The Pack of Lies

"You missed another celebration," Alina said, her voice steady but laced with something sharper.

Esme didn't raise her gaze. Picking at the bark with her fingernail, she sat at the base of the sacred oak. "Has anybody noticed?"

"Father did."

"Esme flung a piece of bark into the ground and mumbled, "Of course he did." Her gaze followed the stars that were visible through the branches above as she rested her head back against the rugged trunk. Alina took a step forward, her boots making no sound on the forest floor. "Esme, you can't continue doing this."

"Doing what?" Esme finally looked at her sister, her expression flat. "Existing?"

Alina didn't flinch, but her jaw tightened. "Avoiding everyone. Avoiding your place in the pack."

"Place?" Esme let out a hollow laugh. "What place? The one behind you? The one no one even sees?"

"That's not fair," Alina said, her voice sharper now.

"No," Esme shot back, standing abruptly. "What's not fair is spending your whole life being told you don't matter. That you're not enough."

Alina crossed her arms, her golden eyes steady and unyielding. "No one said you're not enough."

"They didn't have to," Esme replied. She stepped closer, her voice low but trembling. "It's in everything they do. Every time they look at me and see you."

Alina didn't answer right away, but her fingers clenched into fists at her sides. Rather, she looked about the clearing as though seeking a response that the sacred oak was refusing to provide.

"You can't let this eat you alive," Alina said at last. Her voice softened, but there was still steel beneath it. "The pack needs you, whether you believe it or not."

Esme shook her head. "No, Alina. They need you. The chosen twin. The one who will rule."

"And you're the one who will fall?" Alina's voice was quiet now, but her words carried the weight of the prophecy like an anchor between them.

Esme's eyes darkened. "Is that not what is prophesied to happen?"

Alina paused for the first time. She looked down at the ceremonial dagger at her waist, her fingertips brushing its polished hilt.

Her gaze locked with Esme's, firmly.

For a moment, Esme wanted to believe her, to imagine a world where they weren't pitted against each other by a prophecy neither had asked for. But she knew better.

"Go back to the party, Alina," Esme said, her voice tired. "Your pack is waiting."

Alina hesitated, her expression unreadable, before she turned and walked away.

Esme watched her go, the familiar ache in her chest settling like a stone.

The woodland fell silent again, except for the faint brush of leaves rustling in the wind. Esme dropped back to the ground and drew her knees to her chest as she stared at the sacred tree's scarred bark.

She and Alina had discussed this topic previously, and it would not be the last time. The same wall between them, the same tension, the same words. Even though they were identical twins, Esme occasionally questioned whether they had come from completely separate universes.

One twin will rule. One twin will fall.

The prophecy was always there, lingering like a shadow in her mind. It had defined everything-the way their father trained Alina relentlessly, the way the pack adored her, the way Esme was pushed aside, unnoticed and unneeded.

She tried to push those thoughts away by pressing her fingers to her face. Then a low, savage growl echoed across the air from deep in the forest.

Her wolf stirred, uneasy.

Esme rose to her feet, scanning the shadows beyond the clearing. "Alina?" she called, her voice trembling.

There was no answer, only silence. And then-another growl, closer this time.

Her heart raced as the shadows shifted, and a pair of glowing amber eyes emerged from the darkness.

Esme froze. The creature stepped into the moonlight, its fur sleek and black as midnight. A rogue.

Her breath hitched. Rogues didn't stray this far into Crescent Valley, not unless they were desperate-or hunting.

The wolf snarled, its teeth bared, and Esme's pulse thundered in her ears. Her own wolf awoke once more, but it was not a strong one, only a whisper from the periphery of her awareness. Her hands clenched, and despite the churning horror in her gut, she forced herself to stand.

With a voice more composed than she felt, she shouted, "I don't want to fight you." To begin with, the rogue didn't respond verbally. It lunged, faster than Esme expected, and she barely managed to dodge.

As the wolf's claws swept through the air where she had been standing, she staggered backward, banging her shoulder against the oak tree. Her veins flooded with adrenaline. Her thoughts were racing as she stumbled to her feet. Her instinct told her to run, but her legs felt like they were stuck to the earth. Esme was prepared as the rogue lunged once more. With a last-minute sidestep, she grabbed a falling limb and swung it as hard as she could. The wolf yelled and staggered back when the wood hit its side. There was silence for a while. The rogue circled her, its body tense and coiling like a spring, its amber eyes flashing with rage. Esme's inner wolf let out a feeble snarl, pleading with her to move, but she was unable to do so.

She'd never been able to shift fully, not like Alina or the others.

The rogue growled again, preparing to attack-and then, out of nowhere, another figure burst into the clearing.

He moved like a shadow, faster than Esme could track. The newcomer smashed into the rogue, bringing them both plummeting to the ground before the rogue could respond. Esme blinked as the fight progressed, her breath hitching.

The stranger was a man, his movements fluid and deadly. With a precise strike of his fists and claws, the rogue was soon fleeing, its snarls fading as it vanished into the forest. The man straightened, breathing heavily as his chest rose and fell. His clothing were ripped, the fabric stained with blood, and his dark hair fell into his eyes. With her instincts telling her to run, Esme took a wobbly step back. With a harsh voice, she said, "Who are you?" His eyes were piercing as he turned to face her. His eyes were a stormy gray, filled with something Esme couldn't quite put her finger on, rather than amber like the rogue's.

"Your savior, apparently," he said, his voice deep and rough-edged.

Esme frowned, her fear replaced by anger. "I did not call for yours or anyone's help."

"No, you did not" he said, stepping closer, "but I sensed you needed it."

Esme's wolf stirred again, stronger this time, and she clenched her fists. "What do you want?"

With his blank expression, the man studies her for a moment. "To warn you."

"Warn me?"

"Your pack is in danger," he said. "And so are you."

Esme narrowed her eyes. "You're a rogue."

He smirked, but there was no humor in it. "Not all rogues are your enemy. Some of us know things you don't. Things you need to know."

"Like what?"

He hesitated, his gaze flicking to the sacred oak behind her. "The prophecy. It's not what you think."

Esme now was anxious, with her heart skipping beats. "What are you talking about?"

He took another step closer, his voice lowering. "Ask your father. Ask him why he's so afraid of you."

Before Esme could respond, he turned and disappeared into the forest, his movements silent and swift.

Esme stood there, her mind racing. The rogue. The stranger. The prophecy. Her father.

Nothing made sense.

Her wolf was aroused again, and this time, it felt stronger. Fiercer.

For the first time since she heard of it, Esme doubted the prophecy. She felt there was more to it that she had been told, and she was ready to uncover the truth.