14

Charollet sat on the soft moss inside the glade, moonlight filtering through the treetops, dappling her pale features. Her emerald gown, once a symbol of beauty, now lay stained with mud and sweat, the golden sash loose at her waist. She pressed her palm against the rough bark of an ancient oak, seeking solace in its silent strength.

But strength was far from her reach.

Tears had washed her face clean, but they could not wash away the betrayal. The world felt fractured beneath her feet, trust torn into pieces she did not know how to gather. Not only had Boris tried to mark her as his Luna against her will, but Kade had responded by claiming her himself, all while she was still weak and burning from the bite wound.

In that moment, the man who had saved her shattered her fragile hope too.

She sat hunched, back to the blaze of forest lanterns Kade had scrounged for cover, body wrapped in furs scavenged from the stables. She stayed silent, letting the forest’s hush wrap around her like a cocoon.

She felt alone.

Far above, wolves howled.

Not the gentle songs of loss or mourning but deep, contested roars: frustration and protest rising from either side of the forest.

Darkfang was tearing itself apart.

Hundreds of yards away, the clearing had become a battlefield.

Boris and his loyalists, Alpha’s right-hand wolves—had taken position in jagged lines. Their ideal of pack purity was symbolized in their composition: imposing warriors, grey and white-furred, eyes bright with loyalty to an Alpha who ruled by title, age, and fear.

Kade’s supporters, scattered recent recruits, half-breeds and rogues loyal to his vision—stood opposite, their coats dark as midnight, their eyes lit with a fierceness that matched their leader's.

The moon, finally free of clouds, cast silvery sheen across the field.

And in the center, Boris emerged, gaunter than he'd been in years. His grey fur was thin in patches, scars visible upon his flank. His silver eyes resonated with an ancient chill—the presence of a wolf carved in legend. As he spoke, his voice rumbled with old authority.

“By blood and by bone, I am Alpha of Darkfang!” he roared, talon‑claws raking the dirt. “And any who serve him over me betray this land!”

Would-be challengers shifted.

At the edge of the darkness, Kade appeared.

His presence was different. Not regal...but raw.

Dark fur, black as the void, stoked by notes of steel and gunmetal where scars had formed. His golden eyes shone like smoldering embers...alive, dangerous, hungry.

He stepped forward.

“…By will and strength,” Kade answered. “I stand for a stronger pack. One not afraid of change. Who claims its future.”

His words cut deeper than any claw.

The wolves responded with howls.

The ground trembled.

Charollet slumped deeper into the moss. Every tremor across the field echoed through her bones. How far had she pushed Kade into this? He had promised her safety, yet here he was, risking everything because of her. Even his own body, already battered and stained with fresh blood.

She pressed a trembling hand to her side, wincing as every breath shifted bandages and sent fire through her rib cage.

Yet her mind bombarded her with memory and meaning.

Boris. The old wolf who had once been a legend of strength. Strategic in war, cunning in politics. The one who defeated Kade's father. A wolf whose legacy was steeped deeply in lineage, in blood, in unbroken chains. He had no right to claim her, she wasn’t Luna to his blood. But that didn’t make his attempt less vile.

Kade. The wolf that broke her. Made her bleed. And then carried her away into the forest like a broken doe. His voice trembled but he still commanded the entire pack. His anger flickered deeper than the firelight. But his betrayal… That touched her more than any wound.

She watched the battle unfold.

Boris lunged first.

Muscles rippled beneath grey fur as he flew across the field. Kade met him head-on.

Their contact shook the earth. Claw against claw, snarl against snarl.

Charollet closed her eyes.

Every crash of fur against fur rang in the glade. She heard the retch of fur tearing, the crack of bones, the roar of pain...Kade's roar, then Boris's.

She peered through her lashes.

Kade took Boris down with thunderous force, but the Alpha retaliated with experience and vicious clarity, clawing at Kade’s neck, biting deep where fur thinned.

Blood spattered.

The crowd swayed.

Wolves from both sides broke off and joined the fray. The battlefield turned wild. Names were shouted. Bonds were broken in real time.

Charollet clutched her wounded shoulder tighter than her heart.

In the center, Kade and Boris were locked in savage dance.

Kade's physique favored power and speed as he moved with brutal elegance, turning evasion into offense. Blood trickled from Kade’s chest where Boris’s claws had found their mark, but he pressed on.

Boris relied on cunning and patience—waiting for an opening. His steel-grey muzzle glistened with sweat and blood.

Each strike carried meaning.

The Alpha’s teeth tore at Kade’s flank, but Kade answered with a massive blow to Boris’s ribs. A snap echoed. Boris staggered, snarling.

