasons, but even fated mates can be manipulated. Betrayed. Chosen poorly.

You must become who you were born to be. You must survive. And when the time comes… you must lead.

Forgive me for leaving you with this burden. But I believe in you, my child. And so does the moon.

—MOTHER

---

The paper fell from her hands.

Her chest rose and fell, breath catching in her throat.

White Wolf.

The words echoed in her skull, over and over, like a drumbeat.

She had heard of them—every pup had. Ancient legends passed down in hushed tones, stories of wolves born under eclipses, said to possess abilities tied to the moon itself. Some said they could command nature. Others said they could shatter bonds. Some believed they were harbingers of war.

But no one believed they were real.

They were myths.

But then… wasn’t her entire life starting to feel like one?

A rejection without reason. A silent wolf. The letter. The strange man. Her mother’s warnings. Her blood felt too loud in her veins now, her skin almost buzzing, as if something inside her had been waiting for this truth to be spoken.

She staggered to her feet, clutching the letter, unsure whether she wanted to scream or collapse.

THEY WERE KILLED BECAUSE OF ME.

Her hands curled into fists.

She had always blamed fate. She thought maybe her parents were just in the wrong place. But now… it was because of her. Her blood. Her lineage. Her potential. A child hunted before she could become something more.

“No,” she whispered to herself, voice shaking. “No more hiding.”

For two years, she had been walking through shadows. But something had changed. She felt it. Deep beneath her ribs. Like her wolf was stirring. Like it heard the call of the truth.

Still silent. But no longer asleep.

She turned back toward the path. She needed to talk to her grandmother. She needed answers.

But before she could take a step, something sharp pierced the air—a howl.

Not close. Not far. But wrong.

She froze.

It wasn’t a pack call. It was wild. Pained. Dangerous.

Another followed. Then a second. A third.

Her heart dropped.

Rogues.

She sprinted back toward the village, letter clenched tightly in her fist. Her muscles burned but her legs didn’t stop. The trees blurred. The world narrowed to instinct.

When she reached the edge of the training field, the chaos had already begun.

Wolves were shifting mid-run, fur exploding through skin. Shouts filled the air. Claws collided. The scent of blood was fresh—iron and panic.

Rogues had breached the outer fence. No one knew how. No one had expected them.

She scanned the crowd, her vision wild.

Where was her grandmother?

She ducked behind the weapons shed, breathing heavily. She wasn’t trained like the others. She’d never fought since the night of the attack. But something in her was different now.

She could feel it. Her blood surged like lightning.

Her vision sharpened. Sounds amplified. She smelled everything—fear, sweat, copper, and—

Him.

Her breath caught.

Lucien.

She saw him across the chaos, in his wolf form—black as midnight, powerful, brutal, tearing through two rogues with savage precision. His eyes, even in his wolf state, burned with something almost… conflicted.

And for a second, their eyes met.

Just for a heartbeat.

But he looked away again. Cold. Distant. As if he’d never seen her before. As if she didn’t still carry the ache of his rejection like a fresh wound.

Her stomach twisted.

But she had no time to dwell. Another rogue broke through the line, racing toward the east hut—where the pups trained. Where the elders hid.

And her grandmother.

“No—” she whispered, and took off running.

She didn’t shift. She couldn’t. But her legs moved faster than they ever had. She grabbed a staff from the shed and sprinted toward the hut, heart thundering.

The rogue was almost there when she leapt into its path, swinging the staff with both hands.

It struck the creature across the jaw with a sickening crack.

The rogue howled in rage and turned on her.

Amara didn’t flinch.

Something deep inside her surged.

The rogue lunged. She ducked, spun, slammed the staff into its ribs. It collapsed, wheezing, dazed.

And just then, she heard footsteps behind her.

Not the rogue. Someone else.

She turned—Lucien stood there, fully shifted back into human form, bare-chested and bloodied.

He looked at her—really looked at her—for the first time in weeks.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” he snapped, grabbing her arm.

She yanked away. “Protecting my pack. What are you doing? Standing around?”

“You’re going to get yourself killed.”

She lifted her chin. “Maybe that’s easier than being rejected in front of half the pack.”

His jaw clenched. “I didn’t—”

“Don’t.” Her voice shook. “You already said enough.”

Something in his eyes flickered. Regret? Anger? Pain?

She didn’t care.

She stepped around him and headed for the hut. Her grandmother was safe inside. She could feel it.

But Lucien called after her, voice lower now. Raw.

“Amara… you don’t know what you are.”

She stopped cold.

Slowly, she turned back. Her heart slammed once against her ribs.

“What did you just say?”

But he said nothing else.

Just stared at her, jaw tight, breathing heavy.

As if he knew.

As if he had known all along.