Chapter 2: The Wolf in the Storm

Snow howled through the night like a beast mourning its kill. Elira’s breath came in short, painful bursts as she staggered through the trees, her bare feet numb against the frozen earth. The cold had long seeped into her bones, and her body screamed for rest, for warmth, for surrender.

She didn’t know how far she had walked. Hours? Days?

Her memories blurred. Kael’s betrayal. The laughter. The sting of wine on her skin. The silence that followed when she fled. No one had come after her. Why would they? She was no one. A nameless, useless omega without a bond, without power, without worth.

She fell again, her knees sinking into the snow. Her vision swam. Her fingers were blue.

Maybe this is what I was meant for, she thought dimly. To disappear. To vanish like a ghost in the storm.

She curled up, too tired to move. A bitter tear slid down her cheek and froze against her skin.

Then she heard it—a low growl, rumbling like thunder in the earth.

Elira forced her eyes open.

A massive shape emerged from the snow.

At first, she thought it was a hallucination. A beast—black-furred, towering, eyes glowing silver—walked toward her on four paws, each step deliberate, deadly, regal. It was no ordinary wolf. It was far too large. Too ancient. A predator of myths.

A Lycan.

Her heartbeat faltered.

The wolf stopped in front of her, staring down at her broken form. Elira wanted to shrink away, to flee, but her limbs were too heavy, too numb.

Then, before her eyes, the beast shifted.

Bones snapped. Fur receded. Power rippled through the air.

Where the wolf had stood now stood a man—tall, broad-shouldered, with black hair falling across a chiseled face and eyes like moonlight. His expression was unreadable, but something about him—something in those eyes—held back the storm around him.

He looked like a god carved from night and frost.

Elira stared, lips parted in shock, her voice barely a whisper.

“W-who…?”

The man didn’t answer right away. He crouched before her, his hand reaching out, and she flinched.

But he only brushed the snow from her hair, slow and deliberate, as if she were something fragile. Something worth saving.

“I should leave you,” he said quietly, more to himself than to her. “You’re nothing to me.”

Elira closed her eyes. Of course. Even he saw it.

“But I won’t.”

Her eyes snapped open.

“I’ve seen enough death,” he murmured. “And you… you haven’t finished your fight.”

He scooped her into his arms with shocking gentleness. His body radiated heat, so powerful and wild it made her whimper.

“Sleep, little omega,” he said as he turned and carried her into the blizzard. “You’ll wake in a different world.”

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The next time Elira opened her eyes, she was wrapped in furs, surrounded by flickering firelight. The scent of pine, smoke, and something darker—older—filled her lungs.

She was lying in a bed too soft to be real, in a room with high stone walls and carved wooden beams. A fire roared nearby, and thick drapes hung from the ceiling, muffling the outside world.

She didn’t know where she was.

Or who had saved her.

But she remembered the eyes.

Then he entered.

The Lycan King.

She sat up too fast and winced as her body protested.

Lucien didn’t move toward her. He stood at the edge of the room, watching her like a wolf watches an injured bird—cautious, unreadable.

“You’re awake,” he said simply.

“Why?” Her voice cracked. “Why did you… save me?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “You were left to die. That offends me.”

She stared, confused. “You don’t even know me.”

“I don’t need to.” He stepped closer. “I know what I saw. An omega who crawled through a blizzard instead of laying down to die. That’s more than most.”

Elira trembled. “I’m nothing.”

“No.” His voice was firm. “You’ve been made to believe you are. There’s a difference.”

She looked down, fingers tightening in the furs. “I don’t have a pack. No mate. No power.”

Lucien’s voice was quiet but sharp as steel. “Then perhaps you are finally free.”

That silenced her.

She had never thought of it like that.

“You’ll stay here,” he continued. “You’ll eat. Heal. Rest.”

“And then?” she asked.

His gaze burned. “And then, you decide who you want to become.”

She opened her mouth—but no words came. Tears gathered in her eyes, not from pain or sorrow, but from something far more dangerous.

Hope.

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