Masuk
Snow at night is supposed to be peaceful.
Christmas is supposed to be comforting. A time of warmth. A time of gentle light glowing from windows and laughter spilling into the cold air. But not for me. Not tonight. As I run through the forest, the world around me looks like a postcard—white snow drifting like feathers, moonlight reflecting on the ground like scattered diamonds, distant houses dressed in red and gold lights. The kind of beauty that usually makes my heart soften. The kind that almost makes you believe the world can be kind. Heck this is my favorite month. But tonight, Christmas is a cruel joke. Snow is just another layer of danger and its beauty is a sharp contrast to the nightmare swallowing me whole. Branches whip at my skin as I sprint through the darkness. My lungs burn. Every breath feels like swallowing ice. I’m shaking—not from the cold, but from terror so strong it feels like it’s carved into my bones. I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know what they want. I don’t know why this is happening. I don’t know why I’m the one running like prey while they chase me like hunters. My feet stumble in the deep snow, slipping, sinking, sliding. My heart thunders so loudly that I swear it echoes off the trees. I keep hearing them behind me. Footsteps. Voices. Shouting. Heavy breathing. The crunch of boots closing in. “Go around!” “It’s dark. She couldn’t have gone far!” “Don’t let her escape!” Their words crack the night like gunshots. “Selene!” I let out a gasp but quickly cover my mouth. How did they know my name? My throat tightens. I taste panic, bitter and metallic. This was supposed to be a date. A quiet night to fix things. A chance to talk, maybe laugh, maybe apologize, maybe start again. My boyfriend—my ex-boyfriend now—had invited me. He said he missed me. Said Christmas Eve shouldn’t be spent in anger. Said he wanted to tell me something important. I believed him. I trusted him. And now I’m running for my life. The betrayal feels like a physical wound. Sharp. Deep. Paralyzing. Did he know? Was I led into this on purpose? Was he watching when they grabbed me? Every question tightens my chest until it hurts to breathe. I choke on a sob but force myself forward. The snow keeps falling, sticking to my hair, my eyelashes, my clothes. My fingers are numb; my legs tremble with exhaustion. Sweat mixes with the freezing wind, sending shivers down my spine. My foot slams into something hard hidden beneath the snow. I don’t even have time to scream. I fall. My body crashes onto the frozen ground with such force that stars explode behind my eyelids. Pain erupts through my knee—white-hot, agonizing. The sound that rips from my throat is raw, choked, desperate. My palms skid across rough ice, skin tearing open instantly. Warm blood seeps out, only to freeze at the edges. Snowflakes land on the wounds, dissolving into sharp stings. The pain is so intense I can’t breathe for a second. My vision blurs. My ears ring. The world spins. “I heard someone falling. That way!” “She’s close!” “No… no, no, no—” I gasp through clenched teeth. Voices echo behind me, closer than ever. I force my arms to move, dragging myself forward through the snow. Every inch is agony. My knee throbs violently, like someone is hammering into bone. Hot tears streak down my face, freezing almost immediately. The cold has teeth. And it’s biting through me mercilessly. I push myself up using a tree trunk. My hands sting and my leg screams in protest. But I make myself stand. I have to. If I stay down, I’m done. If I give up now— A fresh wave of betrayal slams into my chest. I trusted him. I went to meet him with hope—hope that maybe we could talk, maybe he still cared, maybe we could try again. I even wore the coat he said he liked and wore the necklace he got me last Christmas. I smiled when I texted him that I was on my way. Was he smiling too, knowing this would happen? The thought crushes me. Thinking about this wouldn’t make my situation any better. I need to survive to find out why. Just what did I do to deserve this? I stagger forward. I can’t run—not anymore. I can barely walk. But I keep moving, teeth gritted, breath shaking violently. My body is screaming at me to stop. My mind is a tangled mess of fear, pain, and disbelief. I still can’t believe this is happening to me. How I wish this were just a long nightmare. My scraped palms drip onto the snow, leaving a trail of red. The forest stretches endlessly, dark and silent except for the wind whispering through the branches. The moon hangs above like a cold spectator, watching me fall apart. My legs give out again. I catch myself against a fallen log, but the movement sends a jolt of agony through my knee that steals my breath. Something cracks inside me. Not physically—emotionally. The realization that I might not make it. That this might be where it ends. That betrayal might be the last thing I ever feel. “I trusted you…” I whisper, voice cracked and trembling. “Why did you do this to me…?” As if someone would tell me. Of course, the night doesn’t answer. My vision dims at the edges. My head feels heavy. The cold is sinking deeper, turning my limbs stiff and sluggish. Am I going to die in the middle of nowhere? No one knowing? Suddenly somewhere behind me, snow crunches. Slow. Steady. Purposeful. Not rushed like the men before. Not frantic. A different kind of step. A different weight. I blink hard, trying to lift my head. A tall figure moves through the trees toward me. The moon outlines broad shoulders, a long coat, and deliberate strides. His face is lost in shadow. His presence is heavy, commanding, impossible to ignore. My heart skips. Fear and hope clash violently inside me. Is he another kidnapper? Or… someone else? My body slumps sideways as strength drains out of me. My vision flickers. The world fades in and out like a dying candle flame. “Please…” I breathe, barely a sound. I don’t know what I want to say. Please don’t kill me? Please save me? The figure comes closer. My consciousness slips further. Darkness pulls at me, warm and terrifying. My heartbeat slows. The last thing I see— Or think I see— Is that shadowed figure stopping right in front of me. As I slowly slip away the last thing I hear is a low guttural growl much like some animal closing by as if they found their dinner, their prey. I hope. I pray that someone finally came to save