Chapter Title: "The Quiet Before the Storm"
Elara had never felt more helpless.
The courtyard was silent save for the sounds of groaning wolves and hurried footsteps. The scent of poultices, blood, and ash clung to her skin no matter how many times she scrubbed. Her fingers trembled as she held down a young warrior's arm while Tamara stitched a deep gash above his collarbone.
Another wounded soldier. Another casualty in a war that hadn't even started.
And it was all because of her.
Tamara said nothing, but Elara saw the way her hands moved faster than usual, the tightness around her eyes betraying exhaustion. They'd been at this for hours, patching wounds, offering calming herbs, cleaning what little remained of the infirmary.
She hated this. Not the work, but the eyes. The wolves were supposed to self heal. But something was wrong with their alpha. The wounds he give take ages or medicine to heal. She knew her power was mixed enough to heal them faster. But that did not mean they were not injured and they knew it was because of her.
Their stares followed her everywhere.
Not openly accusing anymore but more fearful and cautious. Like one wrong breath from her might trigger the Drowned pack alpha's wrath again.
Because he was her mate! No. She wouldn't accept it. She couldn't.
But the pack... they already had.
By dusk, Callen had gathered the warriors and begun drills at the southern clearing. Elara watched from the upper window as his voice echoed across the fields, barking orders, pushing them harder than ever. She knew he was preparing. For Luca, the upcoming war and For bloodshed.
She also knew he wouldn't survive it. And neither would the pack if luca could harm them but they could not.
She needed air. Something that didn't smell like agony.
"I'll gather more winterroot," she told Tamara as she grabbed her basket. "The ones we had spoiled in the heat."
Tamara looked up from her poultice work. "It's already dark."
"I won't go far."
Tamara paused looking worried but when she noticed Elara's face and sighed. The nod could not come more reluctantly.
"Take the dagger," Tamara said, not meeting her eyes.
Elara didn't argue. She slipped it into the folds of her cloak and headed into the woods behind the training fields, letting the scent of damp pine and crushed moss soothe her nerves. The moon was a pale ghost above the trees, thin clouds moving across it like whispered warnings.
She found the winter root near the edge of the stream, where the earth was colder. She knelt to harvest a few stalks when she felt it — that sharp sensation across her skin, like frost brushing the back of her neck.
She wasn't alone.
Her fingers froze around the stalk when she heard quiet footsteps behind her.
She stood slowly, heart pounding. And then she saw him.
The Alpha of Moonridge's pack. The one who had adopted her and loathe her at the same time.
He stood in the shadows of two trees, arms crossed, face carved from granite.
Elara took a shaky breath, clutching the basket to her chest. "Alpha…"
"You shouldn't be out alone," he said in a flat voice.
"I just needed herbs." She forced a polite nod. "I'll head back now."
He didn't move.
She stepped forward but stopped when he said, low and cold, "You need to leave."
Elara blinked. "What?"
"This pack can't protect you. And the longer you stay, the more we bleed."
It wasn't cruel. It wasn't even angry. He just sounded exhausted and.. helpless!
She swallowed. "I didn't ask for any of this. I dont even know him."
"But it found you anyway."
Elara looked away, blinking against the sudden sting in her eyes. "You want me to run? Hide? Leave Callen?"
"I want my people to live." The Alpha stepped closer. "You saw what he did without even touching anyone. What happens when he gets angry again? Or worse.. when he claims you?"
"He won't." she forced but the look in her eyes made her feel small, like a little girl fighting for the toy that did not belong to her.
"You don't know that."
Her throat tightened. "Callen marked me. I belong to him."
"You belonged to Callen until the Drowned Wolf felt the bond snap into place. Until the gods decided to play their sick little games."
She hated the sound of those words. Belonged. Like she was nothing more than territory. A prize.
"I won't leave him."
The Alpha's expression didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes. a note of regret, maybe or pity.
"You will. When it's too late to save him."
A breeze rustled through the trees.
Elara stood frozen, caught between fear and fury.
"I am not a weapon," she whispered. "I didn't choose this. But I will not be shamed for existing."
For a second, the Alpha looked almost proud. She swallowed waiting for his next words but he turned to leave.
"When the storm comes, remember this: war doesn't care who's right. Only who survives."
And then he was gone.
Elara stood alone beneath the trees, the herbs limp in her basket, the moon above watching in silence.
She felt like crying.
But instead, she clenched her hands, and turned toward the packhouse.
She would not run. Even if the storm broke her. And to make sure she would belong to Callen, she would give herself to him entirely. Even if she was Luca's mate, he would no want a used woman as his mate because of his pride and his position as an alpha.