Chapter 4: Pack Politics

Chapter 4: Pack Politics

The staircase spiraled downward, torchlight painting the stone walls in flickers of orange and gold. Elara’s boots echoed, but the sound was swallowed by the low hum of voices—too many, she thought, her pulse spiking. The mark on her wrist burned a steady, searing rhythm, as if syncing with the heartbeat of the den itself.

He paused at the bottom step, his hand brushing the small of her back. The touch was brief, almost accidental, but heat erupted in its wake, pooling low in her stomach.

“Breathe,” he murmured. “They smell fear like sharks smell blood.”

Elara squared her shoulders. “I don’t fear them.”

But when he pushed open the door, her resolve wavered.

The great hall was a cavern of stone, its ceiling lost in shadows. A fire roared in a hearth the size of a car, casting light over a sea of faces—some human, some half-shifted, with 狼耳 (wolf ears) and claws glinting in the flames. All eyes turned to her, sharp and predatory, and a growl rippled through the crowd like a storm.

“An outsider,” a voice boomed. A wolf with silver fur—half-shifted, his jaw still elongated, fangs bared—stepped forward. “You bring a human into our sacred den, Alpha? After what their kind did to Margaret?”

Elara’s hand flew to the mark. Margaret Voss. Her ancestor, burned for bearing a Lycan child. The tapestry in the antechamber suddenly felt less like history, more like a warning.

He moved beside her, his presence a physical shield. “Kael. She’s under my protection.”

“Protection?” Kael’s laugh was a snarl. “Or ownership? You think a blood pact can erase three centuries of betrayal? Her veins carry the stench of their torches.”

The mark flared, and Elara gasped. For a split second, she saw flashes—fire, a woman screaming, wolves howling as they burned—memories not her own, but seared into the bond all the same.

“Enough.” His voice dropped, low and dangerous, and the hall fell silent. “The pact is sealed. She stays.”

Kael’s eyes flicked to Elara, narrowing. “And if she fails? If the pup dies, like all the others? Will you let her walk away, Alpha? Or will you finally remember what it means to be Lycan?”

The air crackled. Elara could feel it—the tension, the hunger for violence. She stepped forward, ignoring the way her legs shook.

“Margaret’s blood runs in me,” she said, her voice louder than she felt. “But so does a medical degree. I’ve studied your biology. Your failed pregnancies. The genetic incompatibility between humans and Lycans.” She met Kael’s gaze. “I know why your pups die. And I can fix it.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd. A female wolf—her arms crossed, a scar slicing through one eyebrow—stepped beside Kael, but her eyes held curiosity, not hostility.

“Bold words for a human,” she said. “What’s your solution, little doctor?”

“Nutrition. Hormonal regulation. A modified version of the lunar serum, administered prenatally to strengthen the pup’s cells.” Elara’s fingers curled into fists. “But I need access to your records. Your breeding logs. Your failed pregnancies.”

Kael scoffed. “Our secrets aren’t for human eyes.”

“Then your pack dies out in three generations.” She turned to him, the Alpha, and the mark throbbed as their eyes met. “Your call.”

He stared at her for a long moment, his golden gaze unreadable. Then he nodded. “Lira will show you to the archives. But touch nothing without her permission.” He glanced at Kael. “And if anyone harms her…” He let the threat hang.

The female wolf—Lira—nodded, jerking her head toward a stone corridor. “Come on, human. Before Kael decides to turn you into a midnight snack.”

Elara followed her, the torchlight casting long shadows over the walls. The corridor was lined with shelves, stacked with leather-bound journals and vials of glowing liquid.

“Breeding logs,” Lira said, slamming a book onto a table. “Every failed pregnancy since 1703. Enjoy.”

Elara flipped through the pages, her breath catching. Stillbirths. Miscarriages. Pups born with organs that dissolved like ash. All marked with a single notation: Voss gene absent.

“So it’s true,” she murmured. “The mutation in my bloodline is the key.”

