CHAPTER 6

Elara’s Pov

The heat in my neck exploded, radiating through my veins like molten silver.

I didn’t shift. 

There was no cracking of bones, no sprouting of fur. But my vision sharpened until I could see every flea jumping on the lead rogue’s matted hide.

The gray wolf lunge, a blur of teeth and muscle.

I didn’t think; I reacted. I dove beneath his massive frame, my hand finding a jagged rock on the forest floor. 

With a strength that shouldn’t have belonged to a malnourished Omega, I drove the stone into the soft underbelly of the beast as he passed over me.

A sickening tear, followed by a howl of agony, filled the air.

The other two rogues didn’t hesitate.

They attacked at once from both sides. I became a whirlwind of desperation and that new, terrifying heat. 

I felt teeth sink into my thigh, and I screamed, but the pain only fed the fire in my blood.

I slammed my elbow into the eye of the second wolf and used my weight to pin the third against a tree, my fingers digging into its throat with lethal intent.

I fought like a demon. I fought until my hands were stained dark crimson, until the beautiful green dress was nothing but blood-soaked tatters hanging from my bruised frame.

Finally, the last rogue slumped to the ground, its breathing ragged before it went still. I stood in the center of the carnage, my chest heaving.

My shoulder was a shredded mess. 

My leg felt like it was on fire. I could feel my life force leaking onto the cold earth.

The adrenaline began to recede, and with it, the strange heat vanished, leaving me colder than I had ever been.

I collapsed onto my back, my head resting near the edge of the cliff I had intended to jump from.

“I… I did it,” I whispered, my voice a hollow rasp.

A strange, bitter sense of peace washed over me.

I had won.

I hadn’t died as prey.

I had died as a fighter.

I looked up at the canopy, where the crimson moon peeked through the leaves.

“I’m coming, Great Mother,” I breathed, my eyes filling with fresh, quiet tears. “Please… just let it be quiet now. No more… no more pain.”

My vision began to swim.

The dark trees blurred into flickering shadows.

I was so tired.

So ready to let go. But then, the crunch of heavy boots on dry leaves broke the silence.

The scent hit me first. It wasn’t the chocolate and ozone of Ryker.

This was different.

It smelled of ancient forests, cedarwood, and a power so cold and vast it made the air itself seem to tremble.

I tried to turn my head, my gaze already blurring and fading.

A tall, dark silhouette stepped into view, towering over me. I couldn’t see his face, only the outline of a man who looked as though he’d been carved from the mountain itself.

“Who…” I tried to speak, but the word was only a puff of air.

He knelt beside me. I felt a large, gloved hand hover near my face.

I wanted to tell him to stay away, to let me die in peace, but as my eyes finally fluttered shut, I felt a spark of something. 

Not the mate bond.

Something deeper. 

More ancient.

“Rest now, little wolf,” a deep, velvety voice commanded. “The North has been waiting for you.”

Then the darkness claimed me completely.

But the darkness wasn’t cold.

For the first time in my life, it felt like a heavy velvet blanket, shielding me from the sharp edges of the world I had left behind.

Slowly, the weight of sleep began to lift.

My senses returned in fragments.

First, the smell, not the damp mold of the cellar or the acrid scent of lye, but the crisp, clean aroma of cedarwood and something sweet, like mountain lilies.

Then the feeling beneath me.

It was so soft it felt like floating on a cloud. I gasped, my eyes snapping open. I was staring at a ceiling of dark, polished wood.

I sat up too quickly, bracing for the familiar protest of bruised ribs and a shredded shoulder, but the pain was only a dull, distant hum.

I was tucked into a massive bed with sheets of cream-colored silk and a duvet so thick it felt like a hug.

My heart began to hammer.

Fear.

It was my oldest friend, and it returned instantly.

“Oh no,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “No, no, no.”

I scrambled toward the edge of the bed, my eyes darting around the room.

It was grand, larger than my father’s master suite, with a stone fireplace and heavy fur rugs. I looked down at myself and realized the tattered green dress was gone.

I was wearing a soft, oversized white tunic that smelled like the room.

“I’m going to be beaten,” I whimpered, pulling the covers up to my chin. “I’ve dirtied the bed. I’ve stayed asleep too long. Martha will… the Beta’s wife will…”

I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the door to burst open, waiting for the whip or the stinging slap across my face for daring to be in such a place. 

Waiting for the pack’s laughter to remind me I was just a glitch. But the silence held.

No one came.

I opened my eyes again and looked at my hands.

The burns from the boiling water were gone.

The raw, cracked skin from the lye was smooth and pale.

I touched my shoulder where the rogue had ripped into me.

There was only a faint, silvery line, a scar that should have taken weeks to heal.

A strange, lightheaded thought drifted through my mind.

The cliff.

I remembered the cold air, the dark abyss, the three rogues. I remembered the blood on the grass and the feeling of my soul slipping away.

“I died,” I breathed, a small, hysterical laugh escaping my throat. “That’s it. I actually did it. I’m dead.”

A profound sense of relief washed over me, so heavy I slumped back against the pillows.

This had to be it.

This was the Heaven the elders spoke of, the place where the Moon Goddess took the broken ones.

There were no Alphas here.

No cruel sisters.

No rejection.

Just silk and the scent of cedar.

“Thank you,” I whispered to the empty room, a single tear of pure joy rolling down my cheek. “Thank you for letting it be over.”

But then, the heavy click of a latch echoed through the room.

The large double doors at the far end swung open.

I froze, my heart leaping into my throat.

A man stepped inside, and the very air seemed to shift to make room for him.

He wasn’t just tall, he was a mountain of shadow and muscle, clad in charcoal-black furs and leather that smelled of the deep, frozen wild. 

His hair was as dark as a raven’s wing, and his piercing, icy-blue eyes locked onto mine with a weight that made the world vanish.

This was a predator.

A king.

Someone who didn’t just lead a pack, but ruled a territory.

“You are awake.”

His voice was a low, resonant rumble that vibrated through the floorboards.

It wasn’t a question.

It was a statement.

Fear, my oldest and most loyal companion, surged through me with such violence that my stomach churned.

My body, conditioned by years of my father’s backhand and Margaret’s whip, reacted before I could think.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” I shrieked, flinching so hard my spine slammed into the headboard.

Thud.