Page 47 of Moonlit Fate

Shaking off the last remnants of the downpour, I took a step into the dining room, where the air was heavy with expectation. My eyes quickly adjusted to the dim light, catching sight of the scattered plates and half-empty goblets.

At the head of the table sat Ragnar—my father, my alpha, and the anchor of our family. His imposing figure was rigid, his hands clasped tightly as if holding back the fury that flickered in his silver eyes that were so like my own. The aura of anger and disappointment that radiated from him had turned the very air denser, making it harder to breathe.

“Father,” I said in the vast silence.

He did not respond, simply regarded me with a look that could freeze flames.

Beside him, Larkin, the man chosen for me, the one who believed he was destined to claim me as his mate, lounged with an ease that ignored the fact that he was a dirty traitor. His unkempt jet-black hair fell over his forehead, framing piercing eyes that now watched me with a mix of amusement and arrogance. That smirk of his, so self-satisfied, so sure of victory,made my skin crawl. It was the look of a predator that had already ensnared its prey.

“Quite the dramatic entrance,” Larkin said. “Though I must say, the drowned rat look is rather unbecoming.”

The comment ignited a spark of anger within me. “Perhaps it’s a new trend, Larkin. You should try it sometime. Might wash away some of that smugness.”

My retort earned me a sharp glance from my father, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. Not when I was so utterly disgusted about the situation being forced on me, with Larkin at the center of it all.

“Sit down,” my father ordered. “We have much to discuss.”

Resigned, I moved toward my usual place. Each step was like moving through molasses, the distance between safety and the snare ahead impossibly long.

As I took my seat, silence settled once more, thick and suffocating. I clenched my jaw, bracing for the incoming fury. This was the game we played, a dance of dominance and submission, where every move could either be a step toward freedom or a descent into a fate that would bind me forever. And as the players took their positions, only one thing was certain: I would not yield without a fight.

“Where have you been?” Father asked without looking at me. “You’re late.”

“I lost track of time,” I said as I wiped at my face. “And then the storm just came out of nowhere.”

Larkin, with that infuriating smirk, said smoothly, “With your new friend, perhaps? Or is it something more?”

“I was alone,” I ground out. “Not that there would be anything wrong with me spending time with someone ofmychoosing.”

Ragnar’s piercing eyes shifted, locking onto the delicate bracelet encircling my wrist. An innocuous piece of jewelry toanyone else, but under his scrutiny, it might as well have been a shackle.

“And this?” he said. “Where did you get it?”

“It was a gift,” I said, twisting the bracelet around my wrist. “From a friend.”

“Aria,” Father said, “I expect transparency and honesty. Especially now, with everything that’s at stake for our pack.” He leaned back, his chair creaking under the burden of his disappointment. “Larkin here tells me you’ve been sneaking off pack lands, keeping company with undesirables. Is this true?”

I swallowed hard, my heart thundering in my ears. My father’s expectations were a chasm I could not bridge. Not with honesty, not without betraying myself.

“Is it?” he pressed.

His expectant gaze drilled into me, a visceral reminder that evasion was no longer an option. The truth, an untamed thing, begged for release.

“Father,” I whispered as I steadied myself, “there is… there is something you need to know.” Dammit. I didn’t want to do this with Larkin here, but there was no time to wait. “I’ve learned of a prophecy. One that speaks of change, of a reckoning.”

Ragnar’s brow furrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line. “A prophecy?” he said, skepticism lacing his tone like poison.

“Yes, and it involves a rogue wolf.” The words tumbled desperately from my lips. “An outsider who—” I caught myself, swallowing the name that threatened to spill forth and brand my confidante.

“Who what?” he boomed, a crescendo of betrayal and incredulity. “You stand here in our home, spinning tales of rogues and omens while our pack teeters on the precipice?”

The accusation stung, a thousand needles pricking at my pride. “It is not just a tale,” I protested, my own anger flaring to match his. “It’s real, and it’s important.”

“Important?” Ragnar’s laughter was a harsh, grating sound. Scornful. “With our enemies closing in, with our very survival at stake, you choose now to indulge in fairy tales?”

My cheeks burned, humiliation and fury battling within me. “It’s not like that,” I said. “This is bigger than?—”

“Than our pack? Than your duty?” His disappointment had me rearing back, as if his words could physically wound me.

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