The Afterburn (Part 02)

I found myself kneeling by the basin, splashing water on my face like it would erase the memory of him. But even that stung. My skin was too sensitive. Too raw. Each droplet felt like a tiny needle, sharp and insistent. The water in the basin rippled without being touched, tiny waves spreading outward from where my hands broke the surface.

Kael's voice haunted every breath.

"You're not worthy."

The coldness in it.

"Stay away from me, omega."

The finality.

"I reject this mate bond."

I gripped the edges of the wooden basin, knuckles turning white with the force of it. The rejection replayed itself in perfect detail—the disgust in his eyes, the cruel curl of his lip, the way he'd looked through me rather than at me, as though I weren't even worth the effort of truly seeing. Alpha Kael Blackthorn, whose name was whispered with reverence throughout our territory. Whose strength had kept our borders secure for years. Whose bloodline could be traced back to the founding of our pack.

He had taken one look at me and decided I wasn't enough.

I clenched my fists, and another flicker of light sparked along my fingertips — a ghost of silver, brighter this time, unmistakable in the darkness of the room. It didn't just dance across my skin now; it emanated from it, casting eerie shadows on the walls. I gasped and stumbled back, hitting the wall behind me.

The light didn't fade immediately. It lingered, pulsing in time with my racing heart, growing stronger with my fear rather than weaker. Within seconds, my entire hands were glowing, bathed in that strange silver radiance. It wasn't painful, but it was terrifying—I had never manifested anything like this before. Any healing abilities I possessed had always been subtle, invisible to the eye. This was something else entirely.

Okay.

This wasn't heartbreak.

This was power.

And I didn't understand it.

I stared at my glowing hands, transfixed by the light. It seemed to respond to my emotions, brightening when my pulse quickened, dimming slightly when I forced myself to take a deep breath. Experimentally, I flexed my fingers, watching as the light followed the movement, trailing like silent lightning across my skin.

Was it a consequence of being rejected? A side effect of the bond tearing? Or… something else entirely?

I had heard whispers of rare abilities among wolves—gifts beyond the standard shifting and enhanced senses that all of us possessed. Stories of wolves who could command elements, communicate across vast distances, even see glimpses of possible futures. But those were mostly legends, tales told around fires to impress pups. In all my years, I had never witnessed such abilities firsthand.

Until now. Until me.

My mother's stories…

I remembered them suddenly. Her soft voice at night. The tales she whispered only when the fire was low and the shadows danced:

"The Moon Healers were the first wolves — gifted not with fangs, but light. They could soothe pain. Mend bones. Even bring wolves back from the brink of death. But their magic came with a price."

She would never tell me what that price was. Each time I asked, she would smile sadly and kiss my forehead. "Some knowledge is earned, not given," she would say. "When the time comes, you'll understand."

I had always thought it was just a bedtime story. A myth meant to comfort a child who showed early signs of healing abilities but little else to recommend her. A way to make me feel special when the world insisted I was anything but.

But now, alone and trembling on the cold floor, I wasn't so sure.

What if there had been truth in those stories? What if my mother had been trying to prepare me for something she knew might come? She had died before I was old enough to ask the right questions, before she could tell me everything I needed to know. All I had were fragments of memories, pieces of tales that suddenly seemed far more significant than they ever had before.

I closed my eyes, trying to recall more of what she had told me. There had been something about the original pack, about a bloodline blessed by the Moon Goddess herself. Something about balance, about light and shadow, about bonds that could not be broken only transformed.

When I opened my eyes again, the glow had faded from my hands, but the sensation remained—a tingling awareness, a potential just beneath the surface. Whatever this was, it wasn't going away. It was part of me now, awakened by trauma and rejection, perhaps, but undeniably real.

"Mom," I whispered to the empty room, "what am I supposed to do now?"

No answer came. Only the distant howl of a wolf somewhere in the forest, a lonely sound that seemed to echo the emptiness inside me.

⸻

A loud knock startled me so violently I yelped.

The sound shattered the silence like glass breaking, setting my already frayed nerves alight with fresh adrenaline. I scrambled to my feet, heart racing, the silvery light flaring briefly across my fingertips before I managed to suppress it through sheer panic.

Another knock. More controlled this time. Less angry, more official. The sound of authority rather than threat.

"Evelyn," came the voice — deep, gravelly. "It's Elder Thorne. Open up."

My heart dropped into my stomach.

Elder Thorne. One of the seven who had presided over the ceremony. One of the oldest wolves in the pack, keeper of our most ancient traditions. What was he doing here, at my door, in what must be the middle of the night?

What did he want?

I hesitated, brushing my hair out of my face, suddenly aware of how wrecked I looked. My face was blotchy from fighting back tears. My clothes were rumpled from lying on the bed. My hands were still glowing faintly at the fingertips, a subtle shimmer that might be dismissed as moonlight but might also raise dangerous questions.

I tucked them behind me quickly and reached for the latch with trembling fingers.

The door creaked open.

Elder Thorne stood outside, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the hallway. Tall and thin, with shoulders still broad despite his advanced age, he cut an imposing figure in his ceremonial robes. The light from the hallway's single torch made his white hair glow faintly, creating a halo effect that only enhanced his aura of authority.

He wasn't alone. Behind him stood two other wolves—pack enforcers, their expressions carefully neutral. Their presence sent a spike of fear through me. Enforcers were only called when there was trouble—when a pack member needed to be restrained or, in extreme cases, exiled.

"The Council requires your presence," Elder Thorne said simply, his voice betraying nothing of his thoughts or intentions.

"Why?" I croaked. My voice sounded like it belonged to someone else—hoarse, frightened, barely above a whisper.

He gave me a slow, deliberate look, his ancient eyes seeming to pierce right through me. "They have questions."

Questions. About the ceremony? About Kael's rejection? Or about what happened after—the strange power, the light? I couldn't tell from his expression which concerned him more.

"Now?" I asked, stalling for time, for courage, for anything that might help me face whatever was coming.

"Now," he confirmed, with a slight nod to the enforcers behind him. They didn't move to seize me, but their presence made it clear that refusal wasn't an option.

I stared at him for a moment. Thought about running. Hiding. About shifting into my wolf form and disappearing into the forest, leaving behind the pack and its politics, its cruelties, its rigid hierarchies that had never made space for someone like me.

But I didn't.

Because whatever was happening to me… it wasn't going away.

And I needed answers too.

Answers about this power. About my mother's stories. About why Kael had rejected me so thoroughly, so publicly, when the mate bond was supposed to be sacred and irrefutable. About what it all meant, and what would happen to me now.

So I nodded, stepped out into the hall, and followed him into the darkness.