A Wolf's True Mate

Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

“Old woman.” Ford steps forward, eyeing the woman who has appeared from the darkness and joined our festival. “Can you elaborate on your prophecy?”

She eyes him. “No, but I have another one. One that concerns you specifically.”

Murmurs rustle through the crowd like the wind through tall grass. I feel Luca stiffen next to me.

"Alpha Ford," she croaks, her voice weaving through the silent masses. "Destiny has etched a path for you, but it comes with a dire warning."

Ford’s muscular frame tenses, and the playfulness that once danced in his eyes vanishes, replaced by a guarded wariness. He descends from the stage, his movements deliberate as he approaches the crone.

"Speak plainly, elder," Ford commands, his voice steady despite the unexpected interruption.

"Your reign will be marked by strength and wisdom, but it shall be short-lived." The woman's words slice through the night. "Death awaits you, young Alpha, unless you reject your true mate."

A collective gasp shudders through the crowd, and murmurs ripple like disturbed water. My own heart plummets into my stomach, dread coiling tight within me. Reject his true mate? But how could Ford ever—

"Explain yourself!" Ford's demand cuts through the whispers, his authoritative aura demanding attention even in the face of such shocking prophecy.

But the old woman merely smiles, her eyes gleaming with secrets untold. And then, in a blink, she vanishes into thin air, leaving behind a void where she had stood, her ominous words echoing in the silence that smothers us all. Confusion and fear mingle in the eyes around me, yet no one dares to speak, as if words might make the curse real.

Luca and I exchange a look, and I see my shock and fear reflected in his face. My pack mates thoughts crowd my mind, worries about what this means, why our alpha has been cursed with such a prophecy.

The night air nips at my skin, but it's the tension around us that sends shivers down my spine. The crowd of shifters is a sea of murmuring and anxious glances, their festive moods shattered by the crone's dire prophecy. I squeeze Ford's hand tighter, my fingers laced with his, grounding him, grounding myself.

"Is she gone?" someone from the pack whispers, their voice barely carrying over the unease. The question hangs unanswered, as if even acknowledging the woman's disappearance might invoke her return, or worse, the truth of her words.

"Silence!" Ford's command ripples through the pack, his authority asserting itself despite the tremor I feel in his grip. He stands tall, every inch the Alpha he was born to be, and yet I sense the fissure in his facade. His green eyes scan the gathering, seeking out dissent or panic, but he finds none willing to meet his gaze directly.

"Let's not let fear guide us," Ford says, his voice strong but I hear the subtle strain. "We know nothing of this woman or her intentions. Our strength lies in unity, not in superstition."

A murmur of agreement filters through the pack, some nodding, others still clutching onto their neighbors for support. But the undercurrent of unease persists, an invisible thread weaving through each of us.

"Ford," I whisper, leaning closer so only he can hear. "You're not taking this seriously, are you?"

"Everything that threatens my pack is serious, Skye," he replies, his gaze meeting mine, a storm brewing in those depths. "But fear can't dictate our lives. We'll investigate, we'll be cautious, but we won't cower."

I nod, reassured by his resolve but still haunted by the possibility of losing him. Even the thought clenches my heart with an iron fist.

"Let's continue the festivities," Ford announces, reclaiming the attention of the pack. "We won't be intimidated by shadows and whispers. Tonight, we celebrate our strength!"

The pack responds, a mixture of cheers and claps, though less spirited than before. The music resumes, a fiddle striking up a lively tune, but the dance that follows carries a forced gaiety. I stay close to Ford, watching as he mingles, offers reassuring smiles, and laughs that don't quite reach his eyes. He is the unmoving rock amidst the churning sea, and I marvel at the sheer will it must take to stand so firm when such dark omens loom overhead.