Chapter 3

Elsie's POV

Theo nodded, his expression turning grim. "He brought a message for the Alpha and the Gamma. It's about war, Elsie. A real war."

"War?" I repeated.

"Come on," Theo said, already turning back toward the village. "We need to hear exactly what he says."

We ran, sprinting through the trees. 

The square was suffocating because of the sheer number of people packed into the center of the village. At the front, near the raised wooden platform, stood the Alpha and a man I had never seen before. He looked rough, his skin weathered by travel and his eyes hard like flint. This must be the messenger from the Iron Hold.

The Alpha climbed the platform, his expression more serious than I had ever seen it. He unrolled a thick piece of parchment and cleared his throat. The village went silent, the kind of silence that makes your ears ring.

"By order of Quinn Bosevell, the Lycan King," the Alpha read, his voice echoing off the surrounding houses. "Darkness gathers at our borders, and the peace of our world is under threat. The Iron Hold calls upon its loyal packs. Under the ancient treaties of the moon, forty percent of your capable warriors are hereby conscripted for the upcoming war. You are to gather your strongest, your swiftest, and your most loyal. They must depart for the Iron Hold by tomorrow’s sunset. Failure to comply will be seen as an act of treason against the crown."

A wave of fear moved across the crowd like a physical wind. Mothers clutched their sons, and wives gripped the arms of their husbands. The whispering started almost immediately.

But I was so happy I could have cried.

This was it. This was my exit. My chance to be a warrior, to serve a purpose, and most importantly, to escape the stifling role I was about to be shoved into. If I went to the Iron Hold, I wouldn't have to be mated. I wouldn't have to be Oliver’s property.

As soon as the Alpha stepped down, the crowd broke apart. My father headed straight home, his jaw set in a hard line. He had to address our warriors and, more importantly, hand-pick the men who would be leaving.

I sprinted after him, bursting through the front door just as he was throwing a heavy bag onto the table. I didn't hesitate. I dropped to my knees right there on the floor.

"Father, please," I begged, my voice thick with emotion. "Let me go. Put me on the list."

He stopped what he was doing and looked down at me like I had grown a second head. "Can you even hear yourself, Elsie? Have you lost your mind?"

"I’m the best fighter in my age group! You know this!"

"Who did I offend for the Goddess’s sake?" he muttered, rubbing his temples. "A twenty-three-year-old female wants to go to war. This is madness."

"I will be fine! I’ve trained for this my whole life. You’re the one who taught me!"

"That is not the issue here!" he bellowed, pointing a finger at me. "The issue is that as a woman, you should be thinking of getting mated and building a home. You want to go to war? For what? To prove a point?"

By now, the rest of the family had gathered in the room, watching the spectacle. My mother looked worried, her hand pressed to her mouth.

"What about your mating ceremony?" my father asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous, low hiss. "It’s supposed to happen tomorrow evening."

I took a deep breath. I knew this would hurt him, but I couldn't lie anymore. "I don't actually want to do it. I don't want to be mated to him."

The room went cold. My father looked at me silently for a long time with a look of pure disappointment that cut deeper than any scolding. He didn't argue anymore. He just picked up his bag and his heavy broadsword and walked toward the door.

"I’m done here," he said, and then he was gone, his boots thudding heavily on the porch steps.

I stayed on the floor, feeling the hot sting of tears in my eyes. Despair started to sink in. I looked at the floorboards, wondering if I could actually go through with killing Oliver. He was a douchebag and a bully, but did he deserve to die just because I wanted to be free? No. I wasn't a murderer.

But then I tried to imagine my life as his mate. I saw myself walking three steps behind him, pouring his wine, bearing his children, and listening to him brag about battles he never fought while I withered away in a kitchen. I shook my head vigorously and stood up. I couldn't do it. I wouldn't.

My brother Dalton walked over to me. He was tall, and carried himself with the same rigid authority as my father. "Is it that you don't want to be mated at all, or you just don't like Oliver?"

"All of the above," I snapped.

"You know you’re being difficult, right?" Dalton said, his voice cold. "You’re making things so much harder for Father. He’s trying to secure your future."

I didn't even bother answering. I just looked away. There was no reasoning with Dalton. He and my father thought on the same frequency. He didn't have a lenient or compassionate bone in his body when it came to pack tradition, unlike Theo. Maybe it was the age gap. Dalton was five years older, while Theo was only a year older than me. To Dalton, I was just a rebellious child who needed to be tamed.

Dalton left a moment later, likely heading to the training clearing to join the other warriors. I left the house too. 

As I strolled through the village, I saw a group of young pups playing a game. They were running around in circles, screaming and laughing as they tried to escape one another. None of them wanted to be caught by the "villain" of the game.

Watching them, a mind-blowing idea occurred to me. It was so crazy, so dangerous, that my breath hitched in my throat.

What if I run away? But not just run—what if I join the warriors secretly?