“Not again,” Freya whispered, her voice trembling as she bolted upright in her bed.
Beads of sweat clung to her forehead, and her chest heaved like she had just run a marathon.
The vision lingered in her mind: the crackle of flames, the stench of burning fur, and the anguished screams of the Nightclaw wolves.
She stumbled to her feet, gripping the edge of the table for balance. “I can’t let this happen. Not to them. Not again.”
She rushed out of her room to find Alpha Gray.
Gray was in the training grounds when she found him, barking orders at a group of warriors. The morning sun reflected off his sweat-slicked skin, his movements precise and commanding.
“Alpha Gray!” Freya called out, her voice breaking through the grunts and clang of weapons.
Gray turned, his sharp gaze narrowing at the urgency in her tone. “Freya, this isn’t a good time.”
“It’s not just a good time—it’s the only time!” she snapped, marching toward him. “We need to talk. Now.”
The warriors exchanged glances, murmuring among themselves, but Gray held up a hand to silence them. His eyes locked onto Freya's. “Speak.”
She hesitated for a moment, feeling the weight of their stares. “Not here. It’s... private.”
Gray sighed, clearly irritated, but nodded. “Take a break,” he ordered the warriors before following Freya to a secluded corner of the training grounds.
As soon as they were out of earshot, Freya turned to him, her voice low but urgent. “I had another vision.”
Gray’s jaw tightened. “And?”
“The pack... it’s in flames, Gray. Everyone’s screaming, dying. It’s just like what happened to mine.” Her voice cracked, but she pressed on. “You have to take this seriously.”
Gray crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. “You’ve seen this before? The same way?”
“Yes,” she said, her hands trembling. “And it came true. My entire pack was wiped out because no one believed me. I won’t let that happen again.”
He stared at her, his piercing eyes searching her face for any sign of deception. “What caused the fire in your vision?”
“I... I don’t know,” she admitted. “It was chaos. Attackers, maybe. But it was fast, unstoppable.”
Gray shook his head. “Visions aren’t guarantees, Freya. They’re possibilities. I can’t uproot the pack every time you see something.”
Her frustration boiled over. “This isn’t about uprooting the pack! It’s about preparing for what’s coming. If you don’t listen to me, they’ll die!”
Gray’s eyes flared with anger. “Do you think I take the safety of my pack lightly? I’ve fought for them, bled for them, and I won’t let fear dictate my decisions.”
“It’s not fear; it’s a warning!” she shot back. “You’re so blinded by your pride that you can’t see the danger right in front of you!”
Gray’s expression darkened, and for a moment, Freya thought he might yell at her. But instead, he took a step closer, his voice dropping to a cold, measured tone. “You don’t know this pack like I do. And you certainly don’t know me.”
Freya clenched her fists, fighting back tears of frustration. “I know enough to see that you’re risking everything because you can’t swallow your damn pride.”
Gray stared at her for a long moment before turning away. “We’re done here.”
“Gray—”
“I said we’re done,” he snapped, walking back to the training grounds without a backward glance.
****
The forest was eerily quiet as Freya moved through the shadows, her senses on high alert. She needed to find the source of the danger—whether it was a rival pack, rogues, or something else entirely.
Hours passed, and Freya began to doubt herself. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe the vision wouldn’t come true this time.
But then she heard it: the faint rustle of leaves, the whisper of movement just beyond the trees.
She crouched low, her heart pounding, and peered through the darkness. A group of figures moved silently through the forest, their movements too coordinated to be random.
Rogues.
Freya's breath caught as she counted them—dozens, maybe more. They were heavily armed, their intent clear.
She had to warn the pack.
Freya turned to run, but a branch snapped beneath her foot, and the rogues froze.
“There!” one of them shouted.
Freya bolted, adrenaline surging through her veins as the rogues gave chase. Branches whipped at her face, and her lungs burned, but she didn’t stop.
The lights of the packhouse came into view, and she screamed at the top of her lungs. “Gray! Rogues!”
The warriors on patrol snapped to attention, their howls echoing into the night as they raced to intercept the attackers.
Gray emerged from the packhouse, his eyes blazing as he barked orders. “Form a perimeter! Protect the pack!”
Freya stumbled to his side, gasping for breath. “They’re coming—dozens of them. They’re heavily armed.”
Gray’s gaze flicked to her, his expression unreadable. “You were right.”
“Too late for that now,” Freya said, her voice bitter.
The first wave of rogues crashed against the pack’s defenses, and chaos erupted. Freya watched, helpless, as the scene from her vision unfolded before her eyes.
But this time, she wouldn’t stand by and let it happen.
This time, she would fight.