Wicked waters The Alphas mate prophecy

Wicked Waters: Blood moon Rising

Chapter One: Blood Moon Rising

Cyrus had never been the kind of Alpha to kneel for anyone. To him, dominance wasn’t a matter of pride, but of survival. The world owed him nothing, and he wasn’t about to give it anything in return, not even mercy.

The full moon hung low in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the dark city streets as Cyrus stalked through the wreckage he’d left in his wake. His senses were heightened, every nerve thrumming with the promise of something—the one thing he had been hunting for years. His fated mate.

"She's close," Cyrus muttered to himself, his voice as dangerous as the shadows he moved through. "I can feel it."

Behind him, the city smoldered, buildings half-collapsed in the wake of his fury. It hadn’t been intentional—at least not at first—but the more the city resisted, the more he had wanted to break it. And now, there were few who still dared stand against him, fewer still who lived to tell the tale. His pack had already claimed dominion over the ruins, but his mind was elsewhere, consumed by thoughts of her.

Navirah.

Her name had come to him like a whisper in the wind, a soft, tantalizing promise that made the beast within him stir. Fated mates were supposed to be rare, almost mythical. But the Alpha inside him had never believed in fate. Until now.

He had killed half a city, leaving nothing but blood and ash, all because something—some unseen force—had drawn him to this place. To her.

She had to be here, somewhere.

Cyrus' heart pounded as the scent of saltwater and sweet, intoxicating jasmine hit his nose. His senses screamed, guiding him to the coast, where the waves kissed the shore with an almost mournful rhythm.

That’s when he saw her.

Standing near the water’s edge, her back to him, Navirah was everything he had imagined and more. Her long, dark hair cascaded over her shoulders like a waterfall of midnight silk, the moonlight tracing every curve of her body. She was beautiful, yes, but there was something more—something otherworldly. A presence so powerful it seemed to make the very earth hum in reverence.

And she was his.

But as Cyrus stepped forward, the wind shifted, carrying with it a chill that sent a shiver down his spine. Navirah turned slowly, as if she had sensed him before he even moved. Her eyes—pale like the moon and piercing like the deepest ocean depths—locked onto his, and for the briefest moment, the world stopped.

She gasped.

The recognition was instant, the raw pull between them undeniable. But as much as her body seemed to crave his touch, her mind was filled with confusion and fear.

"You…" she whispered, her voice shaky. "What are you?"

"I’m Cyrus," he replied, his voice deep, rough, as though the very air crackled with his presence. "And you, Navirah, are mine."

Her eyes widened, a rush of emotion flooding her gaze—something between disbelief and fear—and then, without warning, she turned and fled, her footsteps light and fast as she vanished into the night.

Cyrus cursed under his breath. She didn’t know. Of course she didn’t. She had no idea what she was, what she meant to him, what she meant to the entire world. She was not just any woman. She was the woman—the one who had been marked for him long before either of them had drawn their first breath.

But before he could chase after her, something dark and unfamiliar began to swirl in the air around him. A pulse. An energy. A warning.

Cyrus froze, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon. The air seemed to thicken, charged with a power far beyond his own. There was something else out here, something that didn’t belong. And he knew, instinctively, that it was here for her.

He snarled, his fangs gleaming in the moonlight. "Not tonight," he growled.

Navirah ran as if the night itself were chasing her. The familiar sound of crashing waves against the shore did nothing to comfort her as she sprinted down the darkened beach, her breath ragged in her chest. The figure of the man who had appeared at the water’s edge haunted her thoughts. His presence… it felt like something ancient, something primal.

“Cyrus.”

That name, that voice, reverberated in her mind, stirring something deep inside her—something she had never allowed herself to acknowledge.

She was born in the Caribbean, far from anything that could explain what was happening to her now. Raised as a human with no knowledge of the magic that ran through her blood, Navirah had always been different. Strange things happened around her, things she couldn’t explain. The small flicker of flame that danced from her fingers when she was angry. The inexplicable light that surrounded her when she felt overwhelmed. But it wasn’t until she saw him—Cyrus—that everything shifted.

She had heard whispers of beings like him: werewolves, shapeshifters, creatures from stories mothers told their children at night. But it wasn’t possible. This was her life, and she had worked too hard to stay grounded, to keep herself from losing her sanity.

But what she felt for him… it wasn’t just the connection of a man and woman. It was something older. Something fated.

"Stop running, Navirah."

The voice was deep, commanding, and it stopped her in her tracks. She turned, heart hammering in her chest, her lungs searing from the effort.

Cyrus stood there, the darkness swirling around him like an aura. He was no longer just a man. His form seemed to ripple, the wolf inside him fighting to break free. She could see it now—the power in his eyes, the strength in the way he stood.

"You need to come with me," he said, his voice softer now, but just as dangerous.

"I don't know you," she said, trembling, though she wasn’t sure if it was fear or something else. "I don’t know anything about this. What are you? What are you talking about?"

He took a step closer, his eyes never leaving hers. "You’re not human, Navirah. You’ve never been. You’re a wolf. You’re a witch. And you’re an angel. You’re everything the world has been waiting for. And I’m here to claim you."

Her breath caught in her throat. "No. You’re lying. I’m just… I’m just me."

He shook his head. "You’re not just anything. You’re my fated mate. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make you see that."

Tears welled in her eyes as the weight of his words pressed down on her chest. The fear that had been building for years finally bubbled over into something darker. She couldn’t explain it, but she felt it. The magic. The power. The undeniable truth that ran beneath her skin, just waiting to be unlocked.

But the moment was shattered by a shriek—loud and bone-chilling—from somewhere in the darkness.

Cyrus’ eyes flickered to the sound, and the air seemed to grow colder. "They’re coming," he murmured. "We have to go. Now."

:: Revelations in the Dark

Cyrus could feel the disturbance before he heard it—a creeping, malevolent energy that spread like wildfire across the air.

"They’ve found us," he growled, his body tensing as he turned to Navirah, who was still frozen in place, her chest heaving with confusion and fear. "We have to leave now. I can explain later, but we don’t have time."

Navirah shook her head, her eyes wide with terror. "What do you mean? Who are they?"

Cyrus didn’t answer immediately. His senses were on high alert. The wind picked up, howling around them, and the faintest hint of shadowy figures began to emerge from the tree line. Dark, twisted shapes with glowing eyes—hunters. Creatures like him, but not like him. They were something worse.

"They’re after you," Cyrus muttered, his voice barely above a growl. "And they’ll kill you if they get the chance."

Before Navirah could say anything else, Cyrus moved, his body a blur of motion as he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her toward the water.

"We need to go, now," he insisted, his grip firm and unyielding.

But as they reached the shoreline, a figure stepped from the shadows. Tall and gaunt, with an aura of cold power that made Cyrus’ blood run cold.

"Not so fast, Alpha," the figure sneered. "You think you can just take what belongs to us?"