CHAPTER 377: THE PLAN

Winter/Sylthara~

I stood in the center of the opulent chamber, the kind of room that seemed to breathe its own quiet power. Morning light slipped through the gap in the heavy velvet curtains like cautious fingers, spreading a soft, golden wash over the rumpled bedsheets and the scattered traces of the night we’d shared—whispers of heat and vulnerability now cooling in the crisp air.

My brother’s voice cut through the quiet, not with sound but with a whisper that curled like smoke inside my mind. "Sylthara, we have to talk. This is very important." The chill that followed was instant, coiling in my chest. I turned my head slightly, stealing a glance at him as I let my response unfurl across the mental bond, thin and trembling. "What is it, Vaelthor?"

But he didn’t answer right away. His dark, storm-shadow eyes flicked briefly toward Katrina and Nicholas, who were still caught in the soft afterglow of our newly eased mate bonds, their laughter low and warm. The sound made the air feel alive—almost too alive.

The servants had only just retreated, leaving behind the faint, clean scent of lavender soap and starched linens. The room was quiet now, save for the slow rhythm of our breaths. We were all dressed for the day, though the intimacy of the morning still clung to our skin.

Katrina stood near the window in a flowing emerald gown, the fabric catching the light and making her reddish-blonde hair shimmer like autumn leaves in motion. Nicholas, beside her, wore a fitted dark tunic that traced every line of his broad shoulders and lean strength, his black hair in that perfectly careless disarray that made him look as if the world bent for him without asking.

Vaelthor lingered closer to me, composed and dangerous in equal measure. His dark clothes fit him like a second skin, every movement smooth, calculated—his demonic strength hidden beneath the charm that could make kingdoms burn if he wished.

And then there was me. Standing there in a black dress that clung to my form like a secret I wasn’t supposed to wear, I felt like a shadow wrapped in silk. A girl who had never belonged in a place like this, never dreamed of silk sheets or golden mornings. My heart was a labyrinth—threaded with love for Vaelthor and Nicholas, knotted with fear that one day the truth of who I was would splinter everything we’d built.

The air shifted between us, heavy with what wasn’t being said. Vaelthor’s silence pressed against my thoughts like a warning.

Vaelthor cleared his throat, breaking the lingering joy in the room. "Katrina, Nicholas," he said, his voice smooth as midnight silk, "Winter and I would like to take a short stroll in the gardens. Just some private time together, you know? Sibling stuff."

I watched Nick closely—my mate, the boy that had quickly become my everything—and heard it instantly: his heartbeat spiking, a frantic drumbeat echoing in my enhanced senses. His dark eyes, so much like his father’s, narrowed slightly, a flicker of fear crossing his brooding features. He tried to mask it with that cocky grin, but as strange as it sounds, I knew him too well. Beside him, Katrina’s blue eyes widened, her fiercely independent spirit suddenly shadowed by a wave of scared vulnerability. She bit her lip, her hands twisting the fabric of her gown. They both remembered that night we all met—the chaos, the running, the uncertainty. Were they afraid we’d vanish into the shadows again?

Vaelthor noticed it too, of course. He was always one step ahead. With a soft chuckle that held just a hint of amusement at their expense—funny how fear could look so endearing on them—he stepped toward Katrina, pulling her into his arms. She fit against him perfectly, her head tucking under his chin as he enveloped her in a hug that radiated possessive tenderness. "Hey, hey," he murmured, his voice dropping to that charming, dangerous timbre that could melt ice. "I’m not running away like that night we all crashed into each other. Promise." He tilted her chin up, his dark eyes locking onto hers, and pressed a kiss to her lips—slow, deliberate, the kind that made the air in the room thicken with unspoken passion. When he pulled back, he smiled, that ambitious glint in his eye softened by genuine emotion. "I love you too much to do something that stupid. Besides, why would I run when I’ve already found my happiness right here?"

Katrina’s cheeks flushed a deep rose, her impulsive nature giving way to a shy vulnerability that made my heart ache for her. She hugged him back fiercely, her arms wrapping around his waist as if anchoring him to her. "I trust you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "Just... come back soon, okay? We have the whole day ahead."

