Fated Mate to the Triplet Alpha
Chapter 66: Kael’s Vision

Chapter 66: Chapter 66: Kael’s Vision

The air in the forest was thick with an unnameable dread, a chill that had nothing to do with the night’s deepening cold. Kael felt it in his bones, a raw, primal warning that clawed at his chest, more insistent than any premonition of Marcus’s approaching army. It was a serpent coiling in his gut, whispering of betrayal and loss. He glanced at Ronan, who, despite his outwardly calm demeanor, sharpening his claws against a jagged rock, radiated a tension that mirrored Kael’s own. The rhythmic scrape of stone on bone was the only sound, a stark counterpoint to the tempest raging within Kael.

"I need to run," Kael said, the words bursting forth, an urgent demand from his very core.

Ronan’s movements stilled. The scraping ceased. Slowly, he lifted his head, his gaze snapping to Kael, disbelief etching lines around his eyes. "Now?" Ronan’s voice was sharp, edged with a desperate practicality. "Marcus’s army is practically at our doorstep."

"Five minutes," Kael pleaded, the words tumbling out, laced with an desperation he rarely showed. "I need to clear my head. Just five minutes."

Ronan lunged, his hand closing around Kael’s arm, his grip like iron. "Don’t be stupid," he hissed, his voice low and urgent. "You’ll get yourself killed out there."

But Kael shook him off, the need to escape, to outrun the suffocating fear, overriding all sense of caution. "Watch things," he promised, the words hollow even to his own ears. "I’ll be back."

Without another glance, without waiting for Ronan’s agreement or protest, Kael embraced the change. His bones twisted, reshaped, elongating with a sickening crunch. Fur erupted, sleek and black, covering his transforming flesh. In a heartbeat, he was no longer a man but a powerful black wolf, a shadow blurring against the trees. He exploded into a sprint, the wind tearing through his newly acquired fur, whipping past his sensitive ears. But the faster he ran, the louder his thoughts became, a chaotic cacophony drowning out the rustle of leaves and the pounding of his paws.

Elara. The name echoed in his mind, a sharp, piercing ache. She was weakening. He felt it, a subtle dimming of her vibrant energy, a growing fragility that tugged at his soul. And Darian. His brother, normally a steadfast anchor, had been acting strangely, a subtle shift in his eyes, a guardedness that sent shivers down Kael’s spine. And now Marcus was coming, a tangible threat that should have overshadowed all else, yet paled in comparison to the insidious fear that gnawed at him.

He burst into a moonlit clearing, a place from his childhood. This was where he had always found solace, a sanctuary where he could shed the burdens of his world and find quiet strength. He shifted back, the pain of transformation a familiar agony, and collapsed to his knees, his breath ragged, great gasps tearing from his lungs. The cool night air on his bare skin offered little comfort against the inferno of his fear.

"Moon Goddess," he whispered, the words a raw prayer torn from his throat. "Please... show me what to do."

Silence descended, a heavy shroud muffling the sounds of the forest. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath, a stark stillness that presaged something profound. Then, the vision struck him, a violent, unbidden assault on his senses, sharper and more vivid than any dream.

He stood in the ruins of Pine Creek. The air was thick, heavy with the stench of smoke and death, a sickly sweet odor that made his stomach churn. Bodies. His pack. His friends. They lay twisted and lifeless, their eyes staring blankly at the ash-filled sky. At the center of the carnage, a grotesque throne of bones rose from the devastation. On it, a figure sat, regal and terrifying. A man with eyes that glowed with an unnatural, malevolent light, and a crown of black metal resting upon his head.

"Brother," the figure said, his voice a cruel caress, a chilling echo in the desolate landscape. "Come to bow before your new king?"

Kael staggered back, his mind reeling. Darian? It couldn’t be. Not Darian.

"What did you do?" Kael demanded, his voice a raw rasp, choked with horror and disbelief.

"I took her power. All of it." Darian’s smile widened, a predatory flash of teeth. "Now I rule everything. The packs, the territories... all of it."

"Where’s Elara?" Kael’s voice trembled, a desperate plea for a denial, a sign that the vision was a lie.

