Chapter 4- Kael
Wolves Don't Beg
The wind shifted.
Even after all these years, I still remembered what Alera smelled like when she was angry—like lightning before a storm, and fire beneath ice. It clung to me now, lingering in the air long after she'd disappeared back into the trees.
She'd hate me even more if she knew I'd followed her trail.
But I had no choice.
The raven had come too close. I smelled it the moment it entered the territory—smoke, rot, and blood-magic. Which meant I wasn't the only one keeping tabs on Fenmoor. Worse, whoever sent that raven had to know about Alera. About me. About us.
The witches were never supposed to be involved again. That was the deal.
That was the promise I broke.
I moved fast through the trees, eyes scanning for signs of pursuit, but the forest was silent now—too silent. Not even the birds dared speak. My instincts screamed trap, but I didn't turn back. Not yet. Not when I was this close to the only person who might believe me—eventually.
I crept closer to the packhouse. It hadn't changed. Same stone walls. Same double chimneys. Same damn porch swing her mother used to sit on, watching us train like she already knew what was coming.
I shook the thought off.
I couldn't afford memories right now.
I crouched behind a line of dense shrubbery, watching. Wolves moved in and out of the clearing, laughing, sparring, completely unaware that death had entered their borders.
I wasn't here to fight them. Not yet. I just needed to find Alera again. To finish what I started.
Then I caught it—her scent. Again. Fresh.
But it wasn't headed to the main house.
No, it led to the old east wing. Where the walls sagged, and the paint peeled, and no one had set foot in years.
Except her.
I grinned despite myself. Smart girl.
Slipping into the shadows, I circled wide and kept low. It didn't take long to find the side entrance. The door was unlocked—either on purpose or out of arrogance. I stepped inside, careful not to creak the floorboards, and inhaled slowly.
There. Under the rug. Her scent was strongest there, mixed with earth and damp stone.
I lifted the rug and blinked at the trapdoor. Classic Alera. Secretive, clever, always two steps ahead.
I knocked once, softly.
No answer.
So I opened it.
What I saw made my heart stop.
Alera stood near the far wall of the underground chamber, a lantern in one hand, and a blade in the other. Her eyes burned gold, and she didn't flinch as I descended the steps.
She didn't speak, either.
Neither did I.
For a long moment, we just stood there, staring. Two wolves. Too much history. Not enough time.
Then finally, she said, "You really are a stubborn bastard."
I shrugged. "You always said that's what you liked about me."
She didn't smile. "You following me was a mistake."
"I didn't come here to beg."
"No," she said coldly, "because wolves don't beg. They lie. They run. They betray."
Her words stung, but I deserved them. Every one.
Still, I stepped closer. "They also fight. And protect. And love."
"Don't." Her voice cracked. Just once. "Don't you dare bring love into this, Kael. Not after what you did."
I nodded slowly. "Alright. Then let's talk survival."
That got her attention.
I pulled a worn leather satchel from my jacket and tossed it onto the table between us. Several crumpled photos spilled out—images of mangled wolves, burned villages, ancient symbols carved into flesh.
Alera's face paled.
"This is what I've been tracking," I said. "This is what's coming. The witches are waking the old blood. The ones your father refused to believe in. The ones my bloodline swore to stop."
She stared at the photos, then at me. "Why now? Why bring this here?"
I met her gaze, unflinching. "Because they're targeting the bloodlines tied to the prophecy. And yours is at the top of that list."
Silence.
Then she whispered, "And what about you, Kael? Where do you fall in that prophecy?"
I stepped closer, voice low. "Right next to you."
Her eyes widened—but she didn't move away.
And that was all I needed.
For now.