The city conspires against me; its unrelenting tide of traffic a cruel taunt in the face of my speed and desire to reach Father.
Brake lights glow like burning embers ahead, stretching into the distance, a sea of red frustration. My grip on the wheel tightened, knuckles turning white as I will the line of vehicles to move.
The radio drones in the background, the host’s voice laced with pure and unadulterated disdain.
“….She’s just a useless vase of a Luna! She’s enlighted and doesn’t deserve her post next to our great King…”
A sharp pang stabs through my chest, anger igniting deep in my belly. With a growl, I slam the power button, cutting off the sneering jests that plague my every step, but the silence is no better, seeking to feed on the anxiety that churns so violently through my core.
Father is waiting. He’s…
I shake my head, not willing the inevitable to be true. How can it be true? How will I go on….without him?
Breathe Siena.
As if the Moon herself hears my internal scream, the cars seem to part. Breaking through the sea of steel, I weave through the streets with reckless urgency. The pulse of my heart beats thunderously through my ears as the towering gates of Windhowl pack loom before me.
The compound that was once so rich and full of life has darkened of late as if it, too, knew deep in its bones of the tragedies
to come.
My foot won’t release the pedal any more than I can release the panic, the guards having barely enough time to scatter as tires screech against gravel, sending specks of dusty sorrow in the air.
The heavy oaken doors, doors that have seen many passings of the Alphas that came before us, slam open. The packhouse stands eerily silent, draped in an unnatural stillness, as if death has become it.
The usual sounds–warriors sparring, the barks and giggles of pups, the scent of fresh meats and breads from the kitchens- all are dead.
Instead, sorrow hangs in the air, thick, choking. My breath hitches; something is terribly wrong.
Have I run out of time? Is it too late?
“Rairity!”
My voice slices through the silence.
Hasty footsteps echo from the hallway; my assistant emerges from the shades of the staircase, a torch burning ominously in her hand.
Her face is tight with grief. “Siena, he’s…he’s-”
Rairity voice cracks. “Come quickly; he doesn’t have much more time. We’ve cut the lights; he says it gives the eyes of his wolf more comfort.”
I don’t wait. There’s nothing else for me to say. I need to see him.
Sprinting up the stairs, each step hammers against my chest like a drum beat from dred or the wars of the old times. I sprint
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Chapter 3
toward my doomed fate. The hallway stretches endlessly, and the heavy wooden doors of my father’s lair open like the mouth of a beast.
Rickard stands guard at the door.
“Siena-”
I tear past him.
