—watched her from the shadows, her glare sharp enough to cut. Elara's heart pounded, the flicker of hope from Darius's words fading under the weight of Isabella's hatred. She could feel the she-wolf's eyes on her, like a predator sizing up its prey, and it made her skin crawl. Isabella turned back to her group, her voice low but dripping with venom as she whispered something to the other Nightclaw wolves. They glanced at Elara, their sneers growing, and she knew whatever Isabella was saying, it wasn't good.
Elara forced herself to look away, gripping her staff tighter as she turned back to Eldric. "Let's keep going," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. Eldric raised an eyebrow but nodded, stepping into position. They sparred for another hour, Elara's movements sharper now, fueled by the mix of anger and determination swirling in her chest. She wasn't going to let Isabella scare her off. She wasn't going to let anyone scare her off.
By the time they finished, the sun was higher in the sky, and Elara's tunic was soaked with sweat, her arms trembling from the effort. She'd blocked more of Eldric's strikes than ever before, even landing a few of her own, and she couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her lips. "You're getting better," Eldric said, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. "Not great, but better." Elara laughed, the sound a little breathless, and for the first time in days, she felt a spark of pride.
Some of the Nightclaw wolves were still watching, but their whispers had changed. A few of them looked curious now, their sneers replaced with raised eyebrows and quiet murmurs. "She's tougher than she looks," one of them said, a younger wolf with a scar on his jaw. Another nodded, her arms crossed but her expression thoughtful. "Maybe she's not just a weak omega after all." Elara heard them, and her chest warmed, but she didn't let it show. She knew better than to trust their approval—it could disappear as quickly as it came.
Eldric motioned for her to sit on a fallen log at the edge of the clearing, handing her a waterskin. "Take a break," he said. "You've earned it." Elara sat, gulping down the water, the cool liquid soothing her dry throat. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, glancing at Eldric as he sat beside her. "You've been around a long time, haven't you?" she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. "You must know a lot about the packs."
Eldric chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "More than I'd like to, sometimes," he said. "I've seen a lot of history between Silverfang and Nightclaw. Too much blood, too many grudges." He paused, his gaze distant, then looked at her, his eyes sharpening. "But there was a time, long ago, when the packs were united. Back when the first luna walked these lands."
Elara frowned, leaning closer. "The first luna? Who was she?" Eldric's voice dropped, taking on a storytelling tone that made her feel like a pup again, listening to her mother's tales by the fire. "She was a Silverfang wolf, like you," he said. "But she had gifts—mystical ones. They say she could heal with a touch, speak to the spirits of the forest, even see glimpses of the future. She brought the packs together, made them stronger than they'd ever been. But it came at a cost. Her power made her a target, and in the end, it destroyed her."
Elara's breath caught, her fingers brushing the pendant under her tunic. It felt warmer now, almost hot, but she didn't notice, too caught up in Eldric's story. "What kind of power?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Eldric's eyes flicked to her pendant, a faint glow catching his attention, but Elara didn't see it. "No one knows for sure," he said. "Some say it was tied to her bloodline, passed down through the generations. But after she died, the packs fell apart, and her gifts were forgotten… or so the stories go."
Elara's heart raced, a strange feeling settling in her chest—like a memory she couldn't quite grasp. She wanted to ask more, but a shadow fell over the clearing, and she looked up to see Darius walking toward the training grounds. He'd been training too, his shirt clinging to his chest with sweat, the fabric outlining every muscle. Elara's eyes traced the lines of his body, her cheeks flushing as she imagined running her hands over his chest, feeling the heat of his skin under her fingers. Her breath hitched, the mate bond flaring again, a golden heat that made her ache. He glanced her way, his storm-gray eyes locking onto hers for a moment, and she felt her whole body warm, her heart pounding so loud she was sure he could hear it.
Darius felt it too, the bond pulling at him like a tether. Her gaze, wide and unguarded, made his wolf growl low, urging him to close the distance, to pull her into his arms and claim her right there. But he couldn't. He tore his eyes away, his jaw tight, and kept walking, joining a group of Nightclaw wolves on the other side of the clearing. Elara's cheeks burned, her hands clenching into fists as she looked down at the ground. Why did he have to keep doing that—looking at her like he cared, then walking away like she was nothing?
Eldric cleared his throat, pulling her out of her thoughts. "Don't let him distract you," he said, his tone gruff but not unkind. "You've got enough to deal with." Elara nodded, her jaw tightening. He was right. She couldn't keep letting Darius get under her skin. She stood, brushing the dirt off her pants, and picked up her staff. "Let's go again," she said, her voice firm. Eldric grinned, a rare sight, and they got back to training.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of strikes and blocks, Elara pushing herself harder than ever. She could feel the Nightclaw wolves watching, their whispers a mix of curiosity and doubt, but she didn't care. She was doing this for herself, not them. By the time the sun started to set, her whole body ached, but she felt stronger, more alive than she had in days. Eldric called it a day, and she headed back to the guest quarters, her steps lighter despite the exhaustion.
Isabella's rumors were still spreading—she heard them as she passed through the fortress halls. "She'll never be one of us," a she-wolf whispered to another, their eyes flicking to Elara. "Darius deserves better than a rejected omega." But there were other whispers too, quieter ones, from wolves who'd seen her train. "She's got grit," a male wolf muttered to his friend. "More than I thought." Elara kept her head high, pretending not to hear, but the words fueled her determination. She wasn't giving up, no matter what they said.
That night, she collapsed onto her bed, too tired to even change out of her sweaty tunic. Her pendant felt warm against her skin, warmer than usual, but she was too exhausted to think about it. She closed her eyes, her body sinking into the furs, and sleep came quickly. The pendant pulsed, a soft glow lighting the room, and in her dream, a white wolf appeared, its eyes glowing as it—