The Death Mate Prophecy

AMINA

The old bell over the door of The Read Thread jingled one last time, a mournful, sharp sound cutting through the silence. My stomach twisted with relief as Ethan locked the front door behind the last customer.

“The night is ours, Amina,” Ethan announced, tossing the keys in the air with a theatrical flourish. “Enjoy the quiet existential dread. I’m out. Don’t burn the place down.”

“Don’t worry. The only thing I’ll be burning is a hole through this budget report,” I lied, forcing a tired smile.

He waved, his easy confidence a painful contrast to the knot of anxiety that lived permanently behind my ribs. Ethan was my shield, my perfect, oblivious connection to the human world. I needed his simple, warm scent like a drug.

As soon as the front office light clicked off and his footsteps faded toward the Lower East Side alley, the bookstore shifted. The comforting smell of old paper and dust turned thick, almost electric.

I wasn’t worried about budget reports. I was worried about the air.

For a Lycan-Seer Hybrid, the modern world was a constant barrage of noise. Werewolves, who enforced their ridiculous Shroud of secrecy, were like silent hurricanes, moving with unnatural speed and suppressed primal energy—a low-frequency dread I could feel in my teeth.

The old books in The Read Thread usually muffled that noise. But tonight, something was different. The hum wasn’t just the packs; it was closer, coarser, like static electricity right before lightning strikes. It felt like the Shroud itself was thinning.

I walked the perimeter, telling myself it was just the old wiring. The bookstore was my bunker. I’d worked here for three years, suppressing my magic—the Earth Pulse—until it was a numb ache in my bones. I ate, slept, and breathed mediocrity because the alternative was a violent, painful end. The packs had outlawed Hybrids for a reason, and that reason was me.

I reached the back corner, near the cramped, filthy alley where the dumpsters lived. That's where the sound was loudest. It wasn't the distant, cold power-hum of a high-ranking Alpha. This was low-level, feral, and hungry.

A rogue.

Go back inside. Lock the door. Just hide.

I was halfway to the back door, heart hammering, when a shadow detached itself from the dumpster.

It was a man, large and too quick, wearing cheap leather and smelling overwhelmingly of sweat and unwashed wolf. His eyes were wide, glittering with greedy intent. He was a low-ranking grunt, definitely unauthorized, hunting for the bounty he'd heard whispered about.

"Amina," he growled, his voice a low scrape. "Such a sweet little mouse. Did you think they'd never find you?"

I froze, terror burning my lungs. I hadn't used a single drop of magic in three years. My hands were shaking, not just with fear, but with the sudden, terrifying pressure of the Earth Pulse trying to escape, fighting the years of suppression.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I whispered, forcing my voice to shake. Be human, damn it. Be weak.

"Cut the crap. We know what you are." He took a desperate step. He lunged.

He wasn't fast enough for a werewolf, but he was far too fast for a human.

The moment his hand snapped out—a large, brutal paw—I didn't just think. I reacted.

The suppressed magic exploded out of me, not as fire or wind, but as a pure, localized Kinetic Echo.

It was like a hiccup in time.

The momentum of his hand stopped dead, hitting a sudden, invisible wall. The wolf, Dominic Vance, crashed into the void of his own neutralized force. He slammed into the wall I’d thrown up, not with a bone-jarring impact, but with a sickening squish that cracked the plaster behind him.

He dropped to the floor, stunned, his face a mess of confusion and pain.

Shit. Shit. SHIT!

I’d used too much power. It was supposed to be a tiny push. Instead, the force left my body with a visible, shimmering heat—a silent alarm screaming my Hybrid identity across the Shroud.

Dominic started to scramble up, but before he could even curse, two shadows dropped from the warehouse roof across the alley, moving with lethal, soundless speed. These weren't rogues.

The first was a woman, sleek and deadly. Kira, Rian Vale's Beta. She wore dark combat gear and moved like a striking viper. She pinned Dominic to the pavement with a single, contemptuous boot on his throat.

The second was a man who dwarfed even the massive wolf she had subdued.

He was pure, terrifying stillness.

Alpha Rian Vale.

He wasn't in a suit; he was dressed in dark, expensive tactical gear, smelling faintly of clean ozone and something ancient—a scent that instantly dominated and cleansed the alley of the rogue's stink. He didn't rush; he simply arrived, walking out of the shadows like they were his personal backdrop. He radiated the kind of controlled power that could flatten buildings.

His eyes, the color of cold, polished amber, swept over the alley: the downed rogue, the Beta’s foot, and then, slowly, they landed on me.

My heart didn't just beat; it tried to batter its way out of my chest. I couldn’t look away. I saw the immediate, calculated assessment in his gaze: the fear, the anger, the undeniable scent of ancient, forbidden magic lingering in the air.

He knew what I was. The Law demanded he end me immediately.

His jaw tightened, a muscle jumping beneath the stubble on his cheek. He took a single, deliberate step toward me.

And then, it hit.

As his cold, amber eyes locked with mine, a flicker of something beyond recognition and assessment crossed his face. It was as if an invisible current passed between us, jolting him. His pupils dilated rapidly, not due to a physical seizure, but because the first stirrings of the Mate Bond were beginning to make themselves known.

The cold amber in his eyes transformed into a smoldering, primal glow. It was a look of sudden, overwhelming possessiveness that sent shivers down my spine.

The Mate Bond didn't just snap into place all at once; it was like a slow - building storm. I felt a faint, almost imperceptible tug in my chest at first, like a gentle reminder of a connection that shouldn't exist. But as the seconds ticked by, that tug grew stronger, like an invisible hand reaching into my chest, squeezing my heart.

A wave of his heat washed over me, and I could sense a chemical change in the air. It was as if the very molecules around us were rearranging themselves to accommodate this new and forbidden bond.

My terrified mind was still reeling. All I could think was: He’s going to kill me! After all, the law was clear - hybrids like me were to be eliminated.

But then, a low, feral snarl rumbled from his chest. It was a sound that seemed to penetrate every fiber of my being. It wasn't just a noise; it was a declaration, a voice that cut through my terror and replaced it with a shocking, physical desire. "Mate."

The Mate Bond. It defied all logic and the laws of the werewolf world. It was wrong, impossible, and yet, it was becoming an undeniable reality. It was the only thing that now stood between his duty to follow the law and his new - found primal instincts.

He stood there, the powerful Alpha and my captor, his hand hovering. At first, it was as if he was still torn between reaching for a weapon, as the law dictated, and reaching for me, as his instincts demanded.

Slowly, his hand twitched, and the decision was made. The magnetic pull of the Mate Bond was too strong. I felt an irresistible force drawing me towards him.

My trembling hands, against my better judgment, began to rise halfway to meet his. In that moment, the forbidden fate was sealed, the Mate Bond an electric, agonizing certainty.