—caught her breath, the staff still raised mid-swing. The howl echoed again, closer now, a wild, angry sound that made the hairs on her arms stand up. Mira lowered her staff, her grin fading as she glanced toward the trees. "That doesn't sound good," she said, her voice quieter now. Eldric stepped forward, his sharp eyes scanning the forest, his hand tightening on his own staff. "Rogues," he muttered, more to himself than to them. "They're getting too close for my liking."
Elara's pendant pulsed again, the warmth spreading through her chest, but she didn't have time to think about it. Eldric turned to her, his expression hard. "We're done for today," he said. "Go clean up, but don't let your guard down. Things are stirring out there." He nodded to Mira, who gave Elara a quick hug before heading back to the fortress. "I'll see you later, El," she called over her shoulder. "Don't let those Nightclaw jerks get to you!"
Elara managed a small smile, but her mind was still on that howl—and the pendant. She tucked it back under her tunic, the glow fading as she walked back to the guest quarters. The Nightclaw wolves who'd been watching her training were still lingering, their whispers following her like a shadow. "She'll never last," one of them said, loud enough for her to hear. "Rejected omega thinks she's a warrior now." Elara kept her head down, her cheeks burning, but she didn't stop. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing her flinch.
The next few days were a blur of sweat and sore muscles. Elara met Eldric in the clearing every morning, her body aching more with each session, but her spirit growing stronger. She wasn't good—not yet—but she was getting better. She could block most of Eldric's strikes now, even if her arms shook from the effort, and she'd started to feel her wolf more, that restless energy inside her waking up little by little. Eldric noticed it too. "You're starting to listen to your instincts," he said one morning, after she'd dodged a particularly fast swing. "That's good. Keep it up."
But it wasn't just Eldric watching her now. The Nightclaw wolves still came to the clearing, their numbers growing each day, and their whispers weren't always mocking anymore. Some of them looked curious, even impressed, though they'd never admit it. Elara tried to ignore them, focusing on her training, but there was one pair of eyes she couldn't ignore—Darius's. He'd started showing up more often, standing at the edge of the training grounds with his arms crossed, his storm-gray gaze following her every move. His presence made her heart race, her skin prickling with awareness, and she hated how much it affected her. He'd rejected her, humiliated her in front of everyone—why couldn't she just forget him?
That morning, she felt his stare more than ever. She was sparring with Eldric, her staff swinging in a wide arc, when she misstepped, her foot catching on a root. She stumbled, her staff slipping from her hands as she fell forward, straight toward the hard ground. But she didn't hit it. Strong hands caught her, gripping her waist, and she gasped as she was pulled against a solid chest. Darius. His scent hit her like a wave—pine and musk, warm and wild, overwhelming her senses. Her hands landed on his chest, and she could feel his heartbeat under her palms, fast and steady, matching her own. Their faces were inches apart, his breath warm on her cheek, and for a moment, she couldn't think, couldn't breathe. His eyes locked onto hers, dark and intense, and she felt the mate bond flare between them, a golden heat that made her body ache. She could almost feel his lips on hers, his hands tightening on her waist, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them.
Darius's grip tightened for a heartbeat, his wolf growling low in his chest. She was so close, her scent—wildflowers and rain—driving him crazy, her soft curves pressed against him. He wanted to pull her closer, to bury his face in her hair, to taste her lips and see if they were as sweet as he imagined. But he couldn't. He'd rejected her for a reason—his pack needed strength, not a dreamer. He forced himself to let go, stepping back, his jaw tight. "Watch your footing," he said, his voice rough, before turning away.
Elara's cheeks burned, her body still tingling from his touch, but his cold words snapped her out of the haze. She straightened, brushing the dirt off her tunic, her heart a mess of emotions. He'd caught her, held her like she mattered, but then he'd pushed her away again. What was his problem? She wanted to yell at him, to demand answers, but he was already walking off, his broad shoulders stiff. Eldric cleared his throat, giving her a knowing look. "Focus, girl," he said, tossing her staff back to her. "You've got enough to deal with without getting distracted."
She nodded, her jaw clenched, and got back to training, but her mind kept drifting to Darius. She hated how much he got under her skin, how much she still wanted him to look at her, really look at her, and see more than a weak omega. She pushed herself harder, her strikes faster, her blocks stronger, until her arms were screaming and her breath came in ragged gasps. Eldric finally called a break, and she collapsed onto the grass, her chest heaving as she stared up at the gray sky.
The Nightclaw wolves were still there, their whispers louder now, and Elara caught a new voice among them—sharp, cold, and dripping with venom. "She's a pathetic omega playing warrior," the voice said, and Elara's stomach twisted as she recognized it. Isabella. She sat up, her eyes finding the she-wolf at the edge of the clearing. Isabella was tall and sleek, with dark hair and sharp cheekbones, her lips curled into a smirk. She was talking to a group of Nightclaw wolves, her words carrying over the field. "Darius needs a real luna, not some rejected Silverfang pup. She'll never be one of us."
The words stung, but they also lit a fire in Elara's chest. She stood, brushing the grass off her pants, and met Isabella's gaze across the clearing. Isabella's smirk faltered for a moment, but then she laughed, turning back to her group. The other wolves nodded, some of them sneering at Elara, and she felt the weight of their judgment pressing down on her. They didn't think she belonged here. Maybe they were right—but she wasn't going to let them chase her away.
Eldric watched the exchange, his eyes narrowing. "Ignore her," he said, his voice low. "She's just scared you'll take what she wants." Elara frowned, glancing at him. "What do you mean?" Eldric nodded toward the fortress, where Darius had disappeared. "She's had her eye on being luna for years. Doesn't like that you're still here, stirring things up."
Elara's heart skipped a beat. Isabella wanted Darius? Of course she did—she was everything Elara wasn't: strong, confident, a true Nightclaw wolf. The thought made her stomach churn, but it also made her more determined. She wasn't here for Darius, she told herself. She was here for herself. But as she picked up her staff, ready to start training again, she heard a low voice from the other side of the clearing, near the trees where some Nightclaw wolves were gathered.
"She's not what I thought," the voice said, deep and familiar. Darius. Elara's head snapped up, her heart racing as she spotted him talking to a pack member, a tall wolf with a scar across his cheek. Darius's back was to her, but his words carried, quiet but clear. "She's got fight in her. More than I expected." The other wolf grunted, shrugging, but Elara's breath caught, her heart skipping a beat. He was talking about her. He'd seen her, really seen her, and he thought she had fight. For the first time since the rejection, she felt a flicker of hope, a warmth that had nothing to do with her pendant.
But then she saw Isabella, standing in the shadows nearby, her sharp eyes locked on Elara. Her glare was pure venom, her lips curling into a snarl as she—