Chapter 3 | Forest green eyes

AVA R.

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The journey to the village is quiet, the rhythmic crunch of my steps the only sound accompanying me. Just ahead, the cobbled roads emerge from the mist, marking the end of my long trek. Nestled far from the relentless hum of city life, the town is an ideal sanctuary—a place where werewolves can vanish into the crowd, their existence masked by the mundane. A perfect execution of "hiding in plain sight," if what I've read is to be believed.

As I near the village's edge, an unsettling realization grips me—I haven't planned this far ahead. Armed only with a basket of spare clothes, I still lack the most crucial thing: a place to hide. Strolling into the main roads would make me far too easy to spot by a Human. But crossing paths with one of my own? That's even riskier. Most of them are brimming with barely-contained tension, eager to stake their claim—whether it's for the coveted title of Luna or, for the males, the opportunity to prey on heartbroken, desperate she-wolves.

An Omega like me? I'd be nothing more than an outlet for their frustrations, a scrap of meat tossed into a pit of starved wolves.

With few options, I veer into the back alley of a nearby bar. The stench of rotting trash, vomit, and stale alcohol curls in the air, thick and putrid. But it's a necessary evil. The overpowering filth will mask my scent, and if anyone spots a massive wolf lurking in the shadows, it'll be dismissed as nothing more than the drunken delusions of an inebriated fool. Feeling assured in my decision, I take a steady breath and press forward.

My belly skims the ground as I slink around the corner, pressing myself against the wall. Every nerve is on edge, my senses attuned to the slightest sound, the faintest shift in the air. The alley is dimly lit, shadows stretching long against the cracked pavement. The stench of rotting food assaults my nose as I reach the side of a rusted metal bin, its lid barely hanging on. The putrid smell churns my stomach, forcing me to stifle a gag.

Suddenly, a door swings open with a loud creak, spilling warm light into the alley for the briefest moment before slamming shut again. The pungent scent of sweat, cigarettes, and cheap booze floods my nostrils, assaulting my senses. A trio of men staggers into the narrow space, their voices slurred and thick with inebriation.

I crouch lower, pressing myself against the bin's cold surface, my breathing shallow. They mumble to one another in disjointed phrases, their bodies swaying like trees caught in a storm.

"Fuck, man, I'm so wasted!" The first one blurts. He's completely obliterated—his eyes glazed over, barely able to focus. His body sways dangerously, as if the ground beneath him is shifting like ocean waves. When he wipes his mouth, his movements are sluggish, uncoordinated, as though even the simple act of lifting his arm is a monumental task. He lets out a low chuckle, his breath reeking of alcohol, and nearly topples over in the process.

His friend lets out a deep chuckle, shaking his head as he turns to the third man. "Yeah? The hell you put in those drinks, anyway, Ryder? That shit hits hard!" His words slur slightly, but the curiosity in his tone is evident.

Ryder smirks, the kind of grin that reeks of trouble. He takes a slow drag from his cigarette before whistling out a puff of smoke. "A bit of Moondust," he replies, his voice smooth and self-satisfied. As if to prove his point, he pulls a small flask from his pocket, tilting it just enough for the liquid inside to catch the dim light. The purplish substance swirls hypnotically, thick and almost alive, as though it has a mind of its own. His friends stare at it, transfixed, their intoxicated minds struggling to keep up. "You asked. I delivered," Ryder adds, tucking the flask away with a smirk.

The realization slams into me like a punch to the gut. That flask—its contents—I've seen it before, described in an old book. Moondust. A rare, potent wolvish concoction. A drug? A performance enhancer? I can't recall its exact purpose, but I know enough to be certain that these men aren't just any drunkards—they're werewolves. Drunken ones. And they're dangerous.

"Shit."

Ryder glances at his watch, his smirk fading. "Let's go. The ceremony begins in ten."

My stomach twists. Ten minutes?! That means I'm running out of time, too. Panic tightens around my lungs like a vice. I have no choice—I need to move now.

I sink deeper into the shadows, heart hammering in my chest as I shift forms in record time. The moment my human skin returns, I yank the dress from my basket and slip it on, fingers trembling as I smooth out rogue wrinkles. The fabric shimmers like stardust beneath the fading sunlight, a fleeting moment of beauty in my otherwise chaotic day.

