The Healer's Price

By daybreak, the Kaelith mountains were covered in snow like a cloak for a funeral. The stronghold, however, was already awake—buzzing, tense, as though each stone could smell the impending danger.

And deep within its cold heart, Elaria sat by the fire she hadn’t lit.

She hadn’t slept. She couldn’t.

The shard’s memory still lived inside her—the beast, the bloodline, the sigil burned into a child’s skin. She could feel it now every time Draven walked near her. Not just his wolf… but something older. Hungrier.

And yet, when he touched her—her body didn’t flinch.

That was the worst betrayal of all.

She was supposed to hate him. The Alpha who burned her people’s fields. The enemy who caged her like a prized secret.

But now… he was also the man whose voice cracked when he whispered her name.

The man who held her like she was something he feared losing more than anything else.

And in her belly, something else stirred.

No. Not yet. She wasn’t ready for that thought.

The knock was soft this time.

She opened the door expecting a guard—or Draven.

It was Rhyven.

Rhyven’s Return

He looked like he’d crossed hell to reach her—hair soaked, cloak heavy with snow, a thin cut across his cheek. But his eyes were wild. Alive. Full of the boy she’d grown up with, and the man who once bled for her father’s pack.

He mumbled, "Elaria," and entered.

With her heart pounding, she shut the door after him.

She growled, "What are you doing here?” “You’ll be killed if they see you.”

“I don’t care. You’re leaving with me. Now.”

Stunned, she gazed at him. “What?”

You are being corrupted by this place. I saw you. With him.” His voice cracked. “You’ve bonded, haven’t you?”

Her silence was answer enough.

Rhyven staggered back like she’d struck him.

“I didn’t choose it,” she said. “I didn’t want this.”

“But you let it happen.”

"I didn't—" Her voice faltered. "I am unable to express our relationship.. It’s not just… attraction. It’s not even the bond. It’s him, Rhyven. There’s something inside him and it’s waking up, and I think I’m the only thing holding it back.”

“You sound like one of them,” he spat. “Like a Kaelith bitch.”

Elaria’s palm met his cheek before she realized what she was doing.

In the quiet, the smack reverberated loudly.

Startled, he blinked.

She responded icily, "You don't get to talk to me like that." "You have no right to minimize what I've gone through to a decision you can denounce.”

Breathing heavily, he turned away.

“I came to save you.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be saved like that.”

The Storm Brews Above

In the Great Hall, Draven stood before the Elders, his temper burning just below his skin.

“I told you to keep her out of the Blood Hall,” he growled.

“You said she was no threat,” the oldest Elder replied calmly. “We had to be sure.”

“Sure of what? That I’m a monster?”

“You are what your ancestors made you,” the Elder said. “You have a choice—awaken the full power of your line… or let it die with you.”

Draven turned to Weyric. “And you—you knew.”

“I knew pieces,” Weyric admitted. “Your mother hid the rest.”

“And Elaria?”

“She holds the bond. She can ground you… or shatter you.”

Draven’s hand curled into a fist.

“She’s more than a bond.”

“Then protect her,” Weyric said, eyes hard. “Because if you don’t, the next time your blood stirs, there may be nothing left of you to love her.”

Elaria’s Choice

Rhyven pressed a small satchel into her hands.

“Clothes. Food. There’s a tunnel through the lower cellars. I mapped the guards. We can be gone by nightfall.”

She stared at the pack, then at him.

“What about my people?” she whispered. “What happens to them if I leave without knowing the truth?”

“You are the truth,” Rhyven said. “Don’t let them use you.”

But in her heart, something pulsed with warning.

Because it wasn’t just the Kaelith wolves that were stirring.

The mountain itself was beginning to rumble.

And Draven… she could feel his fear from across the fortress.

“Rhyven,” she said softly. “You need to leave now. Alone.”

He went still. “You’re not serious.”

“I can’t go yet.”

“You’re choosing him over me?”

“I’m choosing the truth. Even if it breaks me.”

For a moment, she thought he might fight her.

But instead, Rhyven stepped back, bitter fury in his eyes.

“I hope he devours you,” he said, and vanished out the door.

The Alpha Unbound

That night, the scream shook the fortress.

Elaria bolted upright from her cot.

Another scream. Then a roar.

Draven.

With doors banging and guards yelling, she dashed through the hallways barefoot.

She arrived in the war room to find it in a state of turmoil.

Draven stood in the center—bare-chested, skin flickering like gold fire under moonlight, eyes wild and glowing. His sigil—the one from the memory shard—was now etched into his chest, pulsing.

Weyric stood nearby, sword drawn.

“Don’t come closer,” the Beta warned. “He’s not himself.”

Elaria pushed past him.

“Draven,” she said softly. “Look at me.”

He turned slowly.

His face was twisted—half agony, half desire. His voice was thick, alien.

“I feel him,” he rasped. “The one inside. He wants to take everything.”

“Then fight him.”

He fell to his knees. “I can’t.”

She dropped in front of him, hands framing his face.

“Yes, you can. Because I’m not leaving. You hear me? You don’t get to face this alone.”

He looked up, eyes glowing gold and black. “If I lose… you die with me.”

“Then don’t lose.”

Their bond flared bright—so bright that the fortress shook.

And for a moment… the sigil dimmed.

But then, a new voice echoed from the hall.

“Too late.”

They turned.

A figure stepped into the chamber, flanked by robed wolves.

A tall man. Silver hair. Gold eyes like Draven’s. But older. Colder.

The one from the blood memory.

“You’re not the only heir, Draven,” the stranger said.

“I’ve come to claim what was denied me.”