Chapter 5: The Parting Whispers

The wind outside the pavilion howled like a dying beast, whipping flakes of aggressive, icy snow against the heavy black canvas. Inside, the atmosphere was dead silent, save for the heavy, retreating footsteps of Alpha Torin and his formidable guard. They didn’t wait for her. They didn't offer a cloak to shield her from the oncoming blizzard. To the Midnight Pack, she was baggage, an unwanted transaction wrapped in white lace.

Before Evangeline could take a step to follow her grim new reality, a heavy, iron-like grip clamped onto her upper arm.

Silas hauled her back into the shadows of the pavilion, away from the prying eyes of the remaining elders who were already gathering the treaty documents. He pulled her so roughly that her shoe caught on a tent stake, and she stumbled, her shoulder slamming hard against one of the iron support beams. The impact sent a jar of dull pain through her collarbone, but the silver-root poison circulating in her veins muted the ache, leaving her feeling detached from her own flesh.

"Listen to me very carefully, you pathetic little bird," Silas hissed. His face was so close to the lace of her veil that she could feel the hot, rancid heat of his breath.

Eva kept her head down, her hands trembling within her oversized sleeves. "I am listening, Alpha."

"You are going to his territory, and you are going to be my eyes and ears," Silas whispered, his voice a low, vibrating snarl that rattled her bones. He tightened his grip on her arm, his thick fingers bruising the skin beneath her wool coat. "Torin is paranoid. He already suspects you. Good. Let him watch your every move while you watch his. I want to know their patrol routes along the northern ridge. I want to know when their warriors change guard, and I want to know the exact layout of his packhouse defense grid."

"Father—" Eva choked out, the word slipping past her lips in a moment of sheer panic. "He... he felt the spark. When we touched, he growled. He knows something is wrong with my scent. What if he strips this veil off the moment we cross the border? What if he realizes I have no wolf?"

Silas let out a low, mocking laugh that made her blood run colder than the winter wind. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping into a sinister, lethal register.

"Then you had better pray you are a magnificent liar," Silas whispered maliciously. "Because let me make one thing entirely clear to you, Evangeline. You are a wolfless, useless burden. If you fail to bring me the information I need, or if you dare to think about running away, I will personally leak the truth to him. I will ensure Torin finds out that you are a wolfless fraud who stole his treaty bride’s name."

He paused, letting the terror of his words sink deep into her foggy, poisoned mind.

"Spy for me, Evangeline," Silas threatened, his fingers digging into her jaw through the heavy lace, forcing her to look toward the dark silhouette of the baggage wagons waiting outside. "Spy for me, or he will find out you’re wolfless, and he will give you to his monsters for their pleasure. Do you understand me? His enforcers will tear you apart piece by piece when they realize the Ironwood Pack played them for fools. You will be nothing but a toy for his warriors before they drop your cold, lifeless body over the border."

Eva’s breath hitched in her throat. The horror of his words painted a vivid, terrifying picture in her mind. She had heard stories of what savage packs did to captured human spies. They were broken, used, and discarded like trash. And her own father—the man who was supposed to protect her—was promising to hand her over to that exact fate if she didn't obey his twisted commands.

"I understand," she whispered, a lone tear cutting a warm path through the heavy powder on her cheek beneath the veil. "I will do what you ask."

"Good," Silas barked, abruptly releasing her jaw and shoving her away from him. "Now get out of my sight. Go to your monster."

From the shadows near the exit, Victoria stepped forward, her crimson gown rustling against the frozen dirt. She looked at Eva with an expression of pure, unadulterated disgust, though a cruel, satisfied smirk played on her lips.

"Have a lovely honeymoon, sister," Victoria mocked, her voice dripping with venomous glee. "Try not to let him break your neck on the first night. I’d hate for all our hard work in dressing you up to go to waste."

Eva didn't reply. She couldn't. The weight of the silver-root poison, combined with the crushing dread of her father’s ultimatum, made her feel as though she were walking through deep, treacherous mud. She turned away from the only family she had ever known—the monsters who had enslaved her in her own home—and walked out into the blinding, freezing white of the northern blizzard.

The wind hit her like a physical blow, tearing at the heavy white lace of her veil and threatening to rip it from her hair. She stumbled blindly through the snow, her thin-soled shoes offering no protection against the frozen earth.

Ahead of her stood a massive, heavily armored transport wagon, meant for carrying supplies and weapons, not a bride. Two hulking Midnight Pack warriors stood by the rear doors, their arms crossed over their broad, fur-lined chests. They watched her approach with cold, unblinking eyes, their nostrils flaring as they caught the synthetic, cloying scent of honey and berries that drifted from her clothes.

"Get in," one of the warriors grunted, gesturing roughly toward the high ledge of the wagon. He didn't offer a hand to help her up.

Eva swallowed her pride, her numb, raw fingers gripping the cold iron rim of the wagon bed. She dragged her heavy, oversized dress up, her knees scraping against the wood as she practically crawled into the dark, cramped interior of the transport. The inside smelled of old leather, iron rust, and dried meat. There were no cushions, no blankets, and no heaters. Just a hard wooden bench surrounded by crates of iron spears.

The heavy wooden doors slammed shut behind her, plunging her into near-total darkness, save for the faint slivers of gray winter light filtering through the cracks in the wooden planks.

A moment later, with a violent jerk that threw her off the bench and onto the cold floor, the wagon began to move.

Eva sat in the shadows, pulling her knees tightly against her chest, her hands wrapped around her shivering frame. As the carriage rocked and bumped along the rough, frozen mountain pass, heading deeper into the terrifying territory of the Midnight Pack, her father's final words echoed in the silence of her mind over and over again.

Spy for me, or he will give you to his monsters.

She closed her eyes beneath the veil, clutching the small, cold fabric of her dress. She was trapped between two tyrants, moving toward a destiny she was entirely unequipped to handle. But as the dark forest closed in around the caravan, the faint, electric tingle where Torin had touched her finger lingered on her skin—a terrifying, confusing spark of warmth in a world of absolute ice.