The Howl At Dusk

The market smelled of wet dirt, roasted meat, and fear.

Selene kept her hood low and walked through the narrow lane. The crowd was busier than usual. Wolves shouted at each other, buying herbs, bread, and fish. Chickens clucked in cages. Children ran between the stalls, laughing.

It looked like a normal morning on the surface.

But whispers filled the air.

“They say the heir looked at her.”

“No one looks him in the eye no one but her.”

“She’s marked. The goddess already chose her.”

Selene’s stomach tightened. She gripped her basket until her fingers hurt and kept walking. The words weren’t spoken to her directly, but people kept turning their heads. Too many eyes followed her.

She stopped at a bread stall and gave the baker’s wife a few coins. The woman handed her a loaf but didn’t look up.

“Thank you,” Selene said quietly.

The woman didn’t reply.

Selene walked away fast, heart pounding. The whispers followed her through the crowd.

At the end of the square, an old woman sat selling dried herbs. Her eyes were white with age, but her voice was clear.

“The Moonlit Heir is coming,” the woman said. “Blood of curse and blood of sacrifice. No door will stop her. No prayer will save her.”

Selene froze.

The old woman turned her blind eyes toward her and smiled. “Run, little wolf. The prince already has your scent.”

Heat rose to Selene’s face. She hurried away, almost tripping, pulling her hood lower. The crowd’s voices became a blur around her.

She didn’t stop running until she reached the road leading home. Her hands shook so much she nearly dropped the basket. The forest around her was quiet, but the old woman’s words still echoed in her mind.

The prince already has your scent.

When Selene reached the cottage, Nyra was waiting by the door. Her arms were crossed, her eyes sharp.

“They’re talking about you,” Nyra said.

Selene tried to stay calm. “They’re talking about some girl, not me.”

“Don’t lie,” Nyra said. “Everyone saw how you froze when the old woman spoke.”

Selene set the basket down. “Let them talk. Rumors don’t last.”

Nyra stepped closer. “Not when it’s about the heir of Veyrath. Not when it’s you.”

Selene turned away, blinking hard.

Nyra’s voice softened. “Do you even know what it means? Every few generations, one of us draws their attention. Always a woman. Always ends the same.”

Selene swallowed. “How?”

“Blood. Chains. Fire. Sometimes all three.”

The air felt heavy. Selene thought of her mother’s empty eyes, of the nights she cried after every full moon. She remembered the stories the daughters who were taken and never came back.

“That won’t be me,” Selene whispered.

“Then stay away from him,” Nyra warned. “If you must, run. Cross the river. Don’t let him find you.”

“I won’t run,” Selene said.

“Then you’ll burn,” Nyra snapped.

The words cut deep. Selene clenched her fists but said nothing. The heir had seen her and she knew that couldn’t be undone.

That night, the sky turned red as the sun went down. The village was quiet. People locked their doors early. Even the animals seemed uneasy.

Selene tried to convince herself it was a normal night. But the air felt strange. Too still. Too heavy.

Then, a howl echoed through the forest long, deep, powerful.

Selene froze.

It wasn’t a wild wolf. It was something stronger. The sound seemed to pull at her chest and twist her stomach.

Another howl answered from far away. Then silence.

The village panicked. Doors slammed shut. Mothers pulled their children inside. Everyone disappeared.

Nyra appeared beside Selene, her face pale.

“It’s nothing,” she said quickly. “Just a border wolf.”

Selene didn’t believe her. The howl wasn’t just a call.

The next morning, the village was too quiet. The air smelled like damp earth and smoke. Selene walked outside, her cloak tight around her. Everyone moved slowly, talking in low voices.

Then she saw him.

A rider on a huge gray wolf, wearing black and red armor. His face was covered in scars, his eyes sharp and cold.

Thorne Dravik. The heir’s warhound.

Selene’s heart dropped.

The wolf growled, deep and low. Villagers bowed their heads or ran inside.

Thorne got down from his mount, his boots heavy on the ground.

“Where is she?” he asked. His voice was rough, deep. “The heir is looking for a girl. Cloaked. He scented her at the ritual.”

Selene’s breath caught. She stayed still, her hood shadowing her face.

No one answered him.

Thorne looked around slowly, sniffing the air. His eyes stopped on Selene for a moment. She forced herself not to move.

Finally, he said, “The heir always finds what he claims. No door will keep her hidden.”

Then he climbed back onto his wolf and rode away.

Selene trembled. Her wrist burned again where Dorian had grabbed her.

Nyra stepped up beside her, her face pale. “This is only the beginning,” she whispered.

Selene looked at the road where he had gone and clenched her fists. She wanted to deny it but she knew Nyra was right.