DANTE
I tossed my head back and let out a humorless laugh, my eyes wide with disbelief as I stared at Bianca—the petite, middle-aged witch with long white hair that brushed her waist and pale, ice-blue eyes. The head of the witches. The seer.
"You're kidding me, right?" I growled, glaring at her.
"I wish I were, Alpha," she said softly, rising from the center of the pentagram. Her gaze drifted briefly around the room before returning to me.
"Your life is tied to hers. If you don't have her with you… Things will unravel far worse than before. You must find her."
"You're not making any fucking sense!" I snapped.
Bianca didn't flinch. She merely shrugged.
"It rarely does," she said calmly. "Prophecy often feels that way—unfair, irrational. But that doesn't make it any less true."
