The memory came in fragments—like moonlight through shattered glass.
Seraphine stood in the Temple of Thorns, her fingers brushing the obsidian altar. The moment she touched it, the spell unraveled. Her mind flooded with images not her own: a woman with hair like starlight and eyes like hers, cradling a newborn wrapped in silk. A man with antlers and tattoos of flame, whispering ancient words over her skin.
Her true parents.
High Fae of the Moonfire Court. Guardians of balance. Rebels against the corruption spreading through the Fae realms.
They had hidden her not out of shame, but out of desperation. A war was coming—one that would use her as a weapon. The prophecy had marked her, and the High Courts wanted control. So her parents cloaked her magic, sealed her identity, and placed her in the human world with a mortal couple bound by blood debt.
But the couple feared her. And fear curdled into cruelty.
Her parents had hoped she’d awaken when it was safe.
They hadn’t lived long enough to see it.
Each of the Pact members had read the prophecy. Each carried its weight differently.
Ronan saw it as a curse. He didn’t believe in fate—only fire and strength. To him, Seraphine was a spark that could ignite war. He didn’t trust prophecy, but he couldn’t ignore the pull in his blood when she was near.
Kael feared it. He had lost everything to prophecy once before—his pack, his mate, his honor. He didn’t want to be bound again. But Seraphine’s scent stirred something ancient in him. Something he couldn’t fight.
Thorne romanticized it. He believed in destiny, in soul bonds, in magic older than the tides. To him, Seraphine was the answer to centuries of longing. He wanted to protect her, yes—but he also wanted to belong.
Lucien studied it. He had dissected every line, every rune, every hidden meaning. He saw Seraphine as a convergence point—a living spell. He didn’t fear her. He revered her. And he would burn anyone who tried to use her.
Seraphine found the temple by accident—or so she thought.
The forest had led her there, whispering in languages she didn’t know she understood. Vines parted. Stones glowed. The air shimmered with old magic.
The Temple was ancient, overgrown, and alive. Thorns curled around its pillars, blooming with silver flowers that pulsed with light. At its center stood the altar—obsidian, cracked, and waiting.
When she touched it, her tattoos flared. Her eyes glowed. And the truth spilled into her mind like wildfire.
She wasn’t cursed.
She was chosen.
He stepped from the shadows like he belonged to them.
Kael.
Silver-haired, storm-eyed, and silent. His presence was a growl in the air, a warning and a promise. He didn’t speak at first. Just watched her. Studied her. His scent was pine and blood and moonlight.
“You found it,” he said finally, voice low and rough.
Seraphine turned, heart racing. “You know what this place is?”
Kael nodded. “It’s where the prophecy begins.”
She stared at him. “And you?”
“I’m one of the reasons it ends.”
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