CHAPTER EIGHT

The great hall of the Bloodmoon Pack had never been silent.

Even in the darkest nights, it echoed with the growl of warriors, the clash of steel, the hum of whispers carried on the backs of courtiers and soldiers alike. But tonight, the silence was different—heavy, stifling, a taut string waiting to snap.

Alpha Garrick Stormclaw stood at the center of it all, his back to the tall, frost-rimmed windows that overlooked the mountains. His fingers were clenched behind him, muscles in his jaw working as he stared down the trembling scout before him.

“You’re telling me,” Garrick said slowly, voice like grinding stone, “that my daughter has vanished?”

The scout bowed his head lower, sweat dripping from his brow despite the chill that crept through the high ceilings. “Yes, Alpha. We searched the manor and surrounding grounds. She’s not within the walls.”

Garrick’s amber eyes flared.

“I assumed she was mourning her mother,” he said, more to himself than anyone else. “That she was grieving... in silence.”

He paced once across the polished stone floor, his boots striking like drumbeats. “Or being stubborn. I allowed her that time, thinking she would come to accept her duty.”

“She was last seen two nights ago,” the scout said, his voice shaking. “By the back courtyard. One of the guards thought he saw her near the eastern storage barn.”

“That’s three days before the betrothal ceremony.”

“Yes, Alpha.”

Garrick turned slowly to face his Beta, Varek, who stood still as stone beside the hearth. “And no one thought to tell me she hadn’t left her rooms for days? That her scent trail ended near the outer wall?”

Varek didn’t flinch, though his expression tightened. “We believed she was in mourning, Garrick. She lost her mother. You lost your mate. We all agreed she needed time. None of us expected this.”

Garrick’s fists slammed against the arm of the carved chair at the base of the dais. The growl that ripped from his throat was more beast than man.

“She knew what was expected of her,” he hissed. “She knew the weight of this union. Branor and I—this alliance—this was her duty. Her legacy.”

The scout remained bowed low, not daring to breathe.

Varek stepped forward cautiously. “What do you want done?”

Garrick exhaled through his nose, fighting the urge to shift. His wolf clawed beneath his skin, fueled by betrayal and disappointment. Rhea. His only child. His daughter, born of a proud lineage, forged for leadership—and she had run. Disgraced herself. Disgraced him.

“Send riders to every outpost and trading path between here and Irongfang territory,” Garrick ordered. “She can’t have gone far on foot. If she took a horse, it would leave tracks.”

“She may be heading to her mother’s old lands,” Varek offered. “The forests—”

“No,” Garrick snapped. “She wouldn’t go there. Too wild. Too open.”

Varek’s voice softened. “She was always closest to her mother. This may be her way of… honoring her.”

Garrick turned sharply, eyes narrowing. “You think this is some poetic rebellion?”

“I think,” Varek said carefully, “she’s afraid. You’ve always raised her with steel, Garrick. You taught her to fight, but not to choose. You’ve made every choice for her. Even this marriage.”

The air thickened.

Garrick stepped down from the dais, his shadow stretching long across the stone. “This union with Branor was not a punishment—it was protection. Without this alliance, Irongfang might turn against us. With it, we gain their warriors, their iron, their southern border.”

He faced the fireplace now, the embers crackling, casting his features in golden red light. “Do you know how many packs have fallen in the last five years, Varek? Dozens. Swallowed by Bloodfang, by the Riven Pact, by outsiders. I will not let Bloodmoon fall. I will not let her foolish defiance undo what I’ve built.”

Varek said nothing.

The scout, still crouched, finally whispered, “What should I tell Alpha Branor?”

A long silence followed.

Garrick’s shoulders rose and fell once. “Nothing. Not yet.”

“Alpha, the ceremony—”

“Delay it. Tell him Rhea is ill. Grief-stricken. Anything.” His tone darkened. “But make it clear the marriage will happen. One way or another.”

The scout nodded hastily and fled, relieved to be dismissed.

When they were alone, Varek spoke again. “If she doesn’t come back?”

Garrick closed his eyes.

“She will,” he said. But there was a hesitation in his voice, a crack forming beneath the weight of certainty.

Varek watched him a moment longer. “If she’s discovered—pretending to be something she’s not, if Branor hears she’s run—he won’t take it lightly. He may see it as betrayal.”

“I’ll make sure she’s found before it comes to that.” Garrick’s voice was low, a snarl wrapped in reason. “She’s my daughter. She bears my blood. She will return, even if I have to drag her back myself.”

“And if she refuses?”

Garrick’s eyes turned to fire again.

“She won’t get the choice.”

The grand hall of Bloodmoon was bathed in the dying light of the afternoon sun. The low murmur of voices settled as the door creaked open and the large frame of Garrick Stormclaw entered, his presence immediately commanding attention. His eyes were sharp, hard amber, and his heavy footsteps echoed through the hall, every strike of his boot on stone a statement. The pack’s hunters, a group of men and women skilled in tracking, combat, and survival, stood silently at attention as their Alpha made his way to the head of the table.

Behind him stood Varek, the Beta, his brow furrowed in silent worry. The urgency in Garrick’s every movement betrayed the calm exterior he usually maintained.

