LOGINThe expedition reached Shadow Fang's outer perimeter on the sixteenth day after their departure.Thomas had spent the journey in near-constant thought, the weight of the register pressing against his back with every mile. The name, Eryndor, sat heavy on his tongue, unspoken but insistent. He had verified the translation dozens of times during the mountain passes, checking and rechecking each symbol until the identification became irrefutable.An infant. A newborn child, denied his true name by those who should have protected him.The betrayal gnawed at Thomas's chest as the fortress walls emerged through the winter mist. Gideon called a halt at the northern gate, and Thomas saw Marcus waiting with a full escort party. The warrior's stoic face betrayed nothing, but his posture relaxed visibly when he counted all expedition members present and upright."Successful retrieval?" Marcus asked as they dismounted."Successful," Gideon confirmed. "Thomas has the register."Thomas clutched the
Thomas woke before dawn, the cold stone floor sending aches through his cramped limbs. The fire had burned to embers, casting the cavern in pale reflected moonlight from the entrance. His breath clouded in the frigid air.He stood carefully, working feeling back into his limbs, and moved to the central altar where the stone box still sat. The other expedition members slept soundly, exhausted from the previous day's efforts. Gideon had posted a warrior at the passage entrance, but inside the Hollow, silence reigned.Thomas lifted the stone box's lid and retrieved the register, his fingers tracing the leather binding with reverent care. He lit a small lantern and opened to the incomplete entry, the prepared name, the ceremony date, the stark notation in the margin.Interrupted before completion. Soul bound. Name unspoken.He needed context. Turning to earlier pages, he began cross-referencing dates and symbols with the notes he'd brought from Shadow Fang's archives. The work was painsta
Back at Shadow Fang, the days passed in tense routine.Natasha walked the eastern boundary each morning, as promised. The families had organized themselves efficiently, signal bells positioned at clear sightlines, watchers rotating in four-hour shifts. She spoke with each household, learning their names, listening to their concerns. An elderly resident admitted he'd considered moving his family to another pack entirely."We won't let that happen," Natasha told him. "You've been part of Shadow Fang for three generations. You belong here."The words felt hollow against the weight of uncertainty, but his shoulders straightened nonetheless.Damien spent his days preparing for the Crescent Moon delegation. He reviewed trade agreements, consulted with Marcus on defensive positions, and drafted responses to potential demands.Each night, they lay together in comfortable silence, the absence of news pressing down on them both. *** On day five, the expedition entered the cave system.Gideon
Dawn broke grey and cold over Shadow Fang.Natasha stood at the war table, reviewing the expedition roster Marcus had prepared. The list of candidates was short, deliberately so. Six days through winter mountains required warriors who could endure hardship and scholars who could recognize what they were seeing."Gideon," Marcus said, tapping the first name. "He led the northern patrol for three years before joining the home guard. Knows the terrain, steady under pressure."Natasha nodded. She'd fought alongside Gideon during the boundary conflicts two winters past. His sword arm was reliable, and his judgment sound."Thomas insists on leading the research contingent," Marcus continued. "I've assigned two junior scholars to assist, Mira and Donovan. Both have training in ancient scripts.""Thomas shouldn't be climbing mountains." Damien entered the chamber, his brow furrowed. "He nearly collapsed yesterday from exhaustion.""He refuses to stay behind." Marcus's tone carried the resigna
Natasha and Damien stole away that evening to the hot springs.The natural pools lay nestled in a sheltered valley beyond the pack grounds, far enough to feel like escape, close enough to reach quickly if needed. Damien had ordered the path cleared and a guard posted at the valley's entrance, ensuring privacy without vulnerability.Steam rose from the mineral-rich water, curling into the cold evening air. Natasha sank into the warmth with a sigh, her muscles unknotting for the first time in days. The pool was carved from natural stone, deep enough to stand in, with smooth ledges along the edges for sitting."I forgot how good this feels," she murmured.Damien settled beside her, the water lapping at his chest. "We should come more often. Before everything happened, I used to visit weekly.""Leadership has its costs.""Leadership has its compensations." He pulled her against his side, her back resting against his chest. "I never imagined wanting someone this much. Not just physically,
Thomas worked through the night.Candles burned low around him as he spread the expedition sketches across his study table, arranging them alongside the recovered Blackwood Ridge documents and the copied pages from the Crescent Moon archives. His eyes ached from hours of scrutinizing faded ink and weathered carvings, but sleep refused to come. Not when the answer to centuries of mystery might be hiding in plain sight.Joren had returned to his quarters to rest, but Petar lingered in the hallway outside, unwilling to leave the scholar alone with questions only he could answer."Come," Thomas called softly.The veteran warrior entered, his weathered face drawn with exhaustion but his eyes sharp. "Finding anything?""Patterns." Thomas gestured at the spread documents. "Look here. The crescent symbol from the Origin ruins appears almost identical to markings in the anonymous confession from the Crescent Moon archives. But there's a subtle difference."Petar leaned over the table. "The sha
Natasha stood frozen for a long moment after Damien’s silhouette disappeared through the velvet curtain. The cold night air clung to her skin, but the heat radiating from her chest—from the bond she refused to name—made her feel feverish. Her wolf, a restless presence she’d always kept tightly leas
Damien’s wolf had been clawing at his ribs for hours, a relentless, snarling pressure that made every polite smile a lie. The moment he’d walked into the ballroom and caught Natasha’s scent—wildflowers and steel—the beast inside him had lunged against its chains. Mate. The word was a drumbeat in hi
The ballroom no longer felt like a celebration.It felt like observation.Natasha moved through it with controlled precision, each step measured, each expression carefully restrained. The emerald gown made her feel exposed in ways armor never had, not because it was revealing, but because it was des
The carriage stopped beneath the grand estate of the Alpha King, and Natasha immediately understood why warriors preferred battlefields over silk diplomacy.Because battlefields at least made sense.The emerald gown her sister had forced onto her clung like a second skin, elegant in a way that felt