A small smile tugs at my lips before I push it away, forcing myself to focus. There's no time for distractions. No room for error.

I take a deep breath, steel my resolve, and whisper the plan to myself like a sacred mantra:

Do not cross his gaze.

Recite the letter.

Give the gift.

Leave.

I step onto the nearest paved road and push forward, my heart pounding in rhythm with the sharp click of my heels against the stone. The village is unsettlingly quiet—too quiet. The midday sun hangs high in the sky, casting long, dappled shadows through the towering oaks lining the street. Despite the warmth of the golden rays, a chill prickles at my skin, an uneasy tension humming beneath the stillness.

Minutes blur together as I quicken my pace, the Weston mansion's towering silhouette barely visible beyond the rooftops. Almost there. Just a little more—

"And who's this?"

The slurred voice cuts through the quiet like a rusted blade scraping against stone. My breath hitches. I freeze mid-step.

Shit.

I know that voice.

Slowly, I turn, dread coiling in my stomach like a living thing.

The sharp tang of alcohol clings to the air, pungent and sickly sweet, carried by the warm afternoon breeze. The three men from the alley stagger toward me, their steps heavy, unsteady. Yet there's a predatory focus in their gazes, like wolves closing in on wounded prey.

"Looky here!" the first man slurs, his grin lopsided and lazy. He nearly trips over his own feet, but his dark, hooded eyes roam my figure with unsettling intent. "What a pertty dress youz have!" His gaze traces the length of my legs before settling on the slit at my chest. His smirk widens, lips pulling back just enough to reveal the sharp hint of his canines.

A sick feeling churns in my stomach.

Then, suddenly—whoosh.

A sharp gust of wind sweeps between my legs, and I realize too late that the second man has lifted the hem of my dress.

I gasp, my breath catching in my throat as his laughter rings through the sunlit street. His eyes gleam with amusement, his lips curled in a lazy smirk as he peers underneath.

"Well, well," he hums, voice thick with amusement.

Disgust and panic slam into me all at once. My stomach clenches. I yank the fabric from his grip with trembling fingers, my breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. The sunlight does nothing to ease the suffocating weight pressing on my chest.

"Please, I have to go—" I squeak, my voice trembling, barely above a whisper. The confidence I so desperately hoped to exude is nowhere to be found, swallowed whole by the fear curling like smoke in my chest.

The first man chuckles, low and slow, a sound that sends a sickening chill down my spine. "Aw, don't be so tense now..." he drawls, his breath thick with the scent of stale whiskey and bad intentions. "We just wanna have a bit of fun with ya. We won't bite..." His grin stretches wider.

My stomach churns violently.

I take an unsteady step back, my pulse pounding like war drums in my ears. Desperate, my hazel eyes dart toward Ryder, silently pleading for help—for reason.

He meets my gaze, and for a brief, fleeting moment, I think he might step in.

Then he speaks. Soft. Calculated.

"I recognize you."

A shiver bolts through my spine.

He moves closer, his footsteps slow, deliberate. Stifling grey smoke coils in the air as he exhales, the acrid scent wrapping around me like chains. "You're the Omega from that little cottage out in the woods." His voice is smooth, but there's something lurking beneath it—something dark.

I barely manage to shake my head when he leans in, invading what little space I have left. His fingers brush against my hair, tucking a loose strand behind my ear. A simple, almost tender gesture, yet it feels so profoundly wrong.

"Heard good things about you," he muses, his amber eyes flickering with something sinister. "Though, you're quite a bit younger than I imagined."

The hunger in his gaze sharpens, morphing into something primal.

I choke on my breath. My lungs seize.

"I—I don't know you..." My voice is strangled, barely escaping my lips.

My eyes snap away from him, desperately seeking an escape, but the world blurs at the edges. My chest tightens. The air turns thick, suffocating.

I can't breathe.

"The name's Ryder. Maybe you've heard about me when my friends paid you a visit last year."

His voice drips with amusement, but his words hit like a slap to the face. My stomach churns. A cold shudder ripples through me as his meaning settles in.

