Standing in the middle of the clearing, Cassandra felt the weighty air thick with the aroma of pine and the faint echo of the pack's nightly rituals, her heart racing in her chest. With her eyes closed and her hands trembling, she delved into the depths of her mind, attempting to control the chaotic storm of visions that usually flooded her. But tonight was different. The visions were sharp and clear, like she hadn't experienced in days.
A sudden wave of power rushing through her caused her breath to catch and pull her deeper into the vision.
She was no longer in the woods. Instead, she discovered herself at the center of the pack's camp, although everything seemed off and warped. The air was chilly and brittle, and shadows lengthened unnaturally. Her stomach turned as her eyes scanned the scene. She could see the pack's familiar faces—people she had known for years and relied on. But they were something off about them; something under the surface was wrong with them.
Then she noticed it: treachery. Someone she trusted, someone close to her, lurked in the shadows, whispering to a rogue wolf. The rogue wolf's eyes sparkled with malicious intent, and a subtle grin curled his lips as he listened closely.
"No," Cassandra said, her voice catching in her throat. Though she couldn't see the traitor's face, she knew the treachery was real deep down. Seeing the traitor hand over vital information made her heart clench—the information that could topple everything.
She could hear the leaves rustling and a frigid, icy wind sweeping through her as the vision contorted. The rogue wolf grinned and vanished into the night, his eyes flashing with perilous delight. Unaware of the treachery developing inside their ranks, the pack lived as though nothing was wrong.
Cassandra, on the other hand, was aware. She understood that every betrayal would alter everything.
A wave of nausea hit her, causing her vision to blur. Her heart raced, and she felt herself being drawn back, but the pictures remained—those eyes, those words, that sense of deep, insidious treachery. Who was it, exactly? Now, who could she rely on?
The ground under her feet appeared to collapse suddenly, and she was jolted awake with a sharp gasp, her body soaked in cold sweat. As she returned to the woods, the smell of pine and the calm rustling of leaves were back in her awareness. The vision remained, though, pressing down on her chest and leaving her breathless.
It was real and visceral. Cassandra had to know who the traitor was, but the face remained a blur. She could not place it. The rogue's words and meanings rang in her head repeatedly. This was about more than just information; it was about the kingdom, about everything.
Hoping for clarity, she shut her eyes again; the shadows had already started to take hold, slipping away just out of her reach.
Cassandra hardly slept the following morning. Her thoughts were still caught in the web of her sight. Her racing thoughts kept her awake, tossing and turning under the weight of the betrayal, the fear, the knowledge that someone close to her was playing a dangerous game. She had to find out who it was. She had to know who had turned them over to the rogue wolves.
Still, she couldn't get rid of the impression that something was amiss. Every passing day, Varun's suspicion increased as he observed her closely. With the vision in her head now, she couldn't help but question whether Varun was involved somehow. Might he be the traitor? He had been so watchful and set on keeping her away from Damon. Could he be concealing anything? Could his loyalty to the pack have been stronger than his loyalty to her?
The truth was what she had to know. That called for inquiring into things. She started at Varun, the only place she could access.
Among the trees, she located him at the camp's edge, his tall frame easily visible. Surveying the pack, he crossed his arms and set his jaw in a firm line. He was watching—always watching, not speaking to anyone.
"Varun," Cassandra called, her voice calm but urgent. "I have to speak with you right now."
Turning, he looked at her with a wary, knowing gaze. "What about?" he inquired, his voice flat.
"About the rogue," she said, approaching him more closely, regarding the pack's treason.
His stance changed to more defensive, and his brows knitted together. "What do you mean?"
"The vision," Cassandra answered quietly. "I witnessed someone giving the rogues information and someone I trusted close to me betraying the pack."
Varun's eyes grew steely, but he remained silent. Cassandra could sense the burden of his gaze as the quiet between them lengthened.
"You think I'm the one?" Varun finally inquired, his voice gruff. "Are you implying that?"
"No," Cassandra said quickly. "That is not what I meant." She hesitated, looking for any indication on his face that he knew more than he was revealing. "I don't know who it is. But I have to know. I have to find out who is doing this."
Varun's eyes danced with something—perhaps annoyance—but also something more- a touch of knowledge. "You're just like them, aren't you?" he grumbled. "Cassandra, your mind is already made up. You have already chosen who is guilty."
"Not guilty," she said, softly. "But I can't ignore what I saw."
Before looking away, he gazed at her for a long time, his face unreadable. "You are searching in the wrong places.
Her stomach turned as she saw him walk away. Was he hiding something? Did he know more than he was letting on? Uncertainty weighed heavily on her, but she couldn't ignore the feeling that Varun was involved somehow.
A figure appeared at the edge of the clearing just as she was ready to turn and go. Damon stood just outside the shadows, his eyes fixed on her.
His face unreadable, he moved forward. "They're closing in on you," he said, his voice low and frantic. "You must leave immediately."
Cassandra's breath caught in her throat. "What do you mean?" she said, her heart pounding.
"The rogue wolves," Damon said, his gaze scanning the camp. "They are on their way. You are no longer safe here, not with what you know."
Her spine tingled at the chill in his voice. She had known things were becoming dangerous, but this was unusual. This was about the pack, the future of everything, not only about her.
Her head raced as she agreed. "I'll be ready."
Standing at the camp's edge with only the essentials packed in her bag, Cassandra's heart racing with the urgency of Damon's words, she found herself ready to go. Though nothing compared to the icy grip of fear that had seized her heart, the cold air nipped at her skin, and the chill seeped through her clothing.
She was unable to stay. Not now, not with the vision of betrayal still fresh in her head. And the worst part? She still didn't know who the traitor was, though. Yet she could not ignore the pull of Damon, the desire to find him and determine what followed next.
Except for the faraway sound of rushing water, the forest was quiet. Cassandra stepped into the darkness after one last look at the pack's camp, the site she had called home for so long.
A quick rustling in the bushes almost caught her off guard as she approached the camp's edge. Her heart raced as she froze, and then she heard it: the unmistakable sound of sharp and deliberate footsteps.
She looked around and found him: Alpha Caelum's right-hand man, who had been at her side for many years.
Wickedly smiling, he walked into the clearing. "I knew you would try to run," he said, his voice smooth yet tinged with spite. "You won't go far, though."
Cassandra's heart sank. The traitor was someone she had trusted, had been giving the rogue wolves information, and had always stood by her.
"No," she said, retreating. "It cannot be you."
He laughed darkly, his eyes shining with amusement. "Cassandra, it was always going to be me."
The sound of snarling wolves filled the air, and rogue wolves sprang from the shadows surrounding her before she could react. Her pack, the pack, was under attack.
And just like that, the war had begun.