Well. That complicated things.
“That’s why they were killed,” Malachar said, the pieces clicking together. “The Mirabelles. Maybe they knew what their daughter would become?”
“And someone wanted to make sure she never got the chance,” Wen added. “Someone wanted the prophecy to die with her. Could be.”
But Riley hadn’t died. She’d survived. Escaped through a portal, raised in hiding, her true nature suppressed for decades.
Until I found her, and my bite awakened the wolf that had been sleeping inside her all along. No pressure or anything.
I pulled her closer, my arms tightening around her protectively. Whatever this meant, whatever was coming, I would face it with her. Fight for her. Kill for her if necessary.
She was mine. And I would let nothing, not prophecy, not war, not the goddess herself, take her from me.
“Well,” Riley said finally, her voice cracking. “That’s... a lot.”
“Understatement,” Malachar muttered.
“I went from ‘maybe a romance novelist’ to ‘definitely a werewolf’ to ‘apparently the subject of an ancient prophecy’ in, what, four days?” Riley laughed, but there was no humor in it. “That’s a lot of identity crises for one week.”
“To be fair,” Wen said gently, “you were always the subject of the prophecy. You just didn’t know it.”
“Oh, that makes it so much better. Thanks.”
“What do we do now?” Wen asked.
I looked down at Riley. At the woman I loved, who had just discovered she was the center of a prophecy that could shake the foundations of our world.
“Now,” I said, “we find out exactly what that prophecy means. And we make sure the war it speaks of never happens.”
Riley’s gaze found mine. Her eyes were wet, but steel glinted beneath the tears.
“And if it does happen?”
I cupped her face in my hands, resting my forehead against hers.
“Then we fight,” I said. “Together. And we win.”
“That’s very confident of you.”
“I am confident. I have you.”
“The white wolf of prophecy,” she said, the words bitter on her tongue.
“My mate,” I corrected. “My Riley. The rest is just details.”
She almost smiled. Almost.
23
— • —
Riley
I couldn’t stop staring at the journal.
The words blurred in front of me, rearranging themselves, refusing to make sense even though I’d read them three times now.
Riley Mirabelle.
