"Fate doesn't wait for permission," my wolf whispered. And no matter how hard I snarled at the thought, the word mate pulsed in my chest like a secret I was not ready to confess.
Nyra's POV
I stormed out of the Seeress's chamber with my wolf snarling under my skin, the sound echoing in my bones. My boots clicked against the polished stone of the Eastern Wing corridor, sharp and deliberate, as though stomping harder might silence the voice in my head. Spoiler: it did not.
"She's lying," I muttered under my breath. "She has to be."
She is not, my wolf, Veyra, purred, smug as a cat who had just stolen cream. She knows things. She sees things.
"She also teases things," I snapped back, dragging a hand through my hair. "Half of what comes out of her mouth is riddles, and the other half is smug commentary. I am not about to rearrange my life because a silver-eyed oracle decided to throw around the word 'mate' like confetti."