I shake my head, horror twisting in my gut. "I don't know you," I whisper, my voice barely audible, thick with disgust and confusion.

Ryder merely smirks, undeterred. "You will."

I barely have time to process his words before I feel it—the slow, deliberate press of his knee against my legs, trapping me in place. Panic explodes in my chest. My hands curl into fists, but just as my breath catches in my throat—

A force yanks him away from me, shoving him back with staggering strength.

I gasp sharply, sucking in the air I hadn't realized I'd been holding. My eyes dart upward, drinking in the sight of the figure now standing between us—a towering presence, broad shoulders rigid with tension, his shadow swallowing me whole.

"The hell do you think you're doing?"

The voice is deep, smooth, yet razor-sharp with authority, sending a jolt through my core.

Ryder staggers but quickly regains his footing. His smirk wavers for a fraction of a second before settling back into something cool, calculating. He exhales a long breath, tilting his head lazily as if trying to seem unbothered.

"Why don't you run back to your precious master, lapdog?" Ryder drawls, his voice softer now, yet laced with challenge. "Mind your business, and I'll mind mine."

The taller man doesn't budge. His shoulders remain squared, his stance unwavering.

"You should've been at the ceremony an hour ago," he states coldly. "With your mate."

A flicker of irritation flashes across Ryder's face before his smirk tightens. He steps closer, close enough that the space between them nearly vanishes. His voice drops to a whisper, but every syllable is razor-sharp.

"Haven't I warned you before, lapdog?" His amber eyes gleam with something dangerous. "You've got your business..." His gaze flickers toward me briefly, slow and deliberate. "Don't meddle in mine."

A thick silence stretches between them, heavy with unspoken threats.

For a moment, neither of them moves. The air is electric, tension crackling like a brewing storm.

Then Ryder clicks his tongue in irritation. His lips press into a thin line before curling up into something sinister then he exhales sharply, shaking his head as if amused.

With one last lingering glance, his eyes settle back onto me.

"See you around, Omega."

His tone is a promise. A threat.

I swallow hard, pressing myself against the brick wall as he turns and disappears down the street, his friends trailing behind.

Only when they are completely gone does the weight of what just happened crash down on me. My body trembles, exhaustion seeping into my bones.

A shivering hand finds my chest, trying to soothe my erratic heartbeat.

"Miss?"

The voice is softer now, tinged with concern.

I force my eyes upward and meet a gaze unlike any I've ever seen before—piercing blue, gentle yet sharp, steady. My breath nearly catches in my throat as I take a better look at him—this is the man who sent Ryder and his duo of drunken wolves away. The one who stood between me and whatever fate they had planned. His presence, solid and unwavering, sends a strange sense of security coursing through me.

His voice is gentle, comforting. "Are you alright?"

I swallow the knot of emotion lodged in my throat. "Yes... Th-thank you."

His nod is reassuring, but his brows knit into a curious frown. "Are you... the Omega?"

A sharp jolt of fear grips my stomach, twisting into uneasy knots.

"Yes... why do you ask?" My voice wavers slightly despite my attempt at keeping steady.

His expression remains unreadable as he studies me. "Shouldn't you be at the ceremony with the others?"

I hesitate, fingers curling around the fabric of my dress. "I was on my way but... I got a little lost." I glance toward the now-empty street where Ryder and his friends had stood just moments ago. The thought of them still lurking in the shadows, watching, waiting, sends a shiver up my spine. "Then those guys showed up."

His eyes briefly flick toward the alley before settling back on me. "I figured as much," he murmurs, his tone carrying a hint of something unreadable. Then, with a small smile, he offers, "I can escort you to the mansion if you'd like. Save you the trouble."

My lips part, instinctively ready to refuse; I shouldn't rely on a stranger. But doubt urges my tongue to still. What if Ryder and his friends returned? What if they were waiting, just beyond my sight?

Perhaps... it's safer this way.

I exhale softly, my fingers twitching at my sides before I nod. "Y-yes. I guess you're right."

A faint chuckle rumbles from his chest, and warmth spreads to my cheeks. He extends a hand, his fingers slightly calloused but steady.

