Eyes of Doom
Cleopatra’s POV
Hours passed in a tense hush.
The sun had dipped beyond the horizon, and the sky bled violet and gold. The palace buzzed with nervous energy as guards doubled their patrols and warriors combed the grounds again.
I paced the infirmary waiting area with a sleeping Jayden in my arms, my nerves frayed. Alex sat nearby, his hands stained with tears, head bowed in prayer.
A soft cry echoed from the room.
Then another—newborn. High. Strong. Alive.
The healer emerged, smiling softly. “She’s okay. The baby’s okay. It’s a girl.”
Alex collapsed into his chair, sobbing with relief. I rushed to hug him, tears threatening to spill.
“How’s my wife? Can I see her now?”
“She wants to see you both,” the nurse said gently, gesturing to the recovery room.
Williams took Jayden from my arms, cradling him protectively against his chest. The tension in his jaw said everything—he was barely holding himself together. Then, without warning, he pressed a swift, fierce kiss to my forehead. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t calm. It was a brand.
A vow.
“I’m keeping him with me until you get back, baby,” he said calmly, his voice like steel barely sheathed.
I wanted to say something. To ask if the warriors are even doing their job. But Williams was already turning away, his back rigid, muscles taut like a wolf pacing the edge of war. Jayden’s little arms clung to him, his tiny voice murmuring something into his father’s neck—something I couldn’t hear over the roar suddenly flooding my ears.
I stood paralyzed at the bottom of the stairs as Williams ascended, each step echoing like a countdown. He didn’t look back. He wouldn’t. That was how he protected—through silence, through action, through shutting the world out and locking the danger in.
He disappeared around the corner with our son.
Our son.
I turned toward the infirmary, my limbs finally unlocking. Alex followed suit as we matched the corridor to see the mother and new baby.
Renée looked exhausted but radiant, her face glowing with tears and strength. She cradled a small, swaddled bundle against her chest. Alex rushed to her side, pressing a thousand kisses to her face before holding his daughter, eyes brimming with awe.
But when I stepped forward with a bright smile—
I froze.
My breath caught.
Time seemed to halt as my gaze locked on the infant.
The baby opened her eyes.
And they weren’t Alex’s. Or Renée’s.
They were piercing violet, glowing faintly even in the low light of the infirmary. The same color from a vision I once had. A vision of doom.
I didn’t blink.
I didn’t move.
I just stared.
At the little bundle in Alex’s arms.
Her eyes.
I forced a smile.
A careful, hollow smile.
Renée didn’t notice the stiffness in my stance, or the way I backed away from the bed like it had burned me. She was lost in her bliss, watching her daughter and mate like nothing in the world could ever touch her.
And maybe for a moment, nothing would.
But I had seen those eyes before.
Violet. Ethereal. Cursed.
In a vision cloaked in shadows and blood… a forgotten revelation whispered by the dead.
“Cleo?” Renée asked, her voice tired but concerned. “Are you okay?”
I blinked, slow and purposeful, sealing the panic behind a practiced mask. “Yeah,” I said, too quickly. Then I softened it. “Yes. Sorry. Just overwhelmed. She’s… beautiful.”
I didn’t lie. The baby was beautiful.
But beauty was often the first disguise of destruction.
As tradition demands, I lifted the child in my arms to bless her, my hands trembling—not from excitement, but from fear.
I stared down at her tiny face, the weight of the vision pressing hard against my chest. Swallowing my dread, I quickly handed her over to Renee, forcing my expression to remain calm.
“I’ll leave you two,” I added before either could ask more, brushing Renée’s arm and giving Alex a nod as I slipped from the room.
The corridor outside felt colder. Narrower. My breaths came shallow, like something invisible wrapped itself around my throat.
I didn’t stop walking. I couldn’t.
Not until I reached our wing. Not until I opened the door to our room and stepped inside, closing it gently behind me like the truth itself might shatter if I slammed it.
Williams sat on the edge of the bed, shirt off, boots discarded. He’d positioned Jayden safely in the center of the mattress, the little boy curled up in peaceful slumber, one chubby fist clutching the edge of a pillow.
For a moment, I just stared at them.
At the calm. At the safety. At the illusion.
He looked up when I entered. “Everything okay?”
I didn’t answer. Not at first. I crossed the room and sank beside him, eyes locked on our son, unwilling to disturb the moment—but knowing I had no choice.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” I whispered.
Williams turned his body toward mine, brow furrowed. “What is it?”
I hesitated… then let it fall from my lips like ash.
“I saw her,” I said. “Not Renée. The baby. Her eyes—Williams, they’re the same as in the vision I had. The one I was told would bring about ruin… and cost him everything.”
I didn’t need to point.
He followed my gaze to our son, his face tightening like it had been struck.
“That’s why my wolf didn’t stir when I was performing the Luna duty. My magic did. The part of me I had lost. It stirred.”
He reached out slowly, his palm wrapping around mine. “You said that vision never made sense. That it was sealed—”
“No,” I interrupted, shaking my head. “I said I left it behind. Not that it vanished.”
Silence stretched between us like a chasm.
Then Williams sighed—tired, but firm. “Baby, you are not that girl anymore. That version of you died when you saved me from the brink of death, and she is never coming back. Whatever vision you had… it’s too old. Too twisted. You’ve been through too much to even interpret it clearly.”
He shifted closer, his fingers brushing the underside of my chin to make me meet his eyes.
“That life? That curse? It’s over,” he said. “And if anything survived it, it’s not your burden alone. It’s ours. And we will protect our son from any threat.”
We both looked at Jayden again.
“He’ll learn about everything you gave him,” Williams murmured. “The powers, the strength, the magic. He’ll be wise enough to use it. We will teach him. But don’t drag yourself back into something you barely escaped.”
I nodded slowly, my heart still rattling in my chest.
But I couldn’t look away from our son.
From the way he breathed so easily, so peacefully. So unaware.
Because that was the cruelest part of a vision.
It never came with a time.
Only a price.
And someone always paid it.
But I'd rather it be me than my son.