Chapter 1: The Woman in the Ruins

The last of the daylight bled across the highlands, staining the broken monastery walls in shades of rust and crimson. Kaelen Draven moved through the ruins in silence, his boots crunching over loose stone, his senses sharpened by the shifting wind. The air smelled of damp earth and smoke, faint but fresh, the kind of trace that set every instinct on edge.

He paused near a crumbling archway, his hand brushing the hilt of the blade strapped to his thigh. Shadows stretched long across the moss-slick floor, and the place carried the weight of old prayers long abandoned. He should have turned back toward the stronghold. Instead, something unseen tugged him deeper into the ruins.

A whisper broke the stillness. Not words—more like the hushed sigh of breath. Kaelen froze, listening. There it was again, softer this time, followed by the scrape of fabric against stone.

He followed the sound through a narrow gap in the collapsed wall. The sight stopped him cold.

A young woman lay half-hidden among the rubble, her body draped as though the ruins themselves had claimed her. Her skin was pale against the dark stone, her chestnut hair tangled with dust and leaves. She was breathing—shallow, uneven, fragile as a flame fighting to stay lit.

Kaelen crouched beside her. Her lashes flickered, revealing gray eyes clouded with confusion. For an instant, they locked with his, and he felt a jolt of recognition he could not explain.

“Who are you?” His voice was low, rough with suspicion.

Her lips moved, barely shaping a sound. “Serenya…”

Then her eyes slid shut, her head turning weakly toward him.

A howl split the air, long and sharp, carrying from the treeline beyond the ruins. It was too close.

Kaelen’s jaw tightened. He reached for her wrist, feeling the faintest pulse.

The rival pack was hunting.

The howl echoed a second time, closer now, sharp enough to rattle the hollow walls. Serenya stirred at the sound, her lips parting as though she meant to cry out. Nothing came, only a shiver that ran through her thin frame.

Kaelen bent low, his voice rough but steady. “Stay awake. Do you hear me?”

Her eyes fluttered open. Gray, clouded, searching. “Where… am I?”

“In the wrong place at the wrong time.” He slid an arm beneath her shoulders, lifting her carefully. She was lighter than she looked, bones pressing through the thin fabric of her dress.

She winced, a small sound escaping. “I don’t… I don’t remember.”

“What do you remember?” His words came quick, clipped, the urgency pressing in from the forest edge.

She blinked, fighting to stay conscious. “Serenya. Only that.”

Kaelen muttered a curse under his breath. A name, nothing more. He tightened his hold and stood.

Branches cracked in the trees beyond the wall. Heavy steps, too measured to belong to deer. His jaw locked as he shifted her against his chest.

Her gaze caught his. “You’re not leaving me?” It was barely a whisper, but it cut him sharper than any blade.

“No,” he said, low and fierce. “Not tonight.”

He strode through the ruins, boots striking stone, the weight of her body steady against him. Behind them, a second howl rose, joined by another, the chorus hunting them forward.

Serenya’s head dropped against his shoulder, her breath hot against his neck. “They’re coming,” she murmured, words trembling.

“I know.” His eyes narrowed on the path ahead, the dark mouth of the forest waiting. “Hold on.”

The pines swallowed them as the howls closed in.

The forest closed in fast, pines crowding like silent sentinels. The ground was slick, the air sharp with resin and damp moss. Kaelen kept his pace steady despite the uneven trail, Serenya clutched against him.

Behind them, the answering howls broke through the branches.

She stirred, eyes half-lidded. “What… is that?”

“Wolves,” he said, breath tight.

Her fingers curled weakly into his cloak. “Yours?”

“Not mine.” His jaw hardened. “Eryndor’s.”

The name meant nothing to her, but the way he spat it told her enough.

A low growl rumbled ahead. Kaelen stopped, shifting Serenya carefully against a tree trunk. “Stay upright if you can.”

She blinked at him, disoriented. “I can’t—”

“You can,” he cut in, unsheathing the blade at his side. Steel glinted in the dim light.

A shadow burst from the undergrowth—gray fur, eyes glowing amber. The beast lunged. Kaelen pivoted, his blade striking quick across its flank. The wolf yelped and veered back into the trees.

Another howl erupted, answered by two more. Serenya pressed against the tree, her voice trembling. “Why are they after me?”

He glanced at her, sharp and unreadable. “I don’t know yet. But you’re not theirs.”

He grabbed her once more, lifting her before she could protest. The chorus of pursuit was closing in, branches snapping under heavy weight. His muscles burned, but his stride never faltered.

Through the treeline, the faint shape of stone walls rose against the night—his stronghold.

Kaelen’s grip tightened. “Almost there.”

A final howl rolled across the valley, deeper than the others, commanding. Serenya shuddered against him, and for the first time her gray eyes cleared, wide with fear.

“That one’s different,” she whispered.

Kaelen didn’t answer. His silence told her everything.

The gates of the Drazmir stronghold loomed ahead, iron-bound timber rising between torchlit walls. Kaelen’s breath came hard but steady as he strode up the slope, Serenya limp in his arms. The guards above shouted at his approach, spears angled down.

“Open!” His voice carried like thunder against stone.

The gates creaked, slow at first, then wider when the sentries caught sight of who called. Kaelen pushed through, boots pounding the packed earth of the courtyard.

Wolves in human form gathered fast—warriors with cloaks half-thrown over bare shoulders, eyes gleaming in the firelight. Their gazes snapped to the woman he carried.

“Who is she?” one demanded. Another spat, “She reeks of outsider.”

Mireya Delys stepped forward, golden eyes sharp as knives. “Kaelen, what have you dragged into our walls?”

He ignored the sting in her tone, lowering Serenya onto a bench near the firepit. Her head lolled, breath shallow, lips parted in restless whispers. He brushed dust from her cheek with a rough hand, then straightened.

“She stays,” he said flatly.

The courtyard fell into murmurs, unease crawling through the gathered pack.

Mireya crossed her arms. “On whose word? The council won’t have it. We’ve enough shadows without you carrying one home.”

Kaelen’s glare cut to her. “On my word. And that is enough.”

A silence followed, heavy as stone. Serenya stirred then, eyes fluttering open. Dozens of wolf-born eyes pinned her in place. She shrank back, her lips trembling.

“They’re afraid of me,” she whispered to Kaelen.

“They should be afraid of what hunts you,” he replied.

Before she could answer, a howl rose across the valley—deep, commanding, too close for comfort. Every head in the courtyard turned toward the sound.

The rival pack was at their doorstep.