Chapter6- The Wolf With Midnight Eyes

Three days passed after the night I wept beneath the oak.

Three days in which nothing changed except me.

It was subtle at first, so slight no one else would have noticed. I still rose before dawn to tend the fires, still carried buckets of water until my shoulders ached, still endured the whispers and the stares that followed me like shadows. Outwardly, I was the same. But inside, something had gone cold.

It was the kind of cold that no fire could touch. Not numbness exactly more like stillness, as if part of me had shut its eyes and turned away.

I no longer expected the moon to answer.

The morning of the third day dawned gray and heavy. Snow had crusted thick against the huts, icicles hanging sharp as daggers from every eave. The world seemed suspended in silence, save for the crack of my axe splitting wood. The rhythm was steady, mechanical, the only sound in the still air.

Then I heard it.

A faint thrum, distant at first the sound of hooves striking frozen earth. Slow. Deliberate. Each impact echoed like a heartbeat across the snowbound forest. My grip on the axe faltered, the blade sinking into the log with a dull thud.

The scent came next, carried on the wind: sharp cedar, faint smoke, and something else something darker, edged with iron. My hackles lifted before my mind could name it.

By the time I straightened, the riders had appeared at the treeline.

Shadowfang.

They rode in silence, their horses black and gray, their wolves loping alongside with fluid grace. Their cloaks were dark, trimmed with fur, the mark of their pack gleaming on their shoulders. A hush fell across Silvermoon as they approached, every eye turning toward them.

And at their center, mounted on a black stallion that moved like shadow given form, was a man I had never seen before.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, his presence so commanding that the very air seemed to shift around him. The winter sun caught on his hair, black as the space between stars. His face was carved in stillness, every line sharp and sure. But his eyes

They were the color of midnight.

And they were on me.

I froze.

It wasn’t the kind of look I was used to. There was no disdain in it, no mockery, no easy amusement that always came when the Silvermoon wolves remembered I was there. This was something else. Something heavier.

It was as if he was weighing me not just glancing, but measuring, searching, deciding.

And worse, it was as if he had already found the answer.

The riders slowed as they reached the center of camp. Horses snorted, their breath clouding the air, wolves padded silent and alert at their masters’ heels. The atmosphere shifted, taut as a bowstring. Every Silvermoon wolf stood straighter, some with forced smiles, others with wary eyes.

The main hall doors opened. Garrick strode out to meet them, his posture a careful blend of authority and deference. His smile was wide, but too polished.

“Alpha Damien,” he called, bowing his head. “Welcome to Silvermoon.”

So that was his name.

Damien dismounted in one smooth motion, his gaze never leaving me. He moved like someone who was used to being obeyed not just by people, but by the world itself. His boots crunched against the snow, his cloak falling heavy against his shoulders.

“Garrick.” His voice was low, resonant, carrying easily across the frozen air. It sank into me, deep enough that I felt it in my bones. “Let’s not waste time.”

The Silvermoon wolves shifted uneasily. Garrick’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second before he recovered, gesturing toward the hall.

“Of course. Come. We’ve prepared a place for you.”

Damien gave the slightest nod, then strode after him, his riders following close.

I tried to focus on the woodpile, on the weight of the axe in my hands, but every sense strained toward them. The sound of their boots on the packed snow. The way even the wind seemed to hesitate as they passed. And above all, the memory of those eyes eyes that had caught mine like a snare and refused to let go.

I wasn’t the only one watching. Liora stood nearby with her usual circle of friends, their faces lit with excitement. She caught me staring and leaned closer, her smirk cruel.

“Don’t even think about it, stray,” she murmured, her voice low but sharp enough to cut. “Alphas don’t notice dirt.”

Her friends laughed, quick and brittle. I ignored them, or tried to. But her words didn’t sting the way they once might have. Not because she was wrong I knew my place here all too well. But because she was lying.

He had noticed.

The hours dragged as the meeting unfolded inside the hall. I kept working, though my hands were clumsy, my focus scattered. Every few minutes my eyes would flick toward the doors, waiting, though I told myself it meant nothing.

By the time they opened again, the sun was low, staining the snow with streaks of orange and blood-red. Damien stepped out first, Garrick trailing behind him with a strained expression. They spoke quietly, their words too muffled to catch, before Garrick gestured in my direction.

My stomach tightened.

Damien’s gaze slid over to me. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to narrow until there was nothing but that look. Then, to my shock, he began walking toward me.

Each step felt like a drumbeat in my chest.

The air shifted as he closed the distance, sharper now, charged like the moment before a storm breaks. The other wolves watched, their whispers rising, curiosity and unease blending in equal measure. Liora’s smirk faltered, her eyes narrowing.

When he stopped in front of me, I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze.

“You’re Selene,” he said. Not a question.

My throat felt dry, but I forced the words out. “Yes, Alpha.”