"Cade, at your service."

I stare at his outstretched hand for a beat too long before hesitantly placing mine in his. The warmth of his skin against mine startles me, but I don't pull away. Instead, I let his grip ground me, steady me.

For the first time since arriving in this village, I don't feel entirely alone.

"Pleasure." Our hands shake clumsily, a brief, awkward motion, yet the gesture feels strangely grounding—gentleman-like in a way I hadn't expected.

Minutes later, the distant hum of voices reaches my ears, growing into a cacophony of chatter and excitement. The realization strikes me like a bolt of lightning—I was only a few streets away this whole time. Embarrassment flares hot on my cheeks. How could I have been so close yet so lost?

But my shame is swiftly forgotten when my eyes land on the Weston Pack House.

It's breathtaking.

Marble pillars rise skyward, their pristine white surfaces gleaming beneath the midday sun. The roof, an expanse of obsidian black, stands in stark contrast against the bright blue sky. Golden and silver accents trim the windows and doors, their metallic shine catching the light like scattered stardust. Lanterns, large and ornate, cast a warm glow against the pale gray stone of the mansion's walls. Towering oak trees stand guard at the entrance, their sprawling limbs stretching like protective sentinels. A sea of wildflowers—lavender, crimson, soft blues, and bright yellows—lines the perimeter, painting the scene with color.

I can only think of one word.

Wow.

"Cade!"

A voice, sharp and demanding, cuts through my awe. My head snaps up as a figure pushes through the crowd, stopping mere feet away. Jet-black hair. Strong jaw. Broad shoulders. But as my gaze takes in his looks, it's his gaze that truly capture my interest.

Deep, forest green eyes.

The moment our gazes lock, a strange warmth blossoms in my chest, spreading like wildfire through my veins. A rush of emotions crashes into me—joy, longing, something ancient and primal stirring within my soul. My wolf surges forward, howling in unfiltered bliss. My pulse thrums wildly.

I stare at him, unable to look away.

He doesn't look at me. Not at first. His focus remains fixed on Cade, irritation evident in the sharp downturn of his lips. "Where the hell have you been? The ceremony started twenty minutes ago!"

Cade doesn't flinch. "Found Ryder stumbling through town with his two idiot friends. They got themselves completely wasted before harassing this poor girl." He gestures toward me, effortlessly pulling the man's attention in my direction.

I can feel my heartbeat in my throat, the pulsing rhythm matching the rapid, unsteady pace of my breaths. The world seems to narrow around me as my eyes meet his—forest green locking with my hazel, and everything else fades into a blur. A jolt runs through me, a shockwave that rattles my bones, deep inside where something ancient stirs. My wolf howls, a wild, untamable thing, as if calling to something far beyond this moment.

And then, the bond snaps tight.

I can feel it. Him. Something primal, undeniable. A thread that once seemed invisible now yanks taut, wrapping around my chest, my heart, my soul—tethered to him in a way I never imagined possible. His breath falters, his gaze locking onto mine with confusion and something more—a flicker of recognition. I hear his breath, sharp, ragged, as if he too is struggling to make sense of what is happening.

But the bond is too strong, and the pull quickly overwhelms me.

Suddenly, my mind shatters into flashes—visions, fragmented and chaotic. A white-hot light burns through the blackness, stinging my eyes. Blood—so much blood. The scent of smoke, the taste of iron on my tongue. There’s something monstrous, something familiar in the violence that swirls around me, as if I’ve witnessed it before. My wolf howls in agony, urging me to understand, but the pain sears through me with such intensity that I can hardly breathe.

Crimson eyes, glowing like fire, stare at me in a vision that feels all too real. The image of a massive, black wolf, teeth bared in a snarl—my heart aches as it echoes deep in my chest. The ground shakes beneath me, as if the earth itself is trying to drown me in this torrent of agony.

The pain intensifies, coursing through my veins like molten lava, until I can no longer tell where I end and the suffering begins. It’s suffocating, suffocating in a way that twists my insides and robs me of air. I scream, my voice raw and desperate, a sound too terrible to be human.

And then—

Darkness.

Complete, engulfing darkness.

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