Page 2 of Where Lightning Strikes Twice (Fated Mates, Stubborn Hearts #2)

KAEL

I soar above the ancient mountain aerie, my wings spread wide to catch the thermal currents rising from the valley floor.

Below me, the Storm Eagle territory stretches across jagged peaks and hidden valleys—a vertical city carved into the mountainsides over centuries.

My people have ruled these skies since before the ground-dwellers built their first settlements.

This is where we belong—above everything, watching, ruling.

The morning sun glints off my golden feathers as I bank sharply, diving toward the highest platform of the aerie.

I release my eagle form just before landing, the transformation rippling through me in a cascade of lightning and flesh.

My boots connect with the stone platform with barely a sound, my human form materializing completely by the time I straighten to my full height.

Wind whips around me, tugging at my dark hair and the ceremonial leathers that mark my position as clan leader.

Below this platform, the Storm Eagle aerie buzzes with morning activity—hunters preparing for daily patrols, healers gathering mountain herbs, warriors training in aerial combat maneuvers.

From this vantage point, I can oversee it all.

Elder Talon approaches, his weathered face grave beneath a crown of silver hair. Despite his advanced age, he moves with the predatory grace all Storm Eagles maintain even in human form. His eyes—golden like mine but faded with time—hold centuries of clan knowledge.

“The Council awaits, Stormwright,” he says, using my leadership title rather than my name. Formality means trouble.

I nod, following him down the winding stone stairs carved into the mountain itself.

The Council chamber occupies a large cavern illuminated by shafts of sunlight streaming through strategically placed openings in the rock face.

The natural light catches on crystalline formations embedded in the walls, amplifying the brightness.

Five elders already sit in their traditional positions around the circular stone table. Their faces reflect varying degrees of concern, impatience, and—in some cases—poorly concealed hostility. My leadership has been increasingly questioned as our clan’s resources dwindle.

I take my place at the head of the table, noting the absence of several younger council members who typically support my policies. A deliberate exclusion, no doubt.

Elder Tempest speaks first, her silver-streaked hair pulled back in a severe braid. “The southern hunting grounds yielded barely enough to feed our youngest members yesterday. The third such failure this month.”

“The northern ranges are similarly depleted,” adds Commander Gale, the youngest elder and typically my strongest ally. His presence at this meeting suggests even he questions my recent decisions. “Game is scarce across our traditional territories.”

I keep my expression neutral despite the surge of frustration. “The wildlife patterns have changed since the Dire Wolves began pushing south. We’ve had to adjust our hunting grounds accordingly.”

“Adjust?” Elder Tempest’s voice sharpens. “We’ve been reduced to scrounging while ground-dwellers feast on stockpiled supplies below. Supplies meant for our territories before the barriers fell.”

“We are Storm Eagles,” Elder Talon intones, his voice resonating with ancient authority. “The sky-born dominion. Yet our children go hungry while lesser beings thrive.”

The criticism strikes deeper than they know. I’ve lain awake many nights grappling with these same concerns, calculating how long our supplies might last, strategizing ways to secure resources without triggering all-out war.

“The prophecies speak clearly,” Elder Talon continues, unrolling an ancient scroll with careful hands. The parchment crackles as he reads: “‘When the barriers between territories fall, the storm-born ruler shall reclaim dominion over all shifters, uniting the skies and earth under eagle wings.’”

The familiar words hang in the air. I’ve heard them since childhood, but their interpretation has always troubled me. Does dominion mean conquest? Subjugation? Or something else entirely?

“The prophecies speak of leadership, not annihilation,” I say carefully. “We cannot rule over the dead.”

“No one suggests genocide,” Commander Gale responds, “but we cannot sustain our people without more aggressive resource acquisition.”

Resource acquisition. Such a bloodless term for raiding and warfare.

Before I can respond, a flash of bronze feathers announces my sister’s arrival. Zara lands gracefully on the council chamber’s balcony, shifting to human form in a fluid motion. At twenty, she’s the image of our mother—same bronze-gold hair, same intense eyes, same stubborn set to her jaw.

