His gaze searches mine. “You truly believe this is important enough to risk your safety?”
“I think so.” I struggle to articulate the certainty I feel despite the vision’s fragmentation. “The prophecy, Ryker. Tomorrow might be when you confront Thaddeus.”
His expression hardens, determination replacing concern. “Then we prepare accordingly. Double guards, additional precautions.”
The image of myself in chains flashes through my mind again, disturbingly vivid. “If we’re separated?”
“We won’t be,” he says with absolute conviction. “No matter what happens, I will find you. I will always find you.”
The certainty in his voice should comfort me, but the lingering impression of that final vision—me alone, bound in silver, cut off from our bond—haunts me as we prepare for sleep.
As Ryker’s breathing deepens beside me, sleep eludes me. I stare into the darkness, turning over fragments of the vision like puzzle pieces that refuse to form a coherent whole. The woman’s voice in that final moment nags at my memory—familiar yet strangely distorted, speaking of duty and necessity.
Whose voice? What duty? What ending?
The questions circle without resolution until exhaustion finally claims me, dragging me into uneasy dreams of silver chains and severed bonds.
Dawn breaksclear and cold over the Shadowmist territory, the mountain peaks catching first light while the valleys remain shrouded in shadow. Our preparations begin early—weapons checked and secured, final strategies confirmed.
Ryker stands before me in his full alpha regalia—black clothing of the finest materials, gold symbols of the Shadowmist Pack gleaming at his throat and wrists. Power radiates from him in almost visible waves, his authority absolute and unquestioned.
“Here,” he says, presenting me with a bundle wrapped in soft leather. “For you.”
I unwrap it to find a dagger unlike any I’ve seen before. Its blade seems to shift between silver and shadow depending on how light falls across its surface, its hilt carved with the same runes that mark Ryker’s shoulder.
“Shadow silver,” he explains as I examine it with reverent fingers. “Extremely rare. Lethal to wolf-kind when in our blood stream but doesn’t cause the burning reaction of pure silver when touching our skin.”
“It’s beautiful,” I murmur, testing its balance in my hand.
“And deadly, in the right hands.” His fingers close over mine around the wooden hilt. “Zella tells me you’ve become quite skilled with blade work during your training.”
Pride warms me at his acknowledgment of my progress. I’ve thrown myself into combat training with single-minded determination, driven by the knowledge that I cannot rely solely on others for protection in the coming conflict.
I’m not the best, but I can hold my own if required.
“Keep it concealed but accessible,” he instructs. “Use it only if absolutely necessary, but without hesitation if that moment comes.”
I nod, understanding both the gift and the responsibility it represents. The dagger disappears into a specially designed sheath at my waist, hidden by the folds of my dress but ready to hand if needed.
The clothing chosen for me makes its own statement—a fitted dress in the Shadowmist colors of black and silver, but cut to allow freedom of movement unlike the restrictive garments typically worn by Alpha Females. The claiming mark at my throat remains deliberately visible, a clear declaration of my status and protection.
“Ready?” Ryker asks as our final preparations conclude.
I reach for our bond, drawing strength from his unwavering presence. “Yes.”
But neither of us moves right away.
He steps in close, hands finding my waist as his forehead lowers to mine. We stand there for a long moment, breathing in sync, hearts aligned. His thumbs trace soft circles through the fabric at my hips, grounding me with his touch.
Then he kisses me.
It’s not rushed, hungry, or desperate. This is no goodbye kiss. It’s a promise, a reminder that I’m not facing this alone, and neither is he.
When we part, his forehead finds mine again. We don’t speak. We don’t need to.
We descend to the den’s main entrance where our escort awaits—Lithia and Elias in formal attire that doesn’t quite conceal the weapons they carry. The three elite fighters—Thorn, Vex, and Ash—and Zella, are dressed more practically in clothing designed for quick movement rather than ceremonial impression. More wolves follow—our extra guards.
“Alpha Female,” Zella greets me with a respectful nod. “I’ll be at your side throughout the summit. Just signal if you need anything.”