I couldn’t just stand there watching. My own fear was bubbling up, but I pushed it down, reaching for Nicholas’s hand. His fingers intertwined with mine instantly, warm and strong, a mix of vampire speed and werewolf regeneration that made him feel unbreakable. I smiled up at him, forcing my quiet guard to crack just enough to show the love I felt—the love that terrified me because it warred with my heritage. "We’ll join you for breakfast," I said softly, my voice like a whisper of night, carrying that dream-walking lilt that always seemed to draw him in. "Promise. Vincent and I are just going to the gardens. Nothing more."

Nicholas’s dark eyes searched mine, that magnetic arrogance flickering back to life as he leaned down, his breath brushing my ear. "I trust you, Winter," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers through me. Then he kissed me—gentle at first, but deepening with that brooding intensity, his hand cupping my face as if I were the only light in his whole world. When he pulled away, he flashed that cocky grin, trying to lighten the moment. "But if you’re not back before breakfast starts, I’m coming after you with my full hybrid charm. Deal?"

I laughed softly, the sound surprising even me— a rare bubble of genuine amusement in the tension. "Deal," I replied, squeezing his hand one last time before letting go.

Vaelthor and I slipped out of the chamber, the heavy door closing behind us with a soft thud that felt like a seal on fate. The palace halls were a labyrinth of marble and gold, echoing with the distant chatter of courtiers and the scent of blooming roses from the gardens beyond. As we walked side by side, my heart began to pound faster, a relentless rhythm that drowned out the birdsong filtering through the open arches. Somehow, I knew—deep in my bones, where my nightmare-weaving powers stirred like restless dreams—that Vaelthor was about to tell me something I wouldn’t like. Something that could shatter the fragile happiness we’d carved out here, amidst the enemies who had become our lovers.

We reached the gardens, a sprawling oasis of manicured hedges, vibrant flower beds bursting with crimson poppies and indigo nightshades, and winding paths shaded by ancient oaks. The air was crisp, carrying the earthy perfume of dew-kissed soil and the faint, salty tang of the nearby sea. Vaelthor led us to a quiet corner, tucked away behind a trellis overgrown with ivy, where a stone bench sat beneath a weeping willow. It was secluded, the perfect spot for secrets—or confessions that could ignite wars.

He sat down first, gesturing for me to join him. I perched on the edge of the bench, my hands clasped in my lap to hide their tremble. The sunlight dappled through the leaves, playing across his face, highlighting the sharp angles that spoke of our demonic heritage. "Syl," he began, his voice low and intense, laced with that calculating ambition that had always driven him. "I’ve finally come up with a plan. For us to avenge our parents."

My heart sank instantly, plummeting like a stone into an abyss. The words hung in the air, heavy and final, stirring the darkness within me—the shadows I manipulated, the nightmares I wove. Our mother, Kalmia, slain by Zane and Natalie. Our father, Shadow, imprisoned forever. Vengeance had been our birthright, whispered in the cradle of our exile. But now? With Nicholas’s kiss still warm on my lips, Katrina’s trust echoing in my mind? It felt like poison.

"Vaelthor," I whispered, my voice cracking with emotion, "what... what do you mean? We barley know anything, about this place and the people we’re dealing with. Please, tell me you’re not—"

He leaned in, the air between us crackling with a dangerous promise. His eyes shone with a fevered intensity that made my pulse skip, as if he’d lit a flame inside my ribs and was waiting to watch it burn. "In a month," he said, voice low and certain, "we take the Lycan King and Queen — the ones who shattered our mother’s life. We take Sebastian and Cassandra, too. We hit the heart, and then we burn the map."

He spoke of it like a vow, each word a stone in some terrible monument he planned to raise. The plan unfurled in my head in cold, precise detail: a strike that would carve a scar through the old order, then slipping away before the ashes settled. "After that," he whispered, "we leave this palace for good. We vanish from the shadows that have chased us since childhood and build something that’s ours."