The moon hung high and full in the star-speckled sky, bathing the Alpha King’s chambers in a ghostly glow. Outside, the howls of distant wolves echoed through the mountains, a haunting melody that had once given Damian pride—now it only stirred unease.

Damian tossed and turned in his bed, his jaw clenched tight, breath coming in ragged, restless gasps. His skin glistened with a sheen of sweat, and his eyes darted beneath closed lids. Inside his mind, a dream had taken hold—vivid, disturbing, and unlike any he had experienced before.

In the dream, he stood alone in the heart of the forest, surrounded by dead trees, the ground blackened and cracked beneath his bare feet. Fog twisted around him like a serpent, whispering voices slithering into his ears. Then, from the mist emerged a figure cloaked in shadow. Its face was featureless, but its voice was unmistakable—ancient, echoing with power that cut deeper than any blade.

“You will never be healed.”

Damian’s heart thudded violently in his chest.

“She is not the one. The curse is deeper than fate. Deeper than love. You are destined to rot with it.”

“No,” Damian growled in his sleep, his voice strangled and hoarse.

“She will fail. You will die. Your bloodline ends with you.”

Then the shadow raised a hand, and from its palm poured black smoke that coiled around Damian’s limbs like shackles. His strength left him, knees buckling as the ground opened up beneath him. He fell, swallowed by darkness, the words echoing endlessly—

“You will never be free.”

Damian shot up in bed with a loud gasp, lungs clawing for air. His chest heaved as he stared into the dark room, the dream lingering like poison in his veins. He could still hear the whispers, feel the phantom chains around his wrists.

Running a hand through his damp hair, Damian tried to steady his breathing. It had only been a dream—he told himself this over and over—but the terror refused to leave him. His wolf stirred inside him, restless and wary, mirroring his doubt.

And worst of all, a seed had been planted. A poisonous, creeping thought he had pushed away since Johanna had first been brought to the castle.

What if she wasn’t the one? What if the curse was never meant to be broken?

*

The morning sunlight filtered weakly through the tall windows of the dining hall. Johanna sat at the end of the long table, staring at her untouched food. A storm brewed behind her eyes—one of frustration, fear, and deepening uncertainty.

It had been a week since Damian had taken her as his mate.

A week since she had sworn to find a way to end the curse.

But despite her promise, she had uncovered nothing. No clue. No ancient scroll. No magical artifact. Nothing but stories and riddles from the castle’s dusty library and evasive answers from the witches she had consulted.

Her fingers curled around her cup. She hated how helpless she felt. How useless.

Damian entered, his usual commanding presence oddly subdued. He greeted her with a nod, and though he sat beside her, something was… off.

Johanna felt it immediately.

The way his gaze lingered a second too long. The silence between them no longer felt like quiet companionship—it felt strained, tense.

She turned to him. “Did you sleep well?” she asked, hoping to shake the heaviness.

He hesitated. “I… had a dream.”

Johanna waited for him to say more, but he didn’t.

When their eyes met, she saw it—flickers of doubt. Faint, but unmistakable. It was the first time since their bond was sealed that he looked at her with uncertainty. It pierced her like a blade.

The dream had rattled him more than he let on.

And now, a part of him questioned her place in his story.

*

By afternoon, Johanna wandered the castle gardens alone, her cloak trailing behind her on the stone path. The air was cool, crisp, and yet her thoughts burned.

She had been so confident when she left her village. So sure that fate had chosen her for something greater. That her bond with Damian wasn’t just political—it was destined.

But now?

All she had to offer were empty hands and failed attempts.

What if she couldn’t save him?

What if the curse claimed him, and his people, and everything?

What if her mate—her king—died because of her failure?

The breeze tugged at her hair, and she stopped, staring up at the sky. “What am I missing?” she whispered.

But the heavens offered no answer.

*

That night, Damian left his chambers without a word to Johanna. He walked through the quiet corridors with heavy steps, each echoing like the ticking of a clock he could no longer ignore. Servants avoided his gaze, sensing the weight in his stride.

He found Tony in the war room, studying maps and documents by candlelight. The older man looked up as Damian entered, sensing instantly that something was wrong.

“Damian,” he said calmly, “You look like hell.”

“I feel worse.”

Damian dropped into a chair, his broad shoulders sagging beneath the invisible weight he carried.

Tony poured a drink and handed it over. “Talk to me.”

“I had a dream,” Damian muttered, his voice rough. “A voice told me… I’ll never be healed. That Johanna isn’t the one.”

Tony didn’t respond immediately. He let the silence stretch before sitting across from his king.

“Do you believe dreams hold truth?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Damian replied, rubbing his temples. “But it felt real. The fear. The certainty. I’ve never doubted her before. Not once. But now… I look at her, and I wonder. What if I’m wrong?”

Tony leaned forward, folding his hands. “Listen, Damian. Curses don’t just unravel overnight. They’re tangled. Deep. Maybe even designed to test you. Dreams—especially dark ones—are often your fears trying to break through.”

Damian looked away, but Tony continued.

“Johanna has proven herself already. She stayed. She fights. She’s the only one who didn’t run from your curse.”

“She hasn’t found anything,” Damian said quietly. “And time is running out.”

Tony studied him for a long moment. “Do you trust her?”

“I want to.”

“Then be patient. Doubt kills more than any curse ever could.”

Damian closed his eyes. Tony’s words were steady, calming. But they didn’t erase the fear that gnawed at his chest.

Still, he nodded.

“I’ll try.”

But even as he said it, the dream’s words echoed like a curse of their own.

“She will fail. Your bloodline ends with you.”

And across the castle, alone in her room, Johanna sat by the window, staring into the dark forest beyond the walls. Her hands trembled, her heart heavy with fear she dared not speak aloud.

She was the Alpha’s mate. The supposed key to his salvation.

But what if she was only a girl pretending to be something more?

And what if they were both doomed to fail?