Chapter 3: A Stranger Among Them

Dawn slipped through the narrow slits of the stronghold walls, pale light spilling across cold stone. Serenya woke to silence, broken only by the creak of footsteps in the corridor outside. The air was sharp with the smell of smoke from the hearth.

She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders and stepped into the hall. Voices dropped the moment she appeared. A pair of women whispering by the stairwell froze, their eyes fixed on her gray gaze. One turned her head sharply, leading the other away with a stiff set to her shoulders.

She kept walking, though her pulse hammered. Every turn of the corridor seemed to tighten with watchful stares. A boy carrying a bundle of kindling passed her, wide-eyed, nearly dropping the wood before scurrying down the steps.

The whispers followed like a draft. Cursed. Omen. Why did he bring her here?

Serenya’s throat tightened. She wanted to ask, to shout at them that she didn’t understand either. But her voice stayed locked in her chest.

At the end of the hall, she stopped. Kaelen stood there, speaking low with Mireya and two elders. Their words cut short as soon as they noticed her. Mireya’s eyes were cool, unreadable, but the tension in her jaw spoke volumes.

Kaelen broke the silence first. “You shouldn’t be wandering alone.”

Serenya met his gaze, her voice softer than she intended. “If I stay in one place, they stare. If I move, they whisper. Tell me what you’d have me do.”

He said nothing for a moment, then motioned for the elders to leave them. When they were gone, he lowered his voice. “The council meets today. They’ll demand answers.”

Her stomach turned cold. “About me.”

“Yes.” His expression was unreadable, but the set of his shoulders was rigid. “They won’t stay silent much longer.”

Serenya searched his face, but whatever reassurance she hoped for wasn’t there.

The council chamber smelled of smoke and pine resin, its stone walls ringed with banners that sagged with age. Torches flickered against carved wolves etched into the pillars, their eyes seeming to watch the proceedings.

Kaelen stood before the long table, his hands braced on its edge. Across from him sat the elders—six figures, gray and sharp-eyed, each cloaked in heavy wool. Mireya leaned against a pillar, arms folded, her silence more pointed than words. Serenya sat apart on a bench near the wall, her back straight, though her hands trembled in her lap.

Elder Tharos spoke first, his voice gravel. “You bring a stranger with no name, no kin, into our stronghold. You claim it was necessity. Tell us why.”

Kaelen didn’t flinch. “She was left to die in the ruins. Hunters would have taken her if I had not.”

Another elder, Ysandra, narrowed her eyes. “And what if she was placed there as bait? What if the rival Alpha waits for us to shelter her?”

Murmurs rippled around the chamber. Serenya kept her eyes down, but heat flushed her cheeks.

“She is no trap,” Kaelen said. His voice was calm, though his jaw tightened. “I saw her weakness, her confusion. She doesn’t even know her own name.”

“Convenient,” Tharos muttered.

Mireya pushed off the pillar. “We all heard the howl the night she arrived. The rival pack watches us, waits for a crack to pry open. And you hand them one.”

Kaelen turned his head slightly. “Would you have me leave her for wolves to pick apart? That is not our way.”

“It is survival,” Mireya snapped.

Serenya raised her head then, her voice cutting through the chamber though it quivered. “I don’t know why I was there. I don’t know who I am. But if my being here puts you in danger, say the word, and I’ll go.”

The room went still.

Kaelen’s gaze locked on her. “You will not go.”

Elder Ysandra’s lip curled. “And what binds you so quickly to her, Kaelen? A day’s pity? Or something else?”

Kaelen didn’t answer, though the weight of the question hung heavy. Serenya’s pulse raced. She could feel the stares like claws digging into her skin.

Tharos struck the table with his palm. “Enough. She stays under guard until the harvest moon. If no answers come by then, we will decide her fate.”

Serenya’s chest tightened, a cold dread curling in her stomach. A deadline. A judgment.

Kaelen inclined his head stiffly, though his eyes flashed amber in the torchlight. He would not yield—but he had bought her only borrowed time.

The council chamber emptied long before Serenya found the courage to leave. She lingered in the dim corridor, her steps echoing faintly as she wound her way back toward the outer halls. The silence of stone pressed in around her.

Halfway down the stairwell, voices drifted from below. She stopped, hand braced on the rail.

