CHAPTER THREE: Whispers in the Dark

The forest reeked of iron and charred wood, the hush after the storm settling over Crescent Hollow’s sacred clearing. Dawn’s pale light filtered through moss-laden pines, casting long shadows across the broken stones meant to bind Lyra to a destiny she no longer believed in.

Lyra moved barefoot across the ashes, her feet stumbling through scorched grass and splintered wood. She traced a finger along one of the shattered ceremonial pillars, feeling the tremor beneath her touch. Silent whispers drifted past her wolves murmuring that she’d brought this upon them.

“Maybe the Blood Moon feared her. Maybe she calls danger.”

Her breath caught. The sting of guilt crawled over her skin. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came. Only the ache of realization: the pack saw her as a spark or a curse.

Kael stormed into the Alpha’s house, his robes sodden with blood. Silver eyes glassy with controlled fury, he seized Lyra by the wrist, dragging her into a dim chamber cloaked in early‑morning gloom. Guards halted at his snarled command, Kael’s presence alone bending them into silence.

“Did you see,” he snarled, voice low and laced with possessiveness, “what he said? You heard him claim you.” He pressed her face close, his grip bruising, his breath ragged. “You don’t get to deny this. You’re mine.”

Lyra’s throat tightened. His words swelled in her chest, not comforting but suffocating. When she whispered back, “I didn’t want this,” his expression sharpened.

“You will obey. And tonight, you’ll complete this binding. Or so help me.” She pulled free, voice trembling. “I can’t.”

---

She fled into the night’s silence, retreating to the place where rogues had fallen. In that place, beneath the paths of ancient hunters, a mark had drawn her attention: a strange rune carved deep into a spruce tree. A clawed hand clasping a crescent moon. Symbols she didn’t recognize—no sign of Crescent Hollow or Stormfang.

Something older. Hidden. Dangerous.

As she knelt to trace the rune, a rustle startled her. Rowan stepped from the shadows, his wounded body moving with relentless purpose.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said softly.

Lyra stiffened, heart pounding. “Neither should you.”

His gaze softened with regret. “I had to see you.”

The moonlight brushed his battered chest, silvering the cuts that hadn’t fully healed from the last battle. She realized, with a painful lurch, that every scar belonged to her too.

“The rogues weren’t after the pack,” he said, voice dark. “They were after you.”

Lyra’s breath caught. “Why me?”

He slipped closer, cautious. “Your betrothal… it’s a payment. Your father owes more than words. Someone wants to ensure the debt is paid with your life.”

The world shifted. Her father’s solemn promise of alliance and the whispered gossip of his debts—this was the price she hadn’t known she paid. Her hands trembled; everything she believed in fractured.

“How do you know this?”

Rowan stared at the rune behind her. “The same wolves who attacked your clearing… attacked my people. That clawed moon? A symbol among rogues I saw on patrols. We’re fighting the same enemy.”

Before she could reply, heavy footsteps stomped onto the scene: Kael, flanked by Crescent Hollow warriors, catching them together under the rune. His expression was fury incarnate, silver eyes burning through Rowan’s guarded calm.

“You warned me to stay away,” Kael hissed.

Rowan stepped forward. “You didn’t stop me.”

Lyra felt the pull between them. Kael’s tension coiled like a serpent ready to strike, Rowan’s resolve absolute. The mate bond thrum in her chest grew painful and urgent.

Kael’s claws flashed. “You don't speak her name. Why?”

“A mate knows you don’t need a name to claim what’s destined,” Rowan replied, voice echoing strange calm. “And if you try to stand in my way... I will.”

They squared off until a scream tore through the stillness.

A rogue wolf bolted from underbrush, a monstrous shape taller and broader than any Crescent Hollow wolf. It slammed into one of Kael’s men, shredding flesh and bone in a wet instant. More movement sprang from the forest's twisted shapes, unnatural snarls, and dozens of eyes igniting in the dark.

The world erupted.

Kael howled. His body rippled, shifting silver fur bursting outward, claws flexing.

Rowan grabbed Lyra’s arm, dragging her back.

“Run. Now.”

Most of their warriors froze, stunned by the second wave of rogues, but as the creatures advanced, battle became chaos. Torches knocked over, cries of pain mingling with roars and snapping jaws. The rune-marked forest seemed to come alive, an army of wolves emerging from shadows.

Lyra’s legs shook, but she didn’t resist Rowan’s grip. His wolfish strength pulled her through the pandemonium, his body attempting to shield her, even as larger rogue wolves barreled toward them. Kael didn’t run; he stayed, shifting fully beneath the moon, launching into the fight with a furious roar.

The last thing Lyra saw before Rowan yanked her deeper into the trees was Kael’s tall form, silver against the blood-soaked clearing, fangs bared as he faced down grotesque, rune-marked enemies.

Behind them, the forest closed in.