The storm shifted direction the moment the Demon King stepped into their plans.
Nisaba's hands trembled as she stood at the edge of her sanctum, staring down at the shattered vial—the silver poison she had been preparing for weeks, now spilled across the floor like blood.
She hadn't even heard him arrive. One moment she was alone. The next—he was there.
A towering figure cloaked in darkness, with eyes like burning silver and a voice that made the walls tremble. Not just a demon.
The Demon.
Valerius.
He had looked down at her like she was nothing more than an ant beneath his boot. "You dare," he'd said, his voice smoother than silk but filled with the threat of eternal torment. "You dare defy the timeline I've been bound to for four thousand years—for a pathetic brew of silver and cowardice?"
Nisaba had dropped to her knees, magic flickering out of her fingertips, mouth trembling with an apology that never came fast enough.
"Layla must live," Valerius had growled, stepping closer, the room darkening with every word. "She is the bloodline. The vessel. The prophecy. You interfere with her life again, and I will rip your soul apart—thread by thread—and drag you screaming into the Void. For eternity."
Then he was gone.
But his presence lingered—like smoke in the lungs. Like death.
And now everything had changed.
Luna Catherine sat in the council room, the chill of winter already creeping through the window seams. She hadn't slept in days. The demon's warning echoed in her head constantly. She'd spent years orchestrating this—the downfall of the council, the poisoning of Layla's mother, the exile of the girl herself. And now, a man not of this world threatened to unravel it all.
Nisaba stood quietly behind her, eyes low, submissive. Broken.
They both knew the truth.
The Demon King wasn't the only terror approaching.
The Beast King had stirred.
It was whispered among the seers and old bloodlines—Kael, the cursed Alpha of the Forgotten Tribes, was finally on the move. His scouts had crossed the ice borders two nights ago. His warriors—rogue, ruthless, and silent—were spotted devouring wild packs north of the Frostline.
He was coming.
For his bride.
In fourteen days, on the first night of winter, he would arrive to claim her. A gift from the Northern Alliance for peace—or a punishment from the Moon Goddess herself. No one knew which. But they knew he was coming, and no force in this realm could stop him.
Kael the Cursed.
Kael the Beast King.
Kael, who wore his immortality like armor, who tore through bloodlines like whispers, whose presence could drive a pack mad with fear.
Catherine's lips were pale as she gripped the table. "We should've killed her when we had the chance," she hissed.
"We still can't," Nisaba muttered. We will be cursed, "Not while the demon is watching. He was suppose to be the one to poison her while we watch but Not while he still breathes."
Catherine closed her eyes and exhaled shakily.
Layla was still breathing.
And soon, Kael would arrive.
What if…..