me. Before the world turns black.The council circle smells like old wood and tension. I stand just outside it, close enough to hear every word, far enough that no one pretends this meeting is for me. The elders sit carved into their places like the forest itself shaped them—backs straight, expressions neutral, eyes sharp with calculation. Asher stands at the center. Not pacing. Not posturing. Commanding by stillness alone. “The rouges are no longer acting independently,” he says. His voice carries without effort. “They are coordinating movement, territory marks, and timing. That requires intelligence. Resources. A reason.” No one interrupts him. That alone tells me how serious this has become. Lucien steps forward, rolling a weathered map across the table. “These sightings form a crescent around our eastern and southern borders. They’re not surrounding us yet—but they’re narrowing options.” “Or herding,” one elder mutters. I stiffen. My mother stands beside me, leaning heavily on her c
The forest is too quiet. Not the peaceful kind—the kind that feels like something is holding its breath. I stand at the edge of the training grounds, dirt pressed into my palms, watching the pack move with a precision that still doesn’t feel like it includes me. Wolves circle each other, sparring in controlled bursts of violence, claws stopping short, teeth snapping without breaking skin. Discipline. Restraint. Unity. All things I am still learning how to wear. I can feel my wolf beneath my skin, not restless, not raging—just awake. She hums softly, a low vibration in my chest, as if she’s cataloguing everything around us. Strengths. Weaknesses. Names she doesn’t yet know but instincts recognize anyway. They’re watching you. I know. Not with suspicion. Not exactly. It’s more like curiosity sharpened by caution. The girl who arrived half-broken, half-wild. The one who fought a man who once knew her too well and walked away breathing. Kade’s ambush may be days behind u
I don’t wait for permission. That alone feels like crossing a line. The pack house is loud tonight—not with celebration or panic, but with movement. Wolves coming and going. Boots on wood. Low voices layered with tension that doesn’t break, only hums. The kind of tension that means everyone is busy pretending things are under control. I move through it anyway. Asher stands near the long table in the main room, bent over a map with two scouts. His jaw is tight, shoulders squared in a way I recognize now—not defensive, but braced. My mother sits near the hearth, wrapped in a shawl she doesn’t need, her gaze sharp despite the way her hands tremble when she thinks no one is watching. They both look up when they sense me. Not hear. Sense. That,
The pack lands are calm tonight. The wind carries the scent of pine and earth, and the forest hums quietly, as if holding its breath for something it knows is coming but isn’t yet ready to reveal. I leave the pack house behind me, careful to avoid the lingering shadows of patrols, and make my way toward the small clearing near the stream. Moonlight dappled the rocks and grass, turning the night into silver and charcoal. Asher is already there, sitting cross-legged on a flat stone at the water’s edge, his head tipped back to the sky. His expression is softened by the dim light, and for a moment I hesitate, taking in the way the moon catches on the angles of his face. He’s calm, almost serene, which is rare for him. Even in the pack house, his Alpha presence carries weight, responsibility, tension. Here, he looks… just like Asher. I step closer, letting the soft rustle of my boots on the underbrush announce me. &n
I learned something important that day: power doesn’t announce itself. It settles. I noticed it first in the way conversations thinned when I stepped into shared spaces—not silence, not fear, but a careful recalibration. Wolves didn’t scatter. They adjusted. Bodies angled differently. Voices lowered by half a degree. Eyes tracked me without meaning to. I hadn’t done anything new. That was the problem. I crossed the training grounds while a patrol rotated out. No one stopped what they were doing, but the rhythm shifted. Commands were obeyed faster. Movements sharpened. A younger wolf stumbled during a spar and instinctively looked to me instead of his partner before correcting himself. I didn’t acknowledge it. Neither did Asher. That was deli
The forest thins as I approach the edge of the Midnight Pack’s territory. Every tree I pass seems to lean in a little closer, every shadow holds a quiet calculation. The wind carries no sound but the whisper of leaves. The birds that normally scatter at the slightest movement remain frozen above me, like silent sentinels. I step onto familiar ground, but it already feels alien. The scents of my pack hit me all at once: training grounds, patrols, and faint reminders of nightly conversations. Yet there’s something different in them—hesitation, unspoken tension, a subtle wariness. I inhale slowly, letting my senses stretch out, searching. They know I’ve been away. They know I’ve changed something. I should be invisible. I should slip in, observe, and remain contained. But I can’t. I won’t. As I move along the boundary t
Morning comes quietly, like it’s afraid of waking me. Light filters through the curtains in pale strands, dust motes drifting in the air like something suspended between worlds. My body aches in places I didn’t know could ache—deep, bone-heavy soreness that feels earned and unfamiliar at the sa
I wake to the soft hum of night around the pack house, the moon spilling silver across the forest floor. The air is cool against my skin, brushing through the hair still damp with sweat from the day’s training. For a moment, I lie there, chest tight, lungs slow, trying to remember why I feel so r
The forest doesn’t feel like shelter. It feels like a holding breath. The trees press close, branches tangling overhead, leaves whispering with every shift of air. We stop in a shallow ravine where the ground dips just enough to hide us from sight, where stone juts out like broken ribs and mo
The forest is different at night. I don’t mean darker. I mean aware. Every step Asher takes is deliberate, silent in a way that feels impossible for someone his size. He moves like the trees part for him out of respect, not because he forces them to. I struggle to match his pace, my boots bru