Garrick took his seat, a large, intricately carved chair at the head of the table. His fingers drummed against the armrest, the sound of his frustration mingling with the tension in the room. The hunters—grizzled veterans of Bloodmoon, all hardened by years of service—gathered around him, each one waiting for orders.

“Rhea’s gone,” Garrick’s voice cut through the room, low but tinged with fury.

The hunters exchanged surprised glances.

“Gone, Alpha?” one of them, a younger male, spoke up. His voice quivered slightly. “But she was just… in her rooms, last we knew.”

Garrick’s eyes hardened. “She’s run. She’s vanished into the wilds, and I want her back.”

A ripple of concern ran through the room, and several hunters looked to each other, recognizing the gravity of the situation. Rhea wasn’t just any young she-wolf; she was the Alpha’s daughter, the future of Bloodmoon. Her disappearance threatened not only the stability of the pack but also the delicate political marriage between Bloodmoon and Irongfang Pack.

“Where was she last seen?” another hunter asked, a tall woman with a scar running down her cheek. “What direction did she take?”

“She was seen near the eastern perimeter, just outside the manor,” Varek responded, his voice heavy with a hint of regret. “But she’s smart. She won’t be easy to find.”

Garrick’s gaze flicked to the hunters, his voice cold as steel. “I don’t care how hard it is. She’s my daughter, and she will return.”

At that moment, the door to the hall swung open once again, and a tall, muscular figure entered. Branor—the Alpha of Irongfang Pack. His broad shoulders filled the doorway, and the air seemed to shift with his arrival, the tension becoming palpable.

Branor had a predatory look about him. His dark eyes glimmered with intelligence and barely restrained menace, his grin sharp and slightly too wide, like a wolf circling its prey. He wore a cloak of deep iron-gray that swirled around his form, and his every movement exuded an air of confidence, of control. It wasn’t lost on anyone that he was no stranger to violence, nor the intricacies of power plays.

“Garrick,” Branor greeted, his voice smooth, almost teasing. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“No,” Garrick answered curtly, his eyes narrowing as he recognized the gleam of interest in Branor’s gaze. “We were just discussing the matter at hand.”

Branor’s gaze flicked toward the hunters, then back to Garrick. “Ah, I see,” he said with a small chuckle. “Your daughter’s gone missing. How... entertaining.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, a dark edge to Branor’s tone. The hunters stiffened, but Garrick’s jaw clenched. The Alpha of Irongfang was no stranger to cruelty, and his reaction to the situation was as revealing as it was disturbing.

“You think this is entertaining?” Garrick’s voice was low, but the dangerous undertone was unmistakable. He could feel his temper rising, but he kept it in check—barely.

Branor’s eyes glinted with amusement as he slowly walked toward the table. “Well, think about it, Garrick,” he said, his grin widening. “I was promised a bride, a prize, and now she’s run... running away from her duty, her destiny.” He leaned in, his eyes meeting Garrick’s with a predatory gleam. “It’s a game. A chase. And I do love a good chase.”

There was a flicker of something cold and dark in Branor’s eyes. A hunger that had little to do with love or politics. It was the glint of a man who enjoyed power, control, and the suffering of those who dared defy him.

Garrick’s gaze darkened, the Alpha blood in him rising in warning. “This is not a game, Branor. This is my daughter, and I will not let her embarrass me. Not like this.”

Branor straightened, brushing off the comment as if it were nothing more than an afterthought. “I’m not saying it’s a game,” he said, his voice still smooth, though there was a darker edge to it now. “But this is an opportunity. One I’m not going to let pass me by. I will find her. I will bring her back.”

He turned his gaze to the hunters, his grin widening. “And I can make sure she’s... cooperative when she returns.”

The air thickened as the tension between the two Alphas escalated. For a brief moment, it felt as though the room might snap—Garrick’s temper was a sharp blade, Branor’s amusement a slow poison.

Finally, Garrick broke the silence. “You want to help? Fine. I need all the support I can get. But understand this, Branor. If my daughter isn’t returned safely, if anything happens to her—”

“I understand,” Branor interrupted smoothly. “You don’t need to worry about that. I’ll bring her back to you—in one piece.” His gaze darkened for a moment, and his grin twisted into something more sinister. “After all, she is my bride.”

Garrick studied him for a long moment, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. “Very well. We’ll leave immediately. Varek, gather the hunters. We will track her down.”

Varek gave a sharp nod and immediately moved to rally the pack’s trackers.

As the hunters moved to organize themselves, Branor stood tall, his arms crossing over his chest. He let his gaze drift toward the doorway where the Alpha’s warriors stood ready. He had his own pack with him—strong, capable wolves who would hunt Rhea down with lethal precision.

“I’ve always enjoyed a good challenge,” Branor said, his voice dangerously soft as he stepped closer to Garrick. “Your daughter… she’ll be an interesting one to tame.”

Garrick’s lips curled into a tight, grim smile. “She’s not your plaything, Branor.”

Branor’s grin widened again, this time cold and calculating. “We’ll see, won’t we?”