Page 2 of Cursed By Fate

I walked out into the cold, the air sharp with ice and magic. Stormvale pulsed beneath me, a warning in every breath of wind.

Let fate play its games.

I had a war to start.

Chapter one

Serena

The forest didn’t feel right tonight.

Shadows stretched too long beneath the towering pines, reaching like twisted claws over the rain-softened earth. Each sound—the trill of crickets, the heavy flap of an owl’s wings—itched against my skin. The air was too still, too heavy, and my instincts whispered what I didn’t want to admit: I wasn’t alone.

I halted mid-step, boots sinking into the damp, mossy earth, and reached for the blade strapped to my thigh. My fingerstightened against the leather hilt as I scanned the trees around me. Nothing. No movement, no scent… but my wolf stirred anyway, restless beneath my skin.

It wasn’t paranoia.

It was survival.

They called it “patrolling,” but I wasn’t stupid. I wasn’t guarding the border; I was being thrown to it. This was punishment dressed as duty—a convenient way to dispose of me at the edge of the Silver Ridge borders, where I couldn’t draw attention to myself. They knew I’d rather run a hundred miles solo than endure another hour as the unwelcome outcast in our camp. Even my father, the great alpha of Silver Ridge, didn’t bother pretending he wanted me there.

I exhaled sharply and rubbed at the crescent moon etched into my wrist. It gleamed pale against my skin, faintly illuminated by the deep lavender wash of twilight. Crescent moon. Stars. Such an innocent mark for something that had made me an outcast in my own pack.

My father, brilliant and distant as ever, had told me it was my birthright. That I was special. For a child desperate for approval, those words had been intoxicating once. But the truth had turned sour by the time I was old enough to understand. The curse was something more—a scar, a reminder of ancestral sins, and I was marked to pay the price. Those born bearing the mark must find a way to break the curse, or they’ll never be able to form a true mate bond. Without a mate, sometimes the marked grow wild with fury and rage, making them a threat to themselves or others. Like a real ticking time bomb. It was also a signal to my packmates that I wasn’t one of them. Not really.

I could handle the whispers and the stares, even the isolation. I'd stopped craving acceptance years ago. But every time I caught my father’s gaze—hard, sharp, and shadowed withexhaustion—I saw the weight of his disappointment and the fear of what I might become. That, I couldn’t forgive.

“You’ll never be free,” his voice murmured in my head, a ghost of his latest admonishment that haunted me still. “You’ll wander like a lost soul until fate decides otherwise. That’s what you are, Serena. A burden the pack must carry.”

I snorted in defiance, fists clenching around the blade as I kept walking. Screw him. Screw all of them. If the Silver Ridge pack saw me as a burden, then they didn’t deserve my loyalty. Loneliness had teeth, but so did I.

Still, the forest hung heavy tonight—heavier than usual.

I crouched low to the damp earth, calming my pulse as I took in a deep breath. The air should’ve been clean, full of the familiar scents of pine sap and decaying leaves. But beneath that, so faint it pinched against my awareness, was a scent I didn’t recognize—sharp, smoky, metallic.

And getting closer.

I didn’t have time to react.

The beast erupted from the tree line with a snarl, a blur of brown fur and barreling muscle that came straight for my throat. My knife was in my hand in an instant as I twisted away, narrowly dodging its snapping jaws. There wasn’t time to think—just to survive.

I lashed out, the blade finding its mark against the wolf’s shoulder, and it howled. Before I could strike again, more shadows emerged from the trees, their glowing eyes locking on me with terrifying precision. They shouldn’t have been here. Theyweren’t supposed to be here.

“Stormvale wolves,” I hissed, my voice raw as the snarl of my inner wolf surged to my throat.

The Stormvale pack knew our borders as well as we knew theirs. The Silver Ridge wolves were certainly no friends of the Stormvale pack, yet we weren’t their typical targets, either. Theorigins of our hostility had faded into obscurity, with no recent raids or battles for territory... until tonight. They’d crossed the border into Silver Ridge, which meant they weren’t here for posturing or empty threats. They’d come armed, coordinated, and determined for blood.

Why?

Rumors of rising tensions had crept through Silver Ridge for weeks, but no one took them seriously. Until now. Two wolves charged me from opposite sides, their movements fluid and terrifyingly synchronized. My boots skidded against the slick earth as I dropped to the ground, narrowly avoiding a set of snapping jaws that passed just inches from my neck.

A feral growl ripped from my chest as I tossed the blade aside and let the shift take me.

The change hit like a thunderclap—bones snapping, skin dissolving into silver fur, the forest suddenly hyper-sharp, colors brighter, smells overwhelming. Rage pulsed under my skin now, replacing the sharp thorns of fear, and I didn’t hesitate. I lunged for the nearest wolf, biting down hard enough to taste blood as my claws raked its ribs.

One down. Five more circling.

I was trained for defense, not a six-on-one assault. And definitely not for him.

---