Chapter 3

Three days later, Stormfang Pack held its annual harvest celebration for the fall hunt.

The event was on an open, stone-paved area at the edge of our territory. A massive bonfire burned at the center, filling the air with the scent of roasting meat and the restless energy of young wolves.

As the Pack Luna, I had to attend.

I was surprised to see Damine when I walked in. As Alpha, he usually didn't participate in these more social gatherings aimed at younger wolves.

He was currently surrounded by a group of eager young Delta and Gamma warriors who had just come of age. He idly twirled an intricate silver dagger engraved with patterns—symbol of his status—between his fingers.

When he saw me enter, he almost immediately stopped his conversation, pushed through the crowd, and sat down in the empty seat next to me.

The surrounding noise instantly died down, making the atmosphere awkward.

I could feel the gazes on me—a mix of curiosity, contempt, and maybe a hint of jealousy I couldn't quite detect.

To these young wolves, most from ancient pack families, I, Sylvia, an "outsider" abandoned by humans and raised by an Omega, becoming Damine Blackwood's mate and Luna undoubtedly meant I had used some unknown trick.

So they all looked down on me.

I ignored their stares and sat quietly, my gaze fixed on the dancing flames of the bonfire, as if the fire could absorb all the unwanted attention.

Not long after, the former hunting leader, an experienced Gamma warrior, walked to the front of the bonfire carrying an old chest made of some beast's leather.

"Hey, you young whelps! Quiet down!" His loud voice cut through the chatter. "Besides tonight's party, there's something else—remember that activity you did five years ago, right after basic training? You wrote letters to your future selves. Well, time's up! Today, we're opening them all!"

He opened the chest, revealing it was filled with small scrolls and parcels wrapped in small pieces of leather and tied with leather cords.

"Let's play a game!" the old leader suggested excitedly. "We'll draw them randomly. Whoever draws one reads it out loud for everyone to hear! Let's see what five years ago's us, or our friends, were thinking!"

A chorus of excited howls and cheers erupted from the young wolves.

In this wild, straightforward atmosphere, the suggestion was met with immediate enthusiasm.

Michael, the most active young Delta warrior, rushed forward first and pulled a parcel from the chest.

He untied the leather cord, unfolded the slightly rough parchment inside, cleared his throat, and began to read:

"To my future Sylvia. It's the fall hunting season of pack year 78. I just finished my first official hunting training and'm sitting under the biggest oak tree at the edge of the hunting ground, writing this to you."

The entire gathering fell silent. Almost everyone's gazes snapped to me at once.

My heart clenched, as if caught by an invisible wolf's paw.

The words on the parchment instantly pulled me back to that afternoon five years ago. I was twenty, having just finished tough training, with blood scratches from jungle thorns still on my arms, tired but excited.

Then, I saw Damine in the training field not far away, patiently teaching Sofia hunting techniques.

Sunlight filtered through the trees, landing on his black hair and focused profile, as if he were glowing.

Michael's voice continued, with the coarse texture of the parchment, reading out a secret I'd buried in my heart for years: "I want to tell you, I've fallen for Damine Blackwood. But... his eyes are always on Sofia Keating. I know this feeling has no future."

I clenched my hands in my lap, my knuckles turning white.

"You might ask me, if you know there's no future, why not just give up?" Michael read, his voice taking on a strange note he might not even be aware of. "I can't give up. What I love is his unwavering courage and strength when hunting fierce beasts; it's how he doesn't care about rank or bloodline, that he never ignores the needs of lower-ranking wolves and never looks down on me; and it's his sincerity and politeness even when turning people down."

"Every morning training, I'd deliberately adjust my position, just to sneak a glance when we changed formations, even if my neck would ache.

Hearing he was injured by silver gear during a border patrol, I risked getting scolded to secretly place Moonmark Grass ointment I'd collected and made in his locker. My leather journal is filled with his name, page after page... Perhaps he'll never know there was a girl named Sylvia in Stormfang Pack who once, once, loved him like this. But that's okay..."

Michael paused here, as if moved by what followed, then continued reading: "Because loving someone should be a lonely journey... I know I love him, and that's enough."

When the last word fell, a dead silence surrounded the bonfire, only the crackle of burning wood sounding unusually loud.

Without looking up, I could feel the gazes on me become even more complex.

And beside me, Damine had gone completely rigid. The silver dagger he'd been idly twirling between his fingers clattered onto the stone table between us, making a sharp sound.

He whipped his head around to look at me, his amber eyes filled with unprecedented shock... and an emotion I couldn't quite decipher right away.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but his throat seemed to be blocked.

I saw the turmoil in his eyes, reflecting the image of that unremarkable wolf girl hiding behind the oak tree five years ago, secretly watching him. It also reflected the image of me three years ago at the blood moon ceremony, standing firm amidst the various gazes of the crowd and saying "I am willing."

In that instant, many details Damine had overlooked might have flooded his mind: the temperature of the herbal tea I brewed to soothe his ruts; this bond mark on my neck, personally seared by him with his blood still on it; the silhouette of me handling pack affairs late into the night...

It turned out that I chose to be his mate not out of the climbing the ranks that others accused me of, simply because I had silently loved him for so many years.

The heart in his chest skipped a beat. A strong impulse made him want to grab my hand right then, to question or confirm something.

However, just as he was about to speak, the emergency encrypted communicator he carried buzzed sharply and inappropriately again.

That special vibration pattern for highest priority—Sofia's alone.