"Dead," Darian sneered, the word a poisoned arrow. "Her death gave me the strength to destroy Marcus. To unite the packs under my iron fist."

"You murdered our mate!" Kael roared, the sound ripped from his soul, a howl of unadulterated rage and grief.

"I saved her," Darian corrected, his eyes cold, devoid of any warmth. "Like I’ll save you."

Darian raised a hand, and black energy, viscous and suffocating, coiled and lunged, a sentient serpent of darkness. It wrapped around Kael, choking him, stealing his breath, stealing the light from his eyes. Darkness closed in, consuming him, swallowing him whole. But before it claimed him entirely, his gaze fell, and he saw Ronan’s broken body, crumpled and lifeless, at the base of the bone throne.

"You killed us all," Kael gasped, the words barely a whisper, swallowed by the encroaching darkness.

"I freed us," Darian said, his voice utterly devoid of emotion, a chilling pronouncement. "No more pain. No more chaos. Just perfect order."

The vision shattered, violently, like a mirror struck by a hammer. Kael jerked back to reality, gasping, shaking, his breath shallow and ragged. The chill of betrayal clung to him, a foul stench that permeated his very being. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic bird desperate to escape its cage.

"No," he growled, the word a guttural vow, raw and fierce. "I won’t let that happen. Never."

But fear lingered, a cold, insidious presence. The vision had been too real, too vivid. And Darian. He had been asking too many questions about Elara’s power, watching her too closely, his gaze lingering with an intensity that had unsettled Kael. What if the vision wasn’t just a warning? What if it was a glimpse of an inevitable future, a path already set in motion?

Another flash hit him, a jarring, fragmented image. Darian, his face a mask of calculated indifference, holding a black vial. Elara, her eyes wide, unseeing, drinking from it. Her power, a shimmering silver smoke, draining from her, coiling and twisting, flowing into Darian’s outstretched hands, solidifying into an ominous black orb.

"I promised to protect you," Darian whispered in the vision, his voice a venomous lullaby. "From yourself."

Kael howled, a primal sound of rage and despair that tore through the quiet forest, shattering the fragile peace of the night. The sound was raw, filled with a pain that transcended physical wounds.

He had to stop this. He had to stop Darian.

He scrambled to his feet, his limbs trembling, and sprinted back towards camp, the moonlight a pale, indifferent witness to his agony. As he burst back into the clearing, chaos reigned. Wolves scrambled, a whirlwind of fur and frantic movement, preparing for the impending battle with Marcus’s army. The air crackled with a frantic energy, but Kael barely registered it. His focus was singular, terrifyingly clear.

"There you are!" Ronan barked, his voice laced with relief and exasperation. He grabbed Kael’s arm, his grip firm. "We move in ten minutes! What in the Goddess’s name were you doing?"

"Where’s Darian?" Kael demanded, his voice hoarse, cutting through the din of preparations. His eyes darted around, searching.

"Right here," a voice responded, smooth and calm, sending a fresh wave of dread through Kael.

Darian emerged from the shadows, his smile tight, a careful mask that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Those eyes, Kael noticed with a chilling jolt, were too alert, too bright, holding a glint he couldn’t quite decipher.

"Elara needs us," Darian said, his voice even, yet Kael heard a subtle tremor, a false note that grated against his heightened senses.

Kael studied his brother, every instinct screaming a warning. Something was profoundly off. That same unsettling unease from the vision, the premonition of betrayal, coiled in his gut, tighter than ever. His hand, as if on its own accord, brushed against the silver knife at his waist, its hilt cool and familiar against his trembling fingers.

If Darian had truly turned, if he had chosen power over love, over family, over the very essence of who they were... Kael knew, with a horrifying certainty, that he would do what he must. He would protect Elara, no matter the cost, even if it meant confronting his own brother.

As they moved towards the exit of the camp, the air thick with the scent of anxious wolves and impending battle, Kael caught a glimpse of Darian’s reflection in a shard of broken glass. And for a breathless moment, he saw it. The cold, cruel smile from the vision. It was fleeting, a mere flicker, but it was enough.

He tightened his grip on the blade, the silver hilt digging into his palm.

Time was running out.

And Kael no longer knew who to trust.

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