Chapter Two

IVY’S POV

The stench of manure clung to me like a second skin. My fingers ached from scrubbing the stable floors, the rough bristles of the old brush tearing into the cracks of my raw knuckles. My knees throbbed against the cold, hard ground, but I didn’t stop. I never stopped. Not unless I wanted another mouthful of dirt. Not unless I wanted them to say it again.

“Freak.”

“Cursed.”

“Wolfless.”

I dipped the brush into the bucket and kept scrubbing.

“Faster, freak,” a voice snapped from behind.

I didn’t need to turn. I knew it was Lucy the daughter of the beta, born with a silver spoon and a silver tongue sharp enough to cut through steel. Her scent always hit first: lavender and power. Her voice followed close behind, laced with disdain.

I said nothing. I didn’t stop scrubbing.

She didn’t like that.

A hard kick sent the bucket flying, water spilling across the floor and soaking the hem of my skirt. I flinched, just slightly, just enough for her to know she’d gotten to me.

“Did you hear me, cursed girl?” she sneered.

I still didn’t answer.

That earned me a slap, so sharp and loud.

My cheek burned, but I didn’t cry out. I didn’t raise my eyes. My pride had been stripped from me a long time ago, left behind in the ashes of a past I couldn’t remember.

Lucy laughed and walked off, leaving me in a puddle of muddy water and shame.

Around me, were a few younger pack members laughing. They always did. No one ever stood up for the cursed girl. The one without a wolf. The servant of the Silver Crest Pack.

Seventeen years old, and still no wolf, no family, no name, and no past.

Just Ivy—the wolfless servant girl with eyes too dark and a silence too loud.

They said I appeared one winter night, no older than four, outside the healer’s den, shivering and silent. No one knew where I came from. No one cared to ask.

I wasn’t found. I was left.

Alpha Darius Clay allowed me to live among them, but never as one of them. He gave me chores, a cot, and a list of rules longer than my memory.

The rest of the pack? They gave me nothing but bruises and cold stares.

Even the pups knew I was nothing.

Wolves bloomed in every young shifter’s soul by the age of sixteen. Some earlier. Some a bit later.

But no one had heard of seventeen.

Not without a wolf.

Which left one truth on every tongue: I wasn’t late.

I was broken and cursed.

And everyone made sure I never forgot it.

“Move it, Ivy!”

Mateo tossed a bundle of sheets at my chest as I walked past the hall. I caught them, barely, the rough linen stinging my arms.

“You were supposed to be in the laundry quarters an hour ago,” he snapped.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured.

“You always are.” His lips curled. “You’d think by now you’d remember your place.”

I lowered my eyes. “Yes, sir.”

He grunted and walked away.

I adjusted the sheets in my arms and kept moving.

The hallways felt longer today. Heavier. The stone beneath my feet cold, unforgiving.

Whispers chased me like ghosts.

“She didn’t shift again?”

“She’s seventeen now. Definitely cursed.”

“She doesn’t even smell like a shifter.”

“I heard she has dreams. Weird ones.”

My hands tightened around the linen. I said nothing.

What could I say?

That I sometimes woke up with stars behind my eyelids?

That I saw fire dancing in the shadows?

That there was a woman I didn’t know but felt?

Even if I tried, they wouldn’t understand. They’d only add it to the list of things that made me wrong.

So I stayed silent.

Always silent.

After the evening chores, I slipped away.

The stars were already out—tiny lights scattered across the black silk of the sky. The cold mountain wind kissed my skin, and for once, the silence wasn’t cruel.

I sat on the worn ledge just beyond the servants’ quarters, legs curled beneath me, chin resting on my knees.

This was the only place that felt like mine.

The only place where I wasn’t Ivy the wolfless but just Ivy.

The stars had always called to me. Since I was a child. Before I even understood what they were. They made the loneliness quieter. They reminded me that something and someone was still out there.

One star pulsed brighter than the rest tonight. A blue light, soft and steady, just above the forest’s edge.

I couldn’t explain it, but every time I looked at it, something in my chest ached.

it seemed familiar.

And then there were the dreams.

They never came gently.

Fire, always fire. But not like anything I’d seen before.

Not red or orange.

This fire was white, burning without heat, devouring the ground but leaving me untouched.

I would stand in a field of ash, the wind howling like wolves in mourning.

And then she would appear.

The tall woman cloaked in flame. Her silver hair trailing like smoke. Her face was always blurred but her eyes…

Her eyes were like mine.

Dark, endless and streaked with silver.

Every time, she called my name.

But not just Ivy.

Something older, something strange.

Elarin ven’thiel.

It wasn’t a language I recognized.

And yet… I understood it.

You are not nothing, she would say.

You are mine.

I would reach for her. She would bleed.

And then I’d wake up.

Gasping.

I never told anyone.

Not Jayce.

Especially not Jayce.

He was the only one who ever treated me like more than a shadow. In his quiet, brooding way, he taught me how to read, how to watch the sky, how to see the world beneath the surface. He gave me books when no one else gave me bread.

But lately, even he had gone quiet.

He’s guarded.

The last time I mentioned the dreams, he’d turned away.

And yet, somehow, he always knew when they returned.

That night, as I stood outside his tower delivering firewood, he looked up from his scrolls and stared at me.

“You’ve been dreaming again,” he said.

My stomach twisted. “How do you know?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stepped closer, his cloak dragging behind him.

“You get that look,” he murmured. “Like you’ve seen something no one else can. Something that scares you.”

I hesitated. “She has my eyes.”

His face darkened. “Stop chasing shadows, Ivy. Dreams are only echoes.”

“They feel real.”

He turned his back to me. “So does pain. Doesn’t mean it shows you the truth.”

“But the language, she calls me something else. Not just Ivy but something older.”

“Then forget it,” he snapped. “Forget her.”

I stared at him, heart pounding. “You know who she is, don’t you?”

He went silent.

He didn’t move, he didn’t breathe.

Then, he said softly: “Forget her, Ivy. Please.”

And he left me standing there alone again as always.

⸻

My room was little more than a stone cell. Bare walls. A small cot. A thin blanket that barely held off the cold. But I was used to discomfort.

It was the emptiness I couldn’t escape.

That quiet ache in my chest. That space where a wolf should be.

Everyone else had their other half—the beast that lived in their blood, the fire in their bones. But mine had never come.

Some days, I wondered if it ever would.

Some nights, I prayed it wouldn’t.

Because deep inside me, something was stirring.

And I didn’t think it was a wolf.

I curled tighter under the blanket, the wind howling outside.

And the dream took me again.

I saw fire, stars, ash, and then….Her.

She stood in the flames, her hair silver and wild. Her voice cracked through the smoke.

You are not nothing.

You are mine.

Elarin ven’thiel…

The stars above her pulsed.

Her eyes locked onto mine—haunted, powerful and familiar.

And I knew.

She wasn’t a stranger.

She was a memory buried deep.

I awoke with tears on my cheeks, her voice still ringing in my ears.

I had no memories of who I was before I was four.

No name before Ivy.

No face to call family.

But I knew those eyes.

Because they were mine.