The Wolf's Instinct

The Blackmane mansion was no longer cloaked in calm. Panic spread like wildfire through the halls, carried on the frantic heartbeats of guards, servants, and warriors alike. Whispers of the rogue infiltration had transformed into growls of unrest, and with Diva’s scent gone and Kieran’s cell left open like a challenge, the pack teetered on the edge of chaos.

Alpha Derek stood at the center of it all, his claws unconsciously extending from his fingertips, digging crescents into the wooden arm of the war table. His golden eyes, usually sharp with authority, were clouded with something he couldn’t explain—something wild. Something un-Alpha-like.

He had not slept. Could not. His wolf paced inside him, agitated, snarling, tugging toward a direction he couldn't quite place. Every instinct screamed that Diva was in danger, but what made his chest ache was something far worse—guilt. And confusion. He didn’t understand why her absence carved such a deep hollow in him.

Was it the mark she left behind on his scent? The soft power in her voice that lingered even in silence? Or the fact that she had defied him—looked into his eyes and seen the man behind the Alpha?

He shook his head violently and growled at himself. She was just a pawn, he told himself. A means to control the prophecy. Nothing more. But that lie tasted bitter now, and it soured even more with each passing second she remained in Ronan’s claws.

“Alpha.” A scout entered the room, bowing low with his head tilted in submission. “Still no trail. It’s as if they vanished into the night.”

“They used the old tunnels,” Derek muttered, mostly to himself. His voice was gravel, laced with rage. “And we were blind.”

The scout looked up. “What are your orders?”

Derek’s jaw clenched. His wolf let out a long growl inside him, the sound reverberating in his bones. Find her. Protect her. She's ours.

That last thought—she’s ours—made Derek stiffen. He staggered back from the war table like it had bitten him. What was this madness clawing at him?

Why did it feel like more than duty? More than pride?

Have I… The thought barely formed before he snarled and stormed out of the room. No. That couldn’t be. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

But even now, he could remember the way her scent soothed his wolf. The way her fear didn't make her weak—it made her radiant. Even her silence had challenged him, unsettled him. And now, that silence echoed in her absence like a howl across the mountains.

He needed to find her. Not as a ruler. Not as a strategist. But as something more primal.

As a male who had found something—someone—worth protecting.

And so, he made a decision that shocked even himself.

He would go to her.

But he couldn’t rely on scent alone. Ronan knew how to mask trails. That traitor had once been like a brother. Now he was a shadow that haunted every step Derek took.

So he did what no Alpha wanted to do.

He sought the old witch.

---

The forest grew colder the deeper he walked. The trees whispered his name, as if the spirits themselves disapproved of the path he now tread. His wolf was restless, growling at every shadow. But Derek pressed on.

He reached the edge of the sacred forest—no wolf crossed it lightly. It was land the pack had long abandoned to the old ways, to the whispers of spirits and the bloodline of those who spoke with the moon itself.

At the base of a crooked tree, where black moss blanketed the ground like a burial shroud, stood a twisted hut built from bones, ashwood, and binding spells.

Derek approached and stopped at the threshold, knowing better than to walk in without permission.

“I know you’re there,” a rasping voice called from within. “And I know what you want.”

The door creaked open on its own.

Inside, the witch stood hunched over a pool of black water in a stone basin. Her hair was silver like winter frost, and her eyes… those eyes didn’t belong to a mortal. They shimmered like moonlight on blood.

“I didn’t come for riddles, Arla,” Derek said, keeping his voice steady. “I need your sight.”

The witch didn’t look up. “And I didn’t summon you, Alpha. Yet here you are.”

“I’m looking for a girl. A she-wolf.”

She cackled, a dry sound that sent a chill down his spine. “Ah. So the mighty Alpha feels the pull, at last.”

Derek growled low. “She’s in danger.”

“Or you are,” she said, her voice suddenly serious. “The moon doesn’t bind two wolves without reason.”

His eyes narrowed. “What are you saying?”

Arla looked at him then, truly looked, and her ancient gaze stripped him bare. “You don’t feel it? That ache in your chest? The madness in your thoughts? The instincts that no longer align with logic?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

“Your wolf has chosen,” she whispered. “And you didn’t even see it.”

“Where is she?” he asked, ignoring her words, though they thudded in his chest like war drums.

The witch turned back to the basin and dipped her fingers into the black water. “Blood and bone. Magic and fate. Show the path, open the gate.”

The water shimmered, then cleared.

There she was.

Diva. Lying on a bed of furs. Breathing, unharmed. But not alone.

Ronan stood over her, watching her like prey he meant to keep, not devour. His face was harder now. Cruel. Familiar.

“She’s alive,” Derek muttered, relief battling rage.

“For now,” Arla said. “But Ronan won’t keep her safe for long. He wants more than vengeance. He wants prophecy.”

The basin flickered again, and Derek saw the land around Ronan’s camp—a valley carved by cliffs, a place once sacred to their ancestors.

“The Moon’s Teeth,” Derek breathed.

“A place of blood and secrets,” Arla replied. “The spirits remember.”

Derek stood tall, his wolf howling within. “I’m going after her.”

The witch didn’t argue. But as he turned to leave, she spoke one final word.

“Be warned, Alpha. The she-wolf may not return to you as she left. Fate has touched her. And fate never leaves things unchanged.”

Derek paused, the truth of her warning settling like snow on his spine.

But he didn’t turn back.

His wolf had chosen.

And no matter the cost, he would bring her home.