The Children of the Prophecy

Clara has been kidnapped by the ruthless Alpha Wesley and forced to make an impossible choice: become his Luna or face the consequences of refusing him. Desperate to find her, Blaze risks everything to bring Clara home. But rescuing Clara is only the beginning, and the danger surrounding the Dark Forest Pack is growing. As Clara begins to recover from her ordeal, Star discovers an extraordinary healing ability that may be connected to the ancient prophecy surrounding her family. Blaze, meanwhile, is beginning to understand that his own unusual abilities and destiny may be far greater than he ever imagined. But while the siblings uncover more about the prophecy, a spy is secretly feeding information to the Burnt Claw Pack. Alpha Wesley is not prepared to accept defeat, and his determination to regain control of Clara is putting the fragile peace between the Packs at risk. With enemies closing in and war becoming increasingly difficult to avoid, Blaze, Star and their allies must uncover the truth before Wesley makes his move. Ancient secrets, supernatural abilities and hidden loyalties could determine the fate of both Packs. As Blaze struggles to understand his destiny and protect those he loves, Star begins to discover the extraordinary power within her. The prophecy may hold the key to their future, but embracing their true identities could also make them the greatest targets of all. Love, loyalty, destiny and power collide as the prophecy continues to unfold.

Chapter 1: The Pack in Turmoil Chaos, Mayhem, my office NOW! Mikal roared through the mind-link. Both warriors exchanged worried glances as they raced to the Packhouse. “George is missing. No one has seen him since yesterday.” A myriad of emotions was evident in the Alpha’s usually calm voice. “When did you last see him?” Chaos and Mayhem, taken aback by their Alpha’s demeanour, remained silent for a heartbeat too long. “Well?” Mikal growled. Chaos shook his head slightly to compose himself, then answered, “He was punching hell out of the stone wall near the stadium yesterday afternoon. Warriors had just reported back that they hadn’t found Clara.” Mikal swept his hand through his hair, letting out a frustrated sigh, before banging his fist on the desk, making the warriors jump. They had never seen their Alpha so agitated. Mikal continued to pace the room as he tried for the umpteenth time to mind-link George. He let out a string of profanities as the link remained silent. “Alpha?” Mikal spun round to face Mayhem, a desperate look of expectancy on his face. “Could Beta George have gone to look for Clara himself? He was so full of rage yesterday, I doubt he was thinking clearly.” Mikal looked up at the warrior, and a sense of optimism swirled in his stomach. “That’s a high possibility. Organise a search party at once. I want every Elite warrior out searching for him.” Mikal’s voice left no room for questions. Taking long, deep breaths to calm himself, Mikal made his way to the Packhouse lounge, where Aimee was sitting with Lyra. The women turned to face Mikal as he strode in. Lyra’s bloodshot eyes met Mikal’s, a look of hope written across her face. He sat down, took Lyra’s hand, and explained the theory about George’s disappearance. “He would do that, you know how much his family means to him,” Lyra whispered. “He would never be satisfied with sitting around while others searched. Please find them, Mikal.” Lyra could not stop the tears from falling once more. Mikal’s face softened; he gave Lyra a comforting hug and whispered, “We’ll move heaven and Earth to find them.” Mikal felt he needed to interview Holly. He knew she wouldn’t have been involved, but he had to be seen exploring all avenues. After speaking with her, Mikal concluded that there was no way Holly had anything to do with the abduction and instructed her to return to her duties. Despite the belief that Clara had been kidnapped, no ransom notes or demands had been received. Spies had been sent back to the surrounding area of the Burnt Claw Pack to listen for any clues. Search parties were also out looking for George. An atmosphere of shock and disbelief surrounded the Dark Forest Pack. People were subdued; they had a huge amount of respect and love for their Beta and his mate, hating the thought that someone had taken Clara, and perhaps George as well. Gossip and theories spread around the town. The Dark Forest Pack was renowned throughout werewolf society for its strength and unwavering loyalty to Alpha Mikal. The mood in the Pack was sombre, the air heavy with sadness. People went about their daily business, but joy and happiness had been sucked out of the heart of the Pack. Chapter 2: George George had been running for days, driven not only by his love for Clara but also by his hatred for whoever had taken her. His mind focused on a single thought: finding his daughter. He had hitched rides and searched the scattered communities that lived in the forests to the north. He travelled to the Badlands in the east and followed up on any gossip he heard regarding young females, but none of it was about Clara. Asking around, he was met with walls of silence; people here guarded many secrets and were distrustful of strangers. Rogues prowled everywhere, and the sight of a lone wolf drowning in despair was too great a temptation to ignore. George was an easy target; his senses, clouded by sorrow, left him defenceless. The muscles which once ripped across his frame were long gone, leaving only skin stretched over bone. Hunger had been ignored, and exhaustion dragged at every step he took. He was tied and taken to the rogues’ camp, the scent of damp earth and smoke filling his nose as he was dragged across the muddy ground. Flickering lanterns cast long, shifting shadows on battered tents and scattered crates, while the low murmur of tense voices