Chapter 2: DRAVEN THORN’S AMBITION

The figure's warning echoed in my mind as I stood rooted to the spot, the chill from the night air seeping into my bones. The clearing was quiet now, the flames of the sacred fire dwindling, leaving only the soft crackle of dying embers. Ava tugged at my arm, her voice full of concern, but I barely registered her words. My thoughts were miles away, lost in the shadows of the prophecy that had begun to unravel before my very eyes.

But while I stood paralyzed by fear and uncertainty, across the forest, another mind was at work—one that thrived on the chaos and despair that I feared.

Draven Thorn stood on the edge of the Blackwood pack’s territory, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon. The moonlight filtered through the dense canopy, casting a silvery glow over the landscape. He breathed in the cool night air, letting it fill his lungs as if drawing strength from the darkness itself. The forest around him was still, yet he could sense the energy coursing through it, a deep, ancient power that had always been his to command.

Draven was a man of ruthless ambition, a trait that had driven him to the position of Alpha of the Blackwood pack at a young age. But his ambition did not stop there. No, he hungered for more—more power, more control, more dominance. And that hunger had led him to the prophecy of Silverclaw, a prophecy that spoke of a Luna who could either save or destroy their kind. Draven had no intention of letting Seraphina Nightshade fulfill that prophecy. He would take it for himself, bend it to his will, and in doing so, become the most powerful Alpha the world had ever known.

“Marcus,” Draven called out, his voice low but commanding. His second-in-command appeared at his side almost instantly, a loyal shadow that had followed him through countless battles. Marcus was a man of few words, but his loyalty to Draven was unwavering—a fierce devotion born out of respect and fear.

“Alpha,” Marcus responded, inclining his head slightly in deference.

“It’s time to make our move,” Draven said, his gaze never leaving the distant horizon where Silverclaw lay hidden behind the protective embrace of the enchanted forest. “Silverclaw is weak, too reliant on their ancient traditions and their so-called prophecy. It’s time we showed them the strength of Blackwood.”

“What do you have in mind?” Marcus asked, though there was no doubt in his tone. He trusted Draven’s judgment implicitly.

“We’ll test their defenses,” Draven said, a cruel smile curving his lips. “A strike at their borders will do nicely—a warning that we’re not to be trifled with. Let them scramble to protect themselves, to question their strength. It will make them vulnerable.”

Marcus nodded, already anticipating the orders that would follow. “I’ll send a scouting party at first light. We’ll hit their northern border—it’s the least defended.”

“Good,” Draven replied, his smile widening. “But this is just the beginning. Silverclaw is more than just territory; it’s a symbol. And symbols have power. We’ll dismantle it piece by piece until nothing remains.”

For a moment, silence hung between them, the only sound the rustling of leaves in the wind. But Draven’s thoughts were far from silent. They were a storm of memories and hatred, all revolving around one name—Nightshade. 

“I want Seraphina Nightshade brought to me,” Draven said suddenly, his voice laced with venom. “Alive. She’ll watch as I tear down everything she holds dear, as I destroy her precious pack. And then, when she’s broken, I’ll take her life and the prophecy for myself.”

Marcus’s gaze flickered with unease, but he nodded in agreement. He knew better than to question Draven’s motives, even if he didn’t fully understand them. Draven’s vendetta against the Nightshade family was something of a mystery, but it fueled his every action, driving him to lengths that even Marcus found unsettling.

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” Marcus ventured cautiously, his voice low. “What did the Nightshades do to you, Draven?”

Draven’s expression darkened, his eyes narrowing as he turned to face Marcus. “That’s none of your concern,” he snapped, his tone brooking no argument. “Just remember your place, Marcus. You’re here to follow orders, not to question them.”

Marcus lowered his head, chastened. “Of course, Alpha. I didn’t mean to overstep.”

“See that you don’t,” Draven growled, his gaze hard and unyielding. He turned away, the conversation over, but the bitterness in his heart remained, festering like a wound that refused to heal. The Nightshades had wronged him in ways that could never be forgiven, and Seraphina would pay the price for her family’s sins.

Just then, a scout approached, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he knelt before Draven. “Alpha, we’ve captured a Silverclaw scout near our borders.”

Draven’s smile returned to a cold, predatory grin. “Perfect timing,” he said, his voice dripping with malice. “Bring him to me. Let’s see what secrets Silverclaw is hiding.”

The scout was dragged before Draven, his face bloodied and bruised, but his eyes burned with defiance. Draven leaned down, his gaze locking onto the scouts. “Tell me, what does Silverclaw know of the prophecy?”

The scout remained silent, his jaw set in determination. Draven’s smile faded, replaced by a cold, deadly calm. “No matter,” he said softly, a sinister edge to his tone. “You’ll tell me everything soon enough.”

He nodded to Marcus, who stepped forward, his hands curling into fists. The sound of bones cracking filled the air as the scout screamed in agony. Draven’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction. The secrets of Silverclaw would be his, even if he had to tear them from the scout’s flesh piece by piece.

The screams echoed through the night, a dark symphony of suffering that marked the beginning of the end for Silverclaw—and for Seraphina Nightshade.