Charollet gasped, her throat wet with pain and fear.

Kade’s muscles trembled. Blood darkened his fur. But fear had exited his body entirely replaced by fury and calculation.

He moved, gripping Boris’s shoulder with a fierce bite, shaking him like a rag.

Boris wailed, half-wolf, half-king, fighting against death and loss of power.

The pack froze, even the battlecloud of mutants and disciples around them.

All eyes on Kade.

Kade released Boris, towering above him. One last blow, a savage hit to the Alpha’s temple—sent the old wolf crashing to the ground.

Silence descended.

Kade stood over him.

Charollet forced herself to rise.

He was breathing heavily, blood mixing with moonlight. The pack parted as he strode toward her.

He supported her as she stumbled forward toward the fallen Alpha.

Kneeling, he lifted her chin gently—showing her Boris in submission.

“You saw it,” Kade murmured. “He fell.”

Charollet’s voice was a whisper: “Yes.”

He nodded, pressed a trembling kiss to her forehead in public view.

“I will not fail you.”

In the tense silence of wounded and victorious wolves, Kade turned and addressed them.

“Darkfang stands under a new moon,” he said. “I claim the title to protect her and all who follow.”

Roars answered.

Blood-worn warriors shook their weapons.

Charollet watched Kade rise.

He looked to her, eyes still golden embers of triumph and exhaustion.

The field lay quiet now, blanketed in mist and ash and blood.

All the warriors were still either standing in the silver glow of the moon or lying broken beneath it. The war cries had died out. The wind carried only soft whimpers and the huff of exhausted wolves nursing wounds.

Charollet stood with her bare feet sinking into the cold soil, still wrapped in her tattered gown, the thin silk clinging to her sweat-drenched skin. Kade stood tall beside her though “tall” was an illusion now. His legs buckled slightly under his own weight, one shoulder drooping unnaturally, fur matted in sticky, red-black layers.

She could barely look at him.

His breathing was ragged, uneven. Yet his eyes—those amber-gold eyes that once frightened her and now stirred something she refused to name—never left hers.

Charollet didn’t know what to feel.

She had just watched two monsters destroy each other. And while one of them fell—Alpha Boris, the tyrant, the one who would’ve branded her as a token—the other, the so-called savior, had done something just as cruel.

He had stood in front of an entire pack and called her his.

Not asked.

Not explained.

Declared.

And now, she didn’t know whether to thank him or to curse his name.

Kade's voice had gone hoarse from shouting, from orders barked and challenges met. The moment he dropped to one knee was the moment she realized how deep the wounds ran. Not just the claw across his ribs, or the bite wound near his neck—those would scar, but they would heal.

What wouldn’t heal so easily was what they both refused to say.

Guards those still loyal to him rushed toward Kade, ready to bear him to the healers. He pushed them off with a weak growl.

“No. Not until the body is burned.”

Charollet watched with horror as they dragged Boris’s limp wolf-form across the field. His once-grey fur was now a ruin of torn hide and crusted wounds, his eyes permanently open in disbelief. The body was laid on a pyre of oak and kindling.

A fire was lit.

It was the end of an era.

And the beginning of another.

“Kade…” her voice cracked.

He turned.

The moonlight caught the slope of his bloodied face, casting shadows along his cheekbone. His nose was swollen, lips torn, shoulder jagged from a near-dislocation.

Still, he smiled.

A slow, exhausted, haunting smile.

“You’re safe now,” he said.

Charollet didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

She watched as he stumbled again, and this time he didn’t catch himself. He dropped to one knee. Blood spilled from his side and darkened the grass beneath him.

The healers were at his side now, muttering incantations, pressing herbs and poultices to the wounds. They urged him to shift back to his human form to ease the healing. He shook his head.

Not yet.

“I want them to see this,” he rasped. “All of it. The pain, the scars. What I gave to earn the right to lead them.”

His body trembled, still in wolf form.

Charollet stared at him. Even now, covered in the blood of his rival, teeth bared in victory, there was a raw beauty in him. A beast made of ash and vengeance, but also of something fragile that terrified her.

Emotion.

Not possession.

Not control.

But something deeper.

Something neither of them was ready for.

Hours passed.

The body of Boris turned to ash, consumed by ceremonial fire. Wolves gathered around, silent in mourning—not of the Alpha, but of the idea he represented. Stability. Strength. Power.

Kade remained standing. Barely. Even in victory, he refused to be lifted or paraded. He refused any crowning or chants. He stood in silence, one hand over his wounded ribs, the other gripping a bloodied spear.