echoed around him. He was pushed onto his knees in front of their leader. “Who have we here?” the leader asked, eyeing George suspiciously. “Caught him snooping around in the woods. He won’t give us a name,” one of the rogues answered. The leader rose from his chair and stood facing George. He pulled him roughly to his feet, his grip cold and bruising against George’s arms. “What are you doing here?” the leader demanded in a barely civil tone. George lifted his head to look the leader in the eye. “I am looking for my daughter; she was kidnapped a few days ago,” George muttered, blinking back tears, tasting salt and iron on his lips. “What makes you think she’s here? And even if she were, do you think I would just hand her over to you? Is she pretty? I might want to keep her as my plaything.” An evil laugh echoed around the camp. The rogues fell silent as George let out a low, menacing growl and, summoning all his energy, shifted. The leader felt rather than saw the wolf’s claws slice across his face. As he stumbled back in surprise, the rogues were on George in a flash, forcing him to the ground. The ensuing fight was entirely one-sided. His wolf, weakened from the effort, could not protect George as he was kicked, beaten, and punched relentlessly, before being dragged into the forest and left for dead. George, unsure of how many hours had slipped by, rolled over onto the mossy earth and winced; every muscle screamed at him to stop. Panic bubbled near the edges of his foggy mind. Fragments of the encounter with the rogues slipped in and out of his memory like sand through his fingers. He tried to open his eyes, but they were too swollen; his nose throbbed, crooked and broken. His body, covered in wounds inflicted by the rogues, was too weak to heal. He sank back, frustration mounting as a feeling of helplessness swept over him. Still, somewhere deep inside, a stubborn resolve flickered. Clara, I must find Clara, he thought as he drifted into unconsciousness. Sunlight was filtering through the leaves when he stirred again, casting a dappled shade across his battered body as he lay at the base of a tree. Summoning what little energy he had left, George staggered upright and scanned his surroundings, spotting a brook glimmering nearby. Limping towards it, he knelt and let the icy water wash over his face, gasping as pain surged through him. Staring into the stream, he studied his reflection, tracing the unnatural bend of his nose. Gritting his teeth, he forced it back into place, a low moan escaping his lips. Clara. He had to keep looking. What kind of father would she think he was if he didn’t? The guilt he felt for letting her be kidnapped weighed heavily on him. Slowly, he stumbled through the forest, ignoring the searing pain racking his body, alert for any noise, until fatigue finally overcame him. He leaned against a tree and slumped to the ground, his body empty of energy, his mind on the verge of defeat. Daddy, he heard a small, broken voice say in his mind. George’s body instantly tightened, and adrenaline surged like a tornado. Clara, is that you, baby? He waited; his whole being teetering on the edge of exploding as hope rose from the depths. His call through the mindlink remained unanswered. He tried again, this time urgency surrounding every word. Clara, it’s Daddy. Can you hear me? Silence. Hope died as George stood up and looked around for any sign of where the voice had come from. All he could see was the dense forest and the tops of snow-capped mountains peeping above the canopy. All he could hear was the rustling leaves as the wind whipped them up from the ground. He fell to his knees, his hands covering his face as tears fell silently. His body shut down, drained of everything: energy, fight, emotion. He curled himself into a tight ball and closed his eyes. “Clara,” he whispered before passing out. The gentle hum of machines and the sharp scent of antiseptic pulled George awake. He tried to sit up, urging his body to obey, but a heavy moan escaped him as he slumped back onto the bed. “George, oh my love, you’re awake.” The words floated to him on a wave of relief. He felt cherished hands tracing his cheeks, warm tears splashing onto his chest. Suddenly, those gentle hands were replaced by brisk, practised ones. George opened one eye to find Dr Trent peering down at him. “Don’t try to move now; the stiller you remain, the better.” George obeyed, sinking back into the mattress. “Clara,” he whispered. Lyra squeezed his hands, her gaze brimming with tenderness. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t find her,” George choked out. Lyra remained silent. What words could she possibly say that could soothe the ache in his heart? “Sshh,” Lyra whispered after a while. “Get some rest.” “No, I have to find her, I have to keep looking.” George struggled free from Lyra’s embrace and tried to get out of bed. He felt a sharp pain in his arm as Dr Trent gave him a sedative, before gently laying him back down. “He’ll sleep for a while now; that was a heavy sedative I had to give him,” Dr Trent informed Lyra. Mikal, who had been standing by the door, took a deep breath. His despondent face gave away his feelings. George was like a brother to him, someone he could always rely on, day in and day out. Mikal buried his face in his hands and stared into nothing as a wave of sadness washed over him. Because of a werewolf’s ability to heal quickly, George was able to be discharged a few days later. Lyra made sure he never had the opportunity to resume his search for Clara; someone was with him every minute. She knew that, given the slightest opportunity, George would be gone again. With proper nutrition and rest, his body soon recovered. He told Lyra he had heard Clara’s voice calling him. Dr Trent put it down to mental fatigue. “The mind plays tricks on a broken body,” he told Lyra.