Lira leaned against the wall, sharpening a dagger with a stone. “The Alpha’s been searching for a Voss descendant for decades. Scoured hospitals, genealogy records, even graveyards. When he found your brother’s diagnosis… he knew he’d hit gold.”

Elara’s head snapped up. “He targeted us. This wasn’t a coincidence.”

“Nothing with Lycans is a coincidence.” Lira’s lips curved. “But don’t flatter yourself. He didn’t choose you for your pretty face. Or your medical degree.” She nodded at Elara’s wrist. “He chose you because the bond sings for you. Can’t you feel it? The way your skin burns when he’s near? The way you hear his voice in your head?”

The mark pulsed, as if in agreement.

“Is that why the others failed?” Elara said. “No bond?”

“Some bonds are weak. Forced. But yours…” Lira shrugged. “It’s old. Like it’s been waiting centuries to reconnect.” She nodded at the journal. “You really think you can fix this? After three hundred years of failure?”

Elara thought of Liam, his skin graying, his breath ragged. She thought of the serum in her pocket, the only lifeline he had.

“I don’t have a choice.”

A howl echoed through the corridor—short, sharp, urgent. Lira cursed, grabbing her dagger.

“Full moon’s rising faster than expected,” she said. “The Alpha’s calling the pack. Come on.”

Elara followed her back to the great hall, where the crowd had thinned. The Alpha stood in the center, his head thrown back, a low growl building in his throat. His body rippled—bones shifting, muscles stretching, fur bursting through his skin—until a wolf stood in his place, black as night, with eyes like molten gold.

The mark erupted in pain. Elara doubled over, gasping, as a wave of sensations crashed over her—the moon’s pull, the hunger, the primal need to run, to hunt, to mate.

“Breathe through it,” Lira said, grabbing her arm. “First full moon after the bond. It’s always the worst.”

The wolf’s gaze locked onto hers. It padded toward her, its claws clicking on the stone, and nuzzled her hand—gentle, almost tentative.

Elara froze. She could feel it now—the connection, the way their minds tangled like vines. Mine, he thought, the word echoing in her head. Mine, until the moon burns out.

She pulled her hand away, stumbling back. “This is wrong. This isn’t a bond. It’s a prison.”

The wolf tilted its head, as if understanding. Then it turned, padding toward the door, and paused, glancing back—a silent command.

Lira pushed her forward. “Go. He won’t hurt you. Not tonight.”

Elara followed the wolf into the night, the mark burning a trail between them. The forest smelled of pine and moonlit dew, and when the wolf bounded ahead, she ran after it, her boots thudding against the earth, her heart racing.

They reached a clearing, where the moon hung full and bright, painting the grass silver. The wolf turned, its golden eyes fixed on her, and shifted back—bones cracking, fur retreating, until he stood naked in the moonlight, his skin glistening with sweat.

Elara’s breath caught. Not from modesty, but from the raw, feral beauty of him—the way his muscles moved, the way the moon highlighted the scar on his face, the way his eyes burned with a hunger that matched her own.

“Feel it?” he said, his voice rough with the aftershocks of transformation. “The bond. It’s not just about the pup, Elara. It’s about us.”

The mark screamed, and she found herself in his arms, her mouth crashing against his.

It was wild, desperate—teeth clashing, hands gripping, bodies pressing as if they’d been starved for touch. He lifted her, his hands under her thighs, and she wrapped her legs around him, ignoring the way her 理智 screamed no.

This is what the bond wants, a voice whispered. What your body craves.

He pulled back, his forehead pressed to hers. “Say it. Say you want this.”

Elara’s eyes fluttered closed. She thought of Liam, of the serum, of the pack waiting in the den. But none of that mattered, not now. Not with his skin against hers, his heartbeat thudding in time with hers, the mark burning a promise into her wrist.

“For tonight,” she whispered. “Just tonight.”

He kissed her again, and the moon bore witness.