Chapter four - Within the Wolf’s Den

The pack compound rose out of the woods like a fortress woven into the land. Timber walls stretched high, lanterns glowing at intervals, casting warm circles of light on watchtowers above. The scent of wood smoke mixed with the tang of damp earth and the faint, wild musk of wolves. Wolves patrolled silently, some two-legged, others in fur and fang, blending seamlessly into the night. Each step they took carried purpose, a rhythm Nova could feel in her chest.

Nova’s instincts screamed at her to flee. The last time this many predators had surrounded her, they had been targets. Prey. But Kilian’s hand on her shoulder anchored her, steady and unyielding. His presence was a tether she couldn’t—and didn’t want to—ignore.

“Walk,” he murmured. Not a command, not quite. More like inevitability.

She obeyed.

The gates opened with a groan, and voices rippled through the compound as they stepped inside. Wolves stopped mid-task to stare. Some with suspicion, others with thinly veiled hostility. She caught whispers—words like “Hunter,” “danger,” “outsider.” Her jaw tightened. She had worn those labels all her life. She would wear them here too, if she had to.

Introductions blurred: names she didn’t catch, faces she barely registered. What stayed with her were the eyes—always watching, always judging. Some measured her strength, some her hesitation, some the weight of the bond that followed her like a shadow.

And then there was Lyra.

Sharp-eyed, scarred, her posture radiating the confidence of someone who had fought more battles than Nova could count and survived them all. Lyra’s gaze cut like flint striking steel, measuring, testing. No welcome. No malice. Only a steady weight pressed against Nova’s defenses, a silent challenge.

Finally, Lyra spoke.

“If she stays, she must prove her worth.”

Murmurs rose in agreement. Nova felt the heat rise in her chest, not from shame but from defiance. Prove herself. Again. Always again. She had spent her life bleeding to prove she belonged—first to the Hunters, now to wolves who would rather see her dead.

Her hand brushed the dagger at her hip, not in threat, but in reminder. She wasn’t helpless. Not anymore.

Kilian said nothing, though she felt his gaze burn at her side. He didn’t shield her, didn’t speak for her. And that, more than anything, unsettled her. She had grown accustomed to being the one in control, the one who acted first, the hunter. Now, with him watching, she felt the roles blur—both predator and prey entwined, and the uncertainty sent a shiver down her spine.

As night fell over the compound, Nova was shown to a small room in one of the outer lodges. Spartan, but clean. A cot, a table, a single window that looked out into the forest. The scent of pine and smoke drifted through the cracks in the walls, mixing with the faint, lingering musk of the wolves outside.

She sat on the bed, fingers drumming against her knee, listening to the muffled sounds of life beyond her door—the laughter of packmates, the rustle of shifting bodies, the distant howl that vibrated through the trees. Every sound seemed magnified in the quiet of the room, and yet, paradoxically, it made her feel a small measure of belonging she hadn’t anticipated.

This was not her world.

And yet, as she lay back, staring at the rafters, she realized something that chilled her more than any Hunter’s blade: some part of her wanted it to be. Wanted the pack, wanted the challenge, wanted the connection she couldn’t fully understand. Wanted to see if she could survive here, not just by blade or cunning, but by wits, by will, by some deeper instinct that whispered she might actually belong.

Even in the silence of her room, the weight of the pack pressed on her. She could feel the eyes beyond the walls, always watching, always measuring. And somehow, for the first time in a long time, she didn’t recoil. She felt alive.