Page 117 of Wings of Shadow
Cassandra’s gaze turns grave. “One that tears through the veil between realms.”
Ice skitters down my spine. I’ve seen this darkness in my visions, felt it in the pages of the Book of Vaelmir.
Kaisner shifts beside me, his hand tightening around mine—a silent reminder of his vow.
“Some of you may have doubts,” Cassandra continues, her voice soft but unwavering. “I understand. But this is no longer theory or myth. The signs are clear.”
“Signs?” Vladimir interrupts, his voice edged with skepticism, his fingers steepled as he watches Cassandra closely. “Forgive me, Cassandra, but talk of prophecies and veil-tearing sounds like something out of a grim fairytale. We need more than poetry.”
“There is more,” I interject before Cassandra can reply. “Visions. Glimpses of terror and destruction threatening us all.” I pause, gathering the strength to meet their eyes. “They began weeks ago. At first, I thought it was just noise in my head. But they’ve grown stronger. Clearer.”
A beat of silence hangs in the air.
“It’s true,” Nik adds, his voice steady. “She told me about them even before Paris. Before Kaisner shifted.”
“Clarissa’s visions are the first ripple in a much deeper current,” Cassandra says, full of certainty. Her stormy eyes take in every face in the room, steady, unflinching. “The Book of Vaelmir has awakened.” She looks directly at me, her gaze piercing, before carrying on. “Pages once veiled to even our strongest seers now spill ink like tears.”
A long silence follows, thick with anticipation.
“And something ancient has risen in Spain,” she adds, her voice low, almost a whisper.
That draws several raised brows.
“In the Pyrenees,” Cassandra continues. “A temple, long believed to have collapsed during the Shadow Wars, has reemerged. León, alpha of the Regalis pride, tells me the mountains trembled beneath his territory. He believes the structure didn’t just rise—it was pulled forward. Or backward. He sensed the twist in time itself.”
Unease grips the room. The air thickens, the significance of her words pressing down on us all.
“But the most disturbing sign is this,” Cassandra says, her voice barely audible now. “Juliette has experienced it firsthand. Not once, but twice.” She looks at me before speaking again. “Last Yule, in Draken Manor, she stepped through a corridor and came face to face with Willem Von Draken.”
I gasp involuntarily, shock and wonder clashing inside me.
Nikolaas goes rigid beside Samara, his eyes narrowing. “My… ancestor?” His voice is hoarse.
“And Juliette’s late husband,” Cassandra adds solemnly. “Three centuries gone, and yet… she spoke with him. Touched him.”
Before I can fully process this revelation, the great doors of the study creak open.
All eyes turn.
Juliette Deveraux enters, tall and poised in an emerald silk gown. Her red hair falls like a fiery cascade down her back. Her companion is striking—lean, elegant, and pale, with dark green eyes. Ivan Lockhart. His presence is commanding, though he remains silent.
Kaisner straightens beside me. Even Gavriil stops mid-sentence his murmured words to Vladimir, his attention caught by Juliette’s entrance.
Juliette’s gaze sweeps across the room, cold yet calculating. “I’m sorry we’re late,” she says, her voice carrying an almost imperceptible tension.
Cassandra steps aside. She nods, gesturing to the chair behind the imposing desk. “Juliette, please.”
The Grand Witch dismisses the offer with a subtle headshake. Ivan releases her arm with a soft kiss to her knuckles, standing behind her like a sentinel.
When she turns to face the room, there’s something rare in her—vulnerability.
“Last week,” she begins, her tone soft but clear, “a ripple passed through the manor’s east wing. A distortion—felt more than seen. The air thickened. The clocks stopped. The chandeliers flickered blue, though there was no wind.”
The room falls into absolute silence.
“The disruption lasted the longest minutes of my life,” she continues, her eyes distant, haunted. “But as it happened… I could swear I smelled Willem’s cologne. Heard his voice.”
I hold my breath, waiting for the impact of her words to settle.