“…marked, I tell you,” one guard muttered. “Eyes like ash, same as the cursed line.”

Another scoffed. “Old tales. Half the valley’s filled with stories to frighten pups.”

“You didn’t see the way she stood in that hall,” the first replied, voice low and taut. “Like she’d been there before. Like she knew what would come of it.”

Serenya’s grip tightened on the rail. Her heartbeat quickened, loud in her ears. The cursed line?

A third voice joined, older and harsher. “Keep your tongues still. Words draw danger quicker than claws. If she carries that blood, it’s not us she’ll endanger—it’s all of Carpathia.”

The conversation broke off at the scrape of boots. Serenya ducked into a shadowed alcove, pressing her back against cold stone until the guards passed. When the sound faded, she exhaled in ragged bursts.

Her fingers trembled as she touched her temple. Was that why she had no memory? Had someone taken it from her—to hide what she was?

The thought left her dizzy. She stumbled back into the corridor and nearly collided with Kaelen. He steadied her instantly, his hand warm on her arm.

“You’re pale.” His eyes narrowed, amber flaring in the torchlight. “What did you hear?”

She shook her head, though the words fought to rise. “Nothing. Just… I shouldn’t be here.”

“You belong here until we find the truth,” he said firmly. His tone carried steel, but beneath it, worry.

Her eyes searched his. “And if the truth damns me?”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away. “Then I’ll face it with you.”

The certainty in his voice should have steadied her, yet fear gnawed sharper. Because whispers had teeth—and the pack’s distrust was growing.

From somewhere outside, a horn blast split the air. Urgent. Alarming. The sound of threat closing in.

Serenya froze. Kaelen turned sharply toward the gates, shoulders taut, every line of his body ready for war.

The horn’s echo rattled through the stronghold, deep and urgent. In the courtyard below, wolves in human and half-shifted form scrambled into position, the clatter of weapons and the thud of boots rising like thunder.

Kaelen’s hand slipped from Serenya’s arm as he strode toward the stairs. “Stay inside.”

The command was sharp, but she moved after him anyway, her bare feet catching the chill of the stone. “What is it?”

“The rival pack,” he said without turning. “They’ve come too close.”

The gates shook with the impact of something heavy—wood splintering, chains groaning. Guards braced the beams across the doors, their shouts tangled in the chaos.

Serenya’s breath caught. The night pressed against the stronghold walls, filled with snarls and taunts thrown from the dark. She could feel the weight of eyes on her, though she couldn’t see past the torches.

“Kaelen!” Mireya’s voice cut through the noise as she appeared at his side, sword strapped across her back. “They’ve brought more than wolves. I smelled witchcraft in the wind.”

His expression hardened. “Maelis,” he muttered.

At the name, Serenya’s skin prickled though she didn’t know why.

The gates groaned again, wood cracking. One more strike and they would buckle. Kaelen barked orders, his voice rolling like command itself. Warriors shifted, bones snapping, claws bursting through skin as half a dozen wolves crouched low, ready for blood.

Serenya pressed herself against the wall, her hands trembling. Fear coiled tight, but deeper than fear was something stranger—an ache rising in her chest, as though her body recognized the danger before her mind could.

The gate exploded inward. Splinters flew, torches toppled, and the courtyard flooded with shadows. Wolves leapt forward, steel clashed, and the stronghold became a storm of teeth and iron.

Kaelen shifted in a flash of light and sound, his body breaking and reshaping into the great wolf, silver streaking his dark fur. He launched into the fray, a blur of power and rage. Mireya followed, blade drawn, her golden eyes burning.

Serenya’s breath hitched as chaos swallowed the night. For a heartbeat, she stood frozen. Then she saw him—Lord Eryndor himself at the broken gate, towering, amber-eyed, his gaze cutting through the clash of bodies to find her.

Her knees weakened. He didn’t look at Kaelen, nor the warriors tearing at his men. His eyes were fixed only on her, hungry and certain.

“Serenya!” Kaelen’s voice tore from his wolf’s throat, half-growl, half-command, but she couldn’t move. Not when Eryndor’s stare held her like chains.

The battle raged around her, and she realized with dawning terror—this fight was not about the stronghold. It was about her.