“Forgive my interruption,” she says, though her tone suggests she’s not particularly concerned about disturbing the meeting. “The western scouts have reported another Dire Wolf incursion along our northern boundary. They’re testing our defenses again.”

The council erupts in angry murmurs. The Dire Wolves—brutal, pack-minded predators—have been our enemies for generations. Their recent territorial expansion threatens everyone, ground-dwellers and aerial clans alike.

I turn back to the council. “This is precisely why we cannot afford full-scale war with Haven’s Heart settlements. Fighting on two fronts would decimate our numbers.”

“Then what do you propose, Stormwright?” Elder Tempest demands. “That we slowly starve, maintaining your cautious approach?”

I steel myself against the criticism. “I propose targeted strikes on ground-dweller supply convoys—precise, strategic operations that maximize resource capture while minimizing casualties.”

“Minimize casualties?” Viktor’s voice cuts through the chamber as he strides in, uninvited.

My lieutenant—once friend, now increasingly adversary—moves with aggressive confidence.

His silver-streaked black hair and steel-gray eyes stand in stark contrast to the golden coloring most Storm Eagles possess.

“Since when do we concern ourselves with ground-dweller lives?”

The room falls silent. Viktor has voiced what many think but few dare say aloud.

“Since we became intelligent enough to understand the difference between conquest and extermination,” I reply, keeping my voice level despite the lightning that threatens to crackle between my fingers. “We target supplies, not civilians.”

Zara steps forward, her diplomatic nature asserting itself. “My brother is right. The ground-dwellers outnumber us significantly. Direct confrontation plays to their strengths, not ours.”

Viktor’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Perhaps our leader has grown too fond of mercy. The Storm Eagles of old would have dominated through strength, not strategic restraint.”

“The Storm Eagles of old didn’t face extinction from resource depletion,” I counter. “Times have changed. Our tactics must change with them.”

A tense silence follows until Elder Talon taps his staff against the stone floor. “This council recognizes the leadership of Kael Stormwright. For now.” The qualification hangs heavy in the air. “Present your strategy for these… targeted strikes.”

I signal to Zara, who unfurls a map across the stone table. “I’ve identified key supply routes between Haven’s Heart and their northern settlements. Their convoys follow predictable schedules—a weakness we can exploit.”

For the next hour, I detail my plans for precision raids on specific convoy routes, showing which supplies we most urgently need and how we’ll distribute captured resources. Throughout my presentation, I feel Viktor’s calculating gaze. He no longer bothers to hide his ambition for leadership.

When the council adjourns, the elders file out with mixed expressions—some thoughtful, others skeptical. Viktor lingers, examining the maps I’ve marked with potential targets.

“Impressive planning,” he says, tracing a supply route with one finger. “Though I question the execution. These surgical strikes require perfect timing and coordination.”

“Which is why I’ll lead them personally,” I reply.

Viktor’s eyes narrow slightly. “As you wish, Stormwright. Just remember, our people follow strength. They respect power, not restraint.”

After he leaves, Zara moves to my side. “He’s gathering support among the traditionalists,” she warns quietly. “Be careful, brother.”

I fold the maps, buying time to control my expression. “Viktor’s ambitions are no secret. But he can’t challenge me without cause.”

“And cause can be manufactured,” she counters. “The clan is hungry and afraid. Hungry, afraid people make dangerous decisions.”

I meet her concerned gaze. In many ways, Zara has been my conscience since our parents died—thirteen years ago now, though the memory remains razor-sharp.

Their deaths in territorial combat with northern bear shifters left me, at nineteen, suddenly responsible for an entire clan and a seven-year-old sister.

“I’ve led us through worse,” I remind her.

“Yes, but you’ve never had Viktor actively working against you before.” She squeezes my arm. “Don’t underestimate him, Kael. He believes those prophecies with his entire being—and believes he should be the one to fulfill them.”

I place my hand over hers. “I don’t have the luxury of political infighting. Our people need food, supplies, and medicine. That’s my priority.”

“Just promise you’ll watch your back during these raids,” she insists. “I don’t trust Viktor’s sudden interest in your battle plans.”

I nod, though my thoughts are already turning to the upcoming mission. “We strike at dusk. Make sure our best warriors are ready.”