Poornima's building loomed ahead, its glass panels catching the faint shimmer of the moon. The night air had grown thick — the kind that hummed with a warning too soft for human ears.
Dhruv parked by the entrance. "Let me check the place before you go in," he said, unbuckling.
She gave a tired smile. "Dhruv, this is a condo. There's security, cameras everywhere. I'll be fine."
"Humor me," he said quietly, and something in his tone left no room for argument.
They took the elevator up, the soft hum echoing around them. Poornima's fingers fidgeted with her key ring as the doors slid open onto her floor. Everything looked normal — too normal.
She unlocked the door. The second it swung open, Dhruv froze.
The air reeked faintly of iron and dust — the scent of disturbance.
"Stay here," he murmured, stepping inside first.
Her living room was a wreck. Cushions slashed, drawers yanked out, shelves emptied. Glass shards glittered under the light like scattered ice. Someone had searched the place — not randomly, but methodically.
Poornima's breath hitched. "Oh my god…"
Dhruv scanned the chaos, every muscle tight. "Don't touch anything."
He moved through the space, reading the disorder like a map. Whoever did this wasn't after valuables — they were looking for something specific.
In the corner, a torn photo album lay open among fallen papers. A small photograph had slipped halfway under the sofa leg. Dhruv crouched and picked it up carefully.
It was old — the colors faded to a soft yellow tint. A young couple sat close, smiling for the camera, with a baby perched on the mother's lap. Poornima couldn't have been older than two.
The woman had the same kind eyes, the same smile that softened a room. Her black hair fell over one shoulder in soft waves.
"You look just like her," Dhruv murmured.
Poornima stepped closer, looking over his shoulder. Her eyes glistened. "That's the only picture I had left of them."
He nodded slowly, gaze drifting to the man beside the woman — the father. Handsome, but there was something unsettling about his eyes. The smile didn't quite reach them. A strange tension lingered in his posture, as though he was bracing himself against something unseen.
Dhruv couldn't explain it, but the longer he looked, the heavier the air seemed to get.
Finally, he slipped the photograph into its torn sleeve and stood. "Whoever broke in knew what they were searching for," he said.
Poornima swallowed. "But… what could they possibly want from me?"
He looked at her — her face pale but determined, her heart beating fast enough that even without meaning to, he could hear it.
"I don't know," he said, his voice low. "But this isn't random. And I'm not leaving you alone tonight."
Outside the window, the clouds parted, and the full moon glowed cold and bright — just as the Grand Seer had warned.
The drive was long and quiet. The city lights faded behind them, swallowed by the silhouette of the forest. The road narrowed into a ribbon of mist and gravel.
Poornima leaned her head against the window, exhaustion finally overtaking fear. The rhythmic hum of the engine and the faint scent of pine lulled her to sleep.
Dhruv glanced at her — the way her hair framed her face, the faint crease between her brows even in sleep. For a moment, he let the corners of his mouth soften. Then he looked ahead again, to the forest line where silver light bled through the trees.
When the car stopped, dawn was still hiding behind the horizon.
Poornima stirred, blinking at unfamiliar shadows. The room was dim, the air cool and scented faintly of sandalwood and rain. She sat up slowly, realizing she was in a bed — Dhruv's, by the look of the masculine furnishings and the neatly folded jacket on the chair.
She rubbed her eyes, trying to piece together where she was. His house… he said it was safer here.
The silence broke — a low, distant howl drifted through the window. Then another. And then — closer — a third.
Poornima froze.
Her gaze shifted toward the glass door that opened into the forest beyond. Three shapes stood at the tree line — still, powerful, their outlines glinting faintly in the half-dark. Three pairs of eyes glowed back at her — gold, silver, and pale blue.
Her breath caught. "Dhruv?" she called out.
The door creaked open behind her. Dhruv stepped in, damp hair pushed back, a faint sheen of sweat on his neck as if he'd been outside.
"Hey," he said, voice calm. "You're awake."
She pointed toward the window. "There— there are wolves outside."
He followed her gaze, his expression unreadable. "Yeah," he said lightly. "They're common around here. Harmless, mostly. They keep to themselves."
She turned to him, disbelief flickering in her eyes. "Harmless? They were watching me."
"They're curious," Dhruv said with a small, reassuring smile. "They know you're new here. It's fine."
Outside, the three wolves lingered a moment longer, their eyes fixed on Dhruv. Then, as if understanding something unspoken, they turned and melted into the forest shadows.
Poornima's shoulders loosened slightly. "You live too close to the wild," she muttered.
He chuckled softly. "I guess I like the quiet." He left allowing her to sleep until morning.
The morning mist still clung to the trees when Dhruv stepped into the backyard. Dew sparkled on the leaves of lemongrass and basil. Rows of green stretched across the clearing — neat, disciplined, alive. The air here smelled of earth and crushed herbs, a sharp contrast to the cold tension lingering from last night.
He was kneeling by a patch of sage when he heard the familiar rustle of boots behind him.
"Our future Alpha is a gardener!" Myra teased, leaning on the wooden fence with her arms crossed.
Dhruv didn't look up. "Keeps me grounded."
Rishi chuckled as he joined her, biting into an apple he must've stolen from Dhruv's kitchen. "Grounded, huh? Is that what we're calling it when you bring a woman home?"
Dhruv stilled.
Sonu emerged from behind the herb shed, grin wide. "Heard she's pretty. Human, right? First time you've brought someone back here."
Myra smirked. "My brother is finally showing his soft side. Should we start planning the bonding feast?"
Dhruv straightened slowly, brushing dirt from his hands. "Enough."
The single word carried weight — not angry, but final.
Myra exchanged a knowing look with Rishi, though her smile faded. "You're serious. Who is she, Dhruv?"
He glanced toward the cabin, where the curtains fluttered softly in Poornima's window. "Her name's Poornima. She works with me. Someone broke into her place last night — ransacked it like they were hunting for something."
Rishi's joking tone vanished. "Cursed ones?"
Dhruv nodded. "I caught their scent at the site. They've been tracking her."
Sonu frowned. "That doesn't make sense. Humans aren't even on their radar. What could she have that they want?"
"I don't know," Dhruv said quietly. "But until I find out, she stays here. She's not to know what we are. The less she sees, the safer she'll be."
Myra crouched beside the herb patch, her hand brushing over the leaves. "You think she's carrying something — an heirloom, a mark, a charm?"
Dhruv's jaw tightened. "Maybe. Or maybe she doesn't even know it herself."
For a moment, only the forest spoke — the soft rustle of wind, a distant call of a hawk.
Sonu finally said, "You realize what this means. If the cursed ones are sniffing around, the Seer's prophecy wasn't just about you."
Dhruv met his gaze, eyes dark and steady. "But how does she come into picture. She is just a weakling. She wouldn't survive a day in our world." He felt sorry for her.
Myra straightened, studying him. "Then let's hope the moon favors your choices brother. Because whatever she's tied to, it's bigger than both of you."
Dhruv turned back to his herbs, the scent of sage rising with the warmth of the sun. "I don't believe in fate," he muttered.
But deep inside, the wolf disagreed.