Rewriting Her Destiny With The Lycan Kings

The chilling silence of the foggy forest had been oppressive, clinging to Zara like a second skin. She was looking around for the people who came with her.

"Where did they go?"

She began to look for them. There were no signs of the Lycan brothers nor their troop. It looked like they never came here.

Did she oversleep and not notice when they left? It couldn't be. She might be heading in the wrong direction.

As she began to walk further inside the dark forest, the path grew foggier. Soon, she couldn't see the path she was walking. As she moved with cautious steps, she suddenly felt someone's presence behind her. It was so close that she could almost feel their breath on her neck.

The moment those glowing red eyes and the crimson-handled sword appeared, her fear peaked. Her eyes followed the sword as it moved backward in slow motion before darting forward at bolt speed. It slashed into her skin—but then it was gone in an instant.

She bolted upright in her bedroll, her breath coming in rapid, shallow gasps. Her heart hammered against her ribs as her hands flew to her neck, trembling as she searched for the blood she was certain she'd find.

But there was none.

The pounding in her chest eased slightly as realization washed over her.

It had been a nightmare, a horribly vivid one.

Before she could collect herself, she became aware of two intense presences looming nearby.

Denzel and Devonte.

The Lycan brothers stood beside her, their faces grave and their eyes sharp with an emotion she couldn't quite place. Their penetrating stares sent a shiver through her, and the firelight made their features appear almost otherworldly.

"You're awake," Denzel said, his voice low but heavy with meaning.

"We heard you," Devonte added, his tone quieter but no less serious. "You were thrashing in your sleep. Breathing like you'd seen a ghost."

Zara opened her mouth to offer a weak reassurance.

"I'm fine. It was just a dream—"

"What did you see?" Denzel's question cut through the air like a blade.

She blinked at him, startled by the intensity of his voice.

"What?"

"What. Did. You. See?" Devonte repeated, his gaze narrowing.

The weight of their questions made her chest tighten. Why did they care so much about a dream? She wanted to brush it off, but their sharp expressions made it clear they wouldn't let it go.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she hesitated.

"I… I was in the forest," she began, her voice shaky. "Alone. You both were gone. The troop, too. Everything was quiet—too quiet. And then, this fog rolled in."

She paused, her throat tightening as the memory of the dream resurfaced.

"It was so thick I couldn't see anything. I called out, but there was no answer. And then…"

She looked between them, her unease growing as she caught the fleeting exchange of glances between the brothers.

"Then what?" Denzel urged, his voice calm but commanding.

"I saw them again." Zara's hands unconsciously gripped the edge of her blanket.

"The red eyes. And the sword. The same sword from the wall—the one I saw in a dream last night."

Her voice wavered, and she swallowed hard.

"It touched me, and then I woke up."

Silence fell over the camp, the crackling of the fire the only sound between them.

Zara expected them to dismiss her dream as meaningless, but their expressions didn't soften. If anything, they seemed more troubled.

Denzel stepped closer, crouching down to look her in the eye.

"Are you sure that's all? Did you hear anything? Smell anything?"

Zara frowned, confused by his insistence.

"No, it was just the fog and… those things. Why does it matter? It was just a dream."

Devonte, who had been pacing, suddenly stopped and crossed his arms.

"Dreams don't mean nothing, Zara. Not to you."

"What do you mean?"

The brothers exchanged another look, one that spoke volumes but left Zara completely in the dark.

Denzel finally stood, his gaze dropping to the pendant around her neck. His fingers twitched as if he wanted to touch it but held back.

"Dreams like yours… they can be warnings. Messages. Especially for someone like you."

Her brow furrowed. "Someone like me?"

Devonte's voice was quieter this time, but no less intense.

"You're not just human, Zara. You're our mate. That means your connection to us, to this place, is deeper than you realize."

Her pulse quickened, and she instinctively reached for the pendant. "But it was just a dream."

"No," Denzel said firmly.

"It wasn't."

Zara's breath hitched at the certainty in his voice.

"What does it mean, then? The sword, the eyes. What are they?"

"We don't know yet," Devonte admitted, his jaw tightening. "But we'll find out. And until we do, you stay close to us. No wandering, no straying, no exceptions."

Zara's gaze darted between them, her confusion mounting.

"You're scaring me," she whispered.

Denzel softened slightly, crouching down again and resting a hand on her shoulder.

"Good. Stay scared. Fear keeps you alive longer than you would expect."

His words sent a chill down her spine, but she nodded, unable to argue.

As the brothers stood, their eyes lingered on her, a silent promise in their gazes. Whatever the dream meant, they wouldn't let anything happen to her. That's oath they have taken the moment they met her. And they going to keep that oath till the end.

But Zara couldn't shake the feeling that something far more sinister was at play—and that the nightmare was only the beginning.