Charollet sat under the ancient stone archway at the edge of the battlefield, head bowed.

Her thoughts swirled like ash in the wind.

She remembered Boris’s eyes—soulless, silver-grey, like daggers under moonlight.

She remembered Kade’s golden ones—burning, desperate.

She remembered how the crowd gasped when he said, “She’s mine.”

The words rang again.

Not I want her.

Not She chose me.

But mine.

A branding, in front of an entire pack.

She should have screamed. Should have walked away.

Instead, she had followed him into the forest like some frightened thing.

Charollet was still just human. Not marked. Not mated. Not born of fur or moon.

But she bore a wolf’s bite. The scar near her collar burned with strange energy. It made her bones ache when the moon rose. It made her dreams thick with things she didn’t understand—running, clawing, howling.

And she had no one to ask.

Her body still shook with every sudden sound.

She had not chosen this.

And she certainly had not chosen Kade.

But when she thought of Boris’s face—how he had looked at her like a prize, a tool to lengthen his reign—her gut twisted.

Kade had fought to stop that.

He had taken a hundred wounds to give her freedom.

So why did it still feel like chains?

Later, she approached him.

The fire had died down. Most of the pack had returned to their dens, exhausted and bewildered. Only the most loyal remained—those closest to Kade. Warriors whose names she didn’t know. She didn’t want to.

He sat near the fire pit, body slumped, a thin sheet thrown around his now-human form. His ribs were bandaged. His face looked ghostly, as if he had seen death and walked away only half-alive.

Charollet didn’t speak at first. Just stood beside him.

“I didn’t ask for this,” she said finally.

His head turned, slowly.

“I know.”

“You said I was yours.”

“I had to. To stop him. It was the only way.”

“You could’ve told me first,” she said quietly, her eyes flicking to his bloodied hands. “You didn’t even ask.”

He closed his eyes. The moon cast its soft glow over his bruised face.

“I was afraid you’d say no.”

That truth struck harder than any lie.

“I might have,” she admitted.

“But you didn’t leave.”

“I wanted to.”

“But you didn’t,” he said again, softer.

They sat in silence.

Two souls scarred by war.

He winced every time he shifted. She winced every time she remembered.

“I don’t want to be Luna,” she said suddenly.

Kade looked at her.

“I know.”

“I want to be me.”

“You still can.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He smiled, just a flicker of one.

“You will.”

She shook her head.

“I’m not part of this world. I’m not a wolf. I don’t feel the pull of the moon. I can’t fight like you. I can’t tear through enemies or command a pack.”

“You don’t have to,” he said, his voice rough with weariness. “You just have to survive. And I’ll take care of the rest.”

That made her flinch.

“Don’t say that.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s what Boris would’ve said too.”

His mouth pressed into a hard line. And then he nodded.

“I deserved that.”

He leaned back, staring at the stars.

“I’m not perfect, Charollet. I don’t know how to say the right things. I was raised in war. I only know how to fight. But... I’m trying.”

His hand was shaking.

She didn’t reach for it.

But she didn’t walk away either.

By dawn, the air was thick with smoke and exhaustion. The battlefield had been cleared—blood-soaked soil churned under the careful paws of wolves who now limped instead of marched.

The pyre where Boris burned still glowed in places, a black heap of crackling ruin. The wind carried the scent of burnt fur and scorched power.

Darkfang had no Alpha now. Not officially.

The old king was ash.

The new one was broken.

And the girl between them? A question with no answer.

Kade had finally been carried to the stone infirmary beneath the hill, his body unable to endure another moment on its feet. Despite his protests, growled and slurred through clenched teeth, the healers had forced sleep upon him with mountain poppy and moonroot extract. His body collapsed into a cot of moss and woven fur, chest rising shallowly.

Charollet stood outside the entrance, watching.

She hadn’t gone in.

He had risked everything for her. She owed him her life.

But that wasn’t love.

That wasn’t trust.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

Meanwhile, in the ruined war hall, power vultures began to gather.

Boris’s former lieutenants, now leaderless, slunk in through side entrances, their expressions a mix of fear and calculation. Elder wolves of the Crescent Circle—those who advised the Alpha on law and ritual—had been summoned from the outer rings of the territory.

One by one, they filed in. Dust clung to their cloaks. None met the others’ eyes for long.

A woman named Maelis—thin, silver-haired, ancient in every way that mattered—cleared her throat.

“Kade is not marked by Luna ceremony,” she stated.

Another growled, “But the pack followed him.”

“A temporary madness,” someone else snapped. “Not succession.”