Sofia's tearful, terrified voice came through, clear even without the speaker on in the quiet gathering with wolves' sharp hearing: "Damine! Help me! I'm at that abandoned watchtower on the territory edge near the human highway... there are, there are poachers with silver weapons! They've tied my wrists with ropes dipped in silver powder! It hurts... my power is being suppressed..."

Sofia's cries, like silver-tipped needles, instantly pierced the waves Damine's heart had just set off because of the letter.

The complex emotions about me in his eyes quickly faded, replaced by the familiar worry and anger he felt for Sofia.

He shot up from his stone bench, not even looking at me or picking up the fallen dagger. Like a black lightning bolt, he rushed out of the bonfire area, heading toward the edge of the territory.

The other wolves exchanged looks, then rose to follow, falling in line behind Damine. I walked silently at the very back of the group.

When we reached the abandoned wooden watchtower, the scene made my blood boil.

Three dirty human poachers, their faces greedy, were using chains that gleamed with an unnatural silver light to bind Sofia's wrists and ankles.

The burns from the silver touching her skin made her whimper in pain. Her wolf form flickered unstably but couldn't fully manifest due to the silver's suppression.

One of the poachers, short and stocky with a scar across his face, held a dagger clearly coated in wolfsbane, giving off a nauseating smell. He was making threatening gestures near Sofia's cheek.

Damine's eyes instantly turned to the vertical pupils of a predator, burning with terrifying fury in their amber color.

A low, threatening growl rumbled in his throat. Half-wolf claws shot from his fingertips, gleaming cold in the moonlight.

Without any extra movement, he charged forward like a cannonball. His fist, covered in hard keratin, carried the terrifying strength of an Alpha, crashing hard into the face of the nearest poacher.

The crack of breaking bones was sickening.

The silver that naturally harmed wolves caused faint wisps of smoke to rise from Damine's fist where it touched possible silver residue on the poacher, bringing burning pain, but he seemed completely unaware.

His anger made his strikes extremely brutal. Every punch contained enough force to break ordinary human bones. The other two poachers tried to resist with their silver weapons, but their movements were ridiculously slow against a furious Alpha wolf. Damine skillfully snatched the silver chain from one, swung it to strike the other on the neck, and soon had all three poachers writhing on the ground in pain.

Sofia cried out, pointing at the stocky poacher: "Him! He wanted to slash my face with that dagger! And... and he wanted to take my fangs!"

Those words were like lighting the final fuse.

Damine's fury completely exploded. He picked up the dagger on the ground that reeked of wolfsbane—though silver and wolfsbane were a double torture for wolves, a powerful Alpha could temporarily resist with willpower and bloodline strength. Without hesitation, he brought the hard end of the dagger down hard on the wrist of the stocky poacher holding it!

"Crack!" Accompanied by a chilling sound of breaking bones and the poacher's piercing scream, his wrist twisted at an unnatural angle, clearly broken.

Blood sprayed out, looking especially stark in the moonlight and the remaining firelight. Even the battle-hardened wolves among us couldn't help but gasp.

I stood at the very back of the crowd, looking at that mangled, nearly severed wrist, and my fingertips went ice cold. I subconsciously looked up at Damine.

But what I saw was him discarding the dagger, now stained with blood and wolfsbane. He was carefully using those hands that had just unleashed terrifying force to gently untie the silver chains digging into Sofia's flesh.

His movements were so tender, as if handling a priceless treasure.

He was saying something to her in a low voice, a gentle, almost protective tone I had never heard from him: "Don't be afraid. It's over. I'm here. No one will hurt you you anymore."

So it turned out that the so-called "responsibility" and "protection" were different.

What he gave me was the rule-bound duty of an Alpha toward his bonded mate, toward the Luna.

What he gave Sofia was instinctive protection, without hesitation, at any cost.

I lowered my eyelashes, hiding the last faint ripples in my eyes, and the self-mocking bitterness rising from within.

Then, I silently turned and walked back along the path we came, toward my small cottage deep within Blackwood Manor.

The cold night wind carried the scent of blood and wolfsbane from afar, also blowing away the last unrealistic warmth in my heart.

It wasn't until after midnight that the cottage door opened.

Damine walked in, carrying the chill of the night, a faint bloody scent, and a hint of Sofia's perfume.

He saw me sitting silently on the bearskin couch. The glowstone in the stone lamp beside me cast a faint light on my expressionless face.

As if remembering he should explain, his voice carried a trace of fatigue I couldn't quite detect... and maybe guilt?

"Sylvia, tonight... you saw it too. Those poachers used silver on Sofia. It was an emergency. As Alpha, I couldn't just stand by. She is a pack member after all, and..."

"I know," I interrupted him, my voice as calm and icy as a frozen lake, without a single ripple. "You handled it. That's good. If you're tired, go get some rest."

I stood up, not looking at him, and walked straight to the bathroom to get clean clothes. The warm water washed over my body, cutting off all sounds from outside.

Half an hour later, I walked out of the bathroom with towel-dried hair, but saw Damine standing at the stone table, holding a scroll.

It was my migration application to a neutral southern wolf sanctuary, submitted with Lidia's help.

According to ancient pack rules, once a bond is officially dissolved, the passive party usually needs to leave the original pack's territory to avoid unnecessary conflict and awkwardness.

"Sylvia," Damine looked up at me, his voice trembling with an intensity he was trying to suppress but was still leaking through, "what is this? You're applying to the 'Southern Sanctuary'? Why... why didn't you ever tell me?"