The Alpha's Visit before the test
She was sent to Sebastian's office. she waited there for a while.
The fire from the council still burned in her blood. She hadn't taken off the crimson dress. She couldn't. Not yet.
It wasn't just a dress anymore. It was her armor. And she was still at war. The clock hadn't fully struck dawn yet, but the air inside the room already felt like war.
Emma sat on the velvet window ledge, legs crossed like a queen without a throne, watching that dim moonlight split through the glass. Her fingers still tingled from earlier—from that cursed black door at the end of the hall. The growl still echoed in her bones.
The silence was suffocating.
Until it wasn't.
She felt him before she saw him.
The shift in air pressure. The thrum of something ancient entering the space.
The door creaked open without a knock.
And there he was—Sebastian Vale.
The scent of blood hit first. Sharp. Metallic.
Blood-slicked. Wrath carved into every line of his jaw. His jaw was clenched, hair damp from sweat or rain—or maybe fury. Suddenly, it felt like his presence pulled the oxygen from the room. His white shirt hung off one shoulder, a bit torn from some places and stained with blood soaked in someone else's violence. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, revealing veins and knuckles painted in battle.
He didn't knock because gods didn't knock. They entered.
And this one was looking at her like she was the only war left to fight.
He didn't speak—not at first.
He simply stood there, lit by nothing but silver moonlight and something darker—rage? desire? instinct? Just stood there in the dark like a god who'd fought his way out of hell.
The seconds between them stretched like wire.
She didn't turn.
She didn't need to.
He stepped in like a storm with purpose.
And then, when he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. Too quiet.
"If you die tonight,"
"I'll name another Luna."
"But I'd prefer it be you."
Each word was ice dipped in fire. Smooth. Deadly. No emotion. Just brutal pragmatism, the way only an Alpha could deliver.
Emma didn't rise from the edge of the window. Her legs remained crossed, calm as still water. But her eyes—those eyes—lifted to him like a blade being unsheathed.
"Don't flatter yourself, Alpha," she said.
"I won't die before I ruin you."
Her voice was silk wrapped around a dagger.
The corner of his mouth twitched.
Not quite a smile.
Not quite mercy.
Something in between that promised ruin.
He took a single step closer.
And the air between them caught fire.
His next words were lower, more dangerous.
"Then don't disappoint me."
He stepped a bit closer again — not enough to touch, just enough for the heat to prickle her skin.
She could smell the violence still clinging to him. Hear the restrained chaos in his breath.
His eyes searched hers for a crack—for doubt. But Emma Grey was a storm in still water.
She didn't blink. Didn't flinch.
Her gaze flicked down to the blood on his fists.
"Whose blood?" she asked, voice lazy but sharp.
"Yours, if you're not careful."
The air cracked.
He was baiting her. And she loved it.
But before she could reply—
GROWL.
Low. Loud. Alive.
It came from the hallway.
From the black door.
This time, there was no mistaking it.
It wasn't a creak or the groan of wood.
It was animal. Something old.
Something hungry. Like something had moved closer.
Sebastian didn't move.
Emma didn't either.
But their eyes turned. Slowly. Together.
The black door at the end of the hall didn't just growl.
It called.
Sebastian's shoulders tensed—just for a second—but enough for her to notice.
He knew that growl.
He'd heard it before.
Maybe fought it. Maybe fed it.
Maybe lost to it.
Emma stood now, slow and smooth like smoke, and walked past him without breaking eye contact. Close enough that her shoulder brushed his chest.
She leaned in slightly—close enough to let her voice brush against his ear like breath.
"Tell your house to keep its monsters leashed."
Sebastian's hand twitched at his side. Not to grab her. To stop himself from doing it.
She reached the door to his office and paused—turning just enough to let him see the glint in her eyes.
"And tell them…"
"I bite back."
Then she closed the door.
Behind it, her heart was still steady.
But outside… that thing behind the black wood wasn't.
It was still breathing.
Still watching.
And it had finally noticed her.
The Wolves Beneath the Moonlight
Sleep doesn't come to her.
Not when the mansion still breathed secrets. Not when her soul thrummed with the weight of what was to come.
So Emma walked.
Barefoot, wrapped in nothing but a silk robe and instinct, she wandered into the estate's back garden—a forgotten place behind the formal hedges and fountains. This garden was raw. Older. Overgrown. The kind of place untouched by servants or scrutiny.
The moon spilled silver light through the skeletal trees, painting the cobblestone path in ghostly veins.
She paused near an ancient ash tree—the same one she'd seen in a painting in the hall. There was a stone bench beneath it, cracked and moss-covered. She sat, her fingers running along the carved symbol in the stone. Something old. Something Vale.
Then she heard it.
Movement.
Not the clipped footsteps of a guard. Not the rustle of leaves in wind.
Something low. Deliberate. Alive.
Her eyes scanned the tree line beyond the garden's edge—the shadows where the estate ended and the wild woods began.
Then she saw them.
Eyes. Too low for a man. Too intelligent for an animal.
A silver wolf.
Massive. Regal. Still as stone. Watching her from the shadows just beyond the crumbling wall.
Its breath steamed in the cold air. It didn't growl. Didn't move. Just watched.
Emma's pulse should have spiked—but it didn't.
Because the wolf didn't feel like a threat.
It felt... ancient.
Then—soft rustle. A silver shadow steps out from the shadow.
Massive. Elegant. Its coat shimmering with streaks of light and storm. But it doesn't growl. Doesn't bare its teeth.
It walks—slowly, assured—toward her.
Emma stiffens, but something inside her stays calm. Alert... but not afraid.
The wolf stops in front of her, then—without a sound—sits beside her.
Shoulder to shoulder. Like a guardian. Like it's chosen her.
They sit in silence. Her hand twitches—but she doesn't touch it.
Its breath is steady. Controlled. Its eyes never leave the black sky.
And then—after a long moment—it rises, gives her a look that feels almost human...
And walks away.
But not before Emma sees it clearly in the moonlight:
Its front paw is scorched. Burned black. As if it stepped into fire. but then she realized why the wolf got up.
She saw another shadow from the trees behind it, another shape emerged.
Black. Bigger.
Its eyes gleamed like twin daggers under the moonlight.
The silver wolf bowed its head to her—a slow, deliberate motion. Reverence. As if she were the one to be feared.
And then—it vanished. Melted back into the forest, the black wolf following like a shadow slipping into a darker one.
Emma remained frozen, breath held. like she couldn't understand what happened.
And when she finally looked up at the moon again... she wasn't sure it looked the same.
The Woman in the Cloak
As Emma rose from the bench and turned to return to her room, something stopped her.
A figure stood near the edge of the garden. Half in shadow. Half in moonlight.
A woman. Cloaked in gray. Face hidden beneath a hood.
She wasn't there a second ago.
Emma didn't move. Neither did the woman.
A breeze swept through the trees, and the woman smiled.
Not a kind smile. Not cruel either.
A smile like she knew something Emma didn't.
The woman raised a finger to her lips—shhh—then slowly turned and disappeared behind the trees. No sound. No footsteps. No trace.
Emma's hands were cold.
That smile... it was too calm. Too knowing.
She walked faster after that.
But she knew something had changed.
This all can't be a coincidence the wolves and the women either all this is a plan to trap her or something more deeper she does'nt know.
And now she is really into the game.