“They bowed when Boris fell,” a younger warrior countered. “They howled in favor.”

“Howls are not law.”

“But neither is fear,” the young one hissed.

Silence.

Outside, wolves sharpened weapons, sewed torn cloaks, buried their dead.

Inside, the future of Darkfang teetered on opinion.

And blood.

Charollet stood at the edge of the infirmary, looking in.

Kade lay still, a sheet pulled to his waist, his torso wrapped in bandages soaked pink. His mouth twitched in sleep. A groan escaped him, and she wondered what he saw behind closed eyes.

She inched forward.

The room smelled of bitter herbs and sweat.

His clothes sat folded beside him—torn and scorched from the fight. She touched them without meaning to. Her fingers brushed dried blood, and she pulled her hand back as if burned.

He saved me, her mind whispered.

And claimed me.

Both were true.

And both were heavy.

She paced the hall.

One of the younger healers, a girl with gold braids and pale eyes, watched her with sympathy. “You should rest.”

“I can’t,” Charollet said.

“You’re still recovering.”

“No. I'm still deciding.”

The healer tilted her head. “Deciding what?”

Charollet turned away. “If I stay.”

“You’re not his mate,” the healer said softly.

Charollet glanced back. “Is that why I’m not welcome?”

“No,” the girl replied. “It’s why you’re free.”

That silence that followed echoed.

That night, as the forest quieted again, Kade awoke.

The fire near his bedside had died, and only faint torchlight painted his surroundings. He groaned as he sat up, pressing a hand to his ribs. His vision swam but a familiar scent filled the room.

Rain-soaked moss.

Soft jasmine.

Her.

“Charollet?” he rasped.

She stepped from the shadows, arms crossed. Her gown was cleaned, but her eyes were tired.

“You’re awake.”

“I had dreams.”

“I know.”

“They weren’t all bad.”

“That’s rare.”

He smiled, weakly.

But her expression didn’t change.

“You told me once that you don’t lie,” she said. “But you lied the moment you claimed me without asking.”

His smile faltered.

“I know,” he whispered. “And I’d do it again.”

Her eyes flickered.

“I don’t want to belong to anyone.”

“I don’t want to own you,” he said quickly. “I want to protect you.”

She stepped closer. “You can't protect me if you see me as a possession.”

“I see you as...” He stopped. “As something I’d burn the world for.”

“That’s not love, Kade. That’s obsession.”

He looked down, shame crawling up his throat like bile.

She didn’t move.

“I’m not saying I’m leaving,” she said, softer now. “But I’m not saying I’m staying for you, either.”

He nodded, slowly. “Then stay for yourself.”

That surprised her.

“I can live with that,” he added. “Even if it means I watch you walk away.”

The words weren’t smooth or poetic. They were clumsy, painful.

But they were honest.

She sat on the edge of the cot. Close, but not touching.

“I’ll help clean the mess,” she said. “But I’m not your Luna.”

“Not yet.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t push your luck.”

He laughed, low and broken, but real.

Over the next few days, the castle transformed.

Kade, though still healing, was reinstated as interim Alpha. The Crescent Circle relented after seeing the majority of the pack still swore loyalty in private gatherings. No Luna ceremony would be held yet. That suited everyone fine.

Darkfang was leaderless, in spirit.

But not lost.

Not yet.

Charollet kept her distance, appearing at strategy meetings, offering insight into supplies and alliances, but never claiming a title. She walked among warriors with her head high, aware of their stares, whispers, awe. Many admired her. Some resented her. Others feared what she might become.

A human girl with a wolf’s bite—and the new Alpha’s heart.

On the sixth day after the battle, scouts returned.

Their report was grim.

Four dead wolves found along the eastern ridge. Throats slit with silver blades. Fur burned. No scent left behind only runes carved in bark.

An ancient enemy.

A rival territory that had kept quiet for years, waiting for Darkfang to show weakness.

Now, the wolves of war stirred again.

The pack listened in silence.

Then Kade turned to Charollet.

He didn’t ask her to leave.

He didn’t ask her to fight.

He just looked at her as if to say: You’re the only one I trust to speak the truth, even when it hurts.

And she looked back.

And nodded.

That night, alone in her chamber, Charollet stared at her reflection in the cracked mirror.

The bite on her collarbone glowed faintly. It hadn’t faded.

She wasn’t a wolf.

But she wasn’t just a girl anymore either.

She was something else.

Something new.

The mirror showed the bruise beneath her eye. The thin scar on her cheek. Her eyes, once so soft, now sharpened with something else. Something hard-earned.

Kade had won a war.

But Charollet had survived one.

And that counted for something.