Page 4 of My Fated Mate

An hour later, as Rylan and I venture into the ominous darkness of the cave at the edge of our territory, he shoots me a skeptical glance. "Thorne, man, are you sure about this?"

Rylan, my closest friend, insists on using my name only when we are alone, despite me telling him not to bother with “Alpha.” Everyone knows we are the best of friends, but he refuses to budge. Always the stiff, prim, and proper wolf—annoying as ever.

My gaze is fixed on the foreboding entrance. "Mad Greta's got answers. I know it. Prophecies or not, there's something in that madness that speaks the truth," I reply, convinced.

I remember that night. She had left the comfort of her cave to warn me. “Ashes, ashes. I see ashes.” She had said in a cracked voice, and even though Rylan had tried to get her back to her cave, I stopped him.

“Ashes? You see ashes?” I asked, helping her to sit while taking her gnarled, wrinkled hands in mine. She felt so cold.

“Ashes… Moonbeam shall be lost to ashes.” She said.

I didn’t understand what she meant. But I know now.

“I don’t think this is right.” Rylan mumbles and ducks as we enter the cave.

The tale of Greta, once a normal pack member driven to the brink of madness by the loss of her mate, hangs in the air. Her sanity was shattered when a bear shifter ruthlessly ended her mate's life during a hunt.

The bond breaking drove her into a spiral of incomprehensible prophecies and paranoia. The cave became her refuge, and despite my efforts to ensure her well-being, a veil of fear kept the pack at bay.

No one would dare enter her cave. Not after she almost bit off the arms of a mischievous adolescent pup.

I snicker as Rylan checks his arms and shivers as if he’s the one who got bitten. Well, he does have first-hand memories since he was the one who rescued the boy from Mad Greta’s teeth that afternoon.

As we step deeper into the darkness, the air thickens with a sense of the unknown. It's a risk, but in the shadows of Greta's madness, there might be truths waiting to be unraveled.

In the flickering firelight, Mad Greta emerges from the shadows. Her once-lustrous dress now appears unkempt, a tangled mess of cloth. Her once-glossy hair is now wild and matted. Haunted eyes peer out beneath a furrowed brow, and deep lines etch her face.

As Rylan and I approach, Greta's gaze fixes on us with unsettling intensity. A growl escapes her. "What are you doing here? Who are you? How dare you come into my cave?!" she hisses.

“Oh, shut up. I knew this was a bad idea.” Reacting swiftly, Rylan positions himself protectively before me, anticipating Greta's unpredictable wrath.

I don’t need protecting, but before I can nudge him aside, Greta screams and lunges towards Rylan with fierce rage. Claws outstretched, she aims to tear his face.

Just as her claws graze Rylan’s pretty face, I step between them, catching Greta mid-air and pushing her back a few feet.

Her feral snarls echo in the cave as she sees me.

“Stop.” I hold her back, using the alpha aura to subdue the raging storm within her. The cave trembles with the intensity of the confrontation, and finally, she sags against the rock wall and sits on the floor.

I look back at Rylan with a raised eyebrow.

You wanted to protect me?I mock.

I look back at the female on the floor, muttering incoherently.

"Greta," I begin, attempting to cut through her madness. "It's Thorne. We need your guidance." Her vacant eyes flicker momentarily, but the words tumbling from her lips are a jumbled symphony of confusion.

"They dance in shadows, oh, shadows that bite. Stars whisper secrets, secrets... lost in the howls," she mutters, her gaze distant, lost in the recesses of her fractured mind.

“Well, shit.” Rylan snickers. "This is pointless, Thorne. She's beyond reason." Frustration is etched on his face, but I remain resolved.

"Greta, what do you know about Dark Moon?" I press.

At the mere mention of the name, her vacant eyes spark with awareness.

The shadows in the cave deepen, mirroring the intensity of her gaze, as if the very mention of Dark Moon has unleashed a dormant force within her tortured psyche. As we wait for the mad oracle to speak, the air thickens with anticipation.

But she doesn’t speak. Instead, Greta’s eyes, now alight with an eerie glow, pierce the darkness. Panting and shaking, she retrieves a paper from the shadows beside her.

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