—a twig snapped in the trees, sharp and loud in the tense silence. Elara froze, her staff gripped tight, her eyes darting toward the sound. Kieran's smirk lingered, his green eyes glinting with something unreadable as he watched her reaction. "Careful, Elara," he'd said, his words still echoing in her mind. "You're playing a dangerous game." She didn't know what he meant, not exactly, but the way he'd said it, the way he'd looked at her pendant, made her wolf growl low in her chest. She didn't trust him—not one bit.
Eldric was already moving toward the trees, his steps quick and silent, his staff ready. "Stay here," he'd told her, but Elara's feet itched to follow. She wasn't some helpless pup who needed protecting. She'd come here to prove herself, to fight for her place, and she wasn't about to back down now. The Nightclaw wolves in the clearing were on edge, their whispers growing louder as they exchanged worried glances. "Rogues," one of them muttered again, his voice tight. "They're getting too bold."
Elara took a step forward, her heart pounding, but before she could follow Eldric, a sharp voice cut through the air. "Running off already, omega?" Isabella. Elara turned, her stomach twisting as she saw the she-wolf striding toward her, her dark hair gleaming in the sunlight, her sharp features twisted into a sneer. Isabella's claws were out, glinting at her sides, and her eyes were cold, filled with a hatred that made Elara's skin crawl. The other Nightclaw wolves stepped back, forming a loose circle around them, their murmurs quieting as they watched.
"I'm not running," Elara said, her voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in her chest. She tightened her grip on her staff, standing her ground as Isabella stopped a few feet away. "I'm training. Something you might want to try sometime, instead of just running your mouth."
Isabella's sneer faltered for a heartbeat, her eyes narrowing, but then she laughed, a sharp, cruel sound that made Elara's cheeks burn. "Training?" she said, her voice dripping with mockery. "You think swinging a stick around makes you a warrior? You're nothing, omega. A rejected little pup who doesn't belong here." She took a step closer, her claws flexing, and lowered her voice, her words meant for Elara alone. "Darius will never want you. He needs a real luna, not a weakling who can't even stand up straight."
The words hit Elara like a slap, but she didn't flinch. She'd heard worse—heard it from Darius himself, the night he'd rejected her in front of everyone. But hearing it from Isabella, seeing the smug look on her face, lit a fire in Elara's chest. "I'm not here for Darius," she said, her voice low but firm. "I'm here for me. And I'm not going anywhere, no matter how much you try to scare me off."
Isabella's smirk faded, her eyes flashing with anger. "You should be scared," she hissed, her claws glinting as she stepped closer. "You don't belong here, and I'll make sure everyone knows it." She lunged forward, her claws swiping at Elara's arm, but Elara was ready. She swung her staff up, blocking the strike, the impact jarring her arms but holding steady. Isabella snarled, stepping back, and Elara felt a surge of pride. She'd held her ground—against Isabella, of all wolves.
The Nightclaw wolves watching let out a few surprised murmurs, some of them nodding in approval. "She's got guts," one of them said, a female with short blonde hair. Another wolf, the scarred male from earlier, grunted in agreement. "More than I thought." Elara's chest warmed at their words, but she didn't let it distract her. Isabella was still glaring at her, her claws out, her body tense like she might strike again.
Darius watched from the edge of the clearing, his jaw tight, his storm-gray eyes locked on the scene. He'd come back after hearing the commotion, and now he couldn't look away. Elara stood tall, her staff steady, her blue eyes fierce despite the fear he could scent on her. She was facing down Isabella—one of the strongest she-wolves in the pack—and she wasn't backing down. The mate bond hummed in his chest, a golden heat that made his wolf growl, urging him to step in, to protect her. But he didn't move. She needed to do this herself. He'd already hurt her enough.
Isabella took another step forward, her lips curling into a snarl, but before she could strike again, Elara spoke, her voice loud enough for everyone to hear. "If you've got a problem with me, take it up with someone who cares," she said. "I'm not here to play your games." She turned her back on Isabella—a bold move, maybe a stupid one—and started walking toward the trees where Eldric had gone. The Nightclaw wolves murmured again, their approval growing, but Isabella's growl followed her, low and dangerous.
Elara's heart was racing, her hands shaking as she walked away, but she felt stronger than she ever had. She'd stood up to Isabella, in front of everyone, and she hadn't backed down. Maybe she really could do this. Maybe she could be more than the rejected omega they all thought she was. But as she reached the edge of the clearing, a new scent hit her—wild, unfamiliar, and dangerous. Her wolf stirred, a low growl rumbling in her chest, and she froze, her eyes scanning the trees.
A shadowy figure moved in the underbrush, its eyes glinting in the dim light, and Elara's breath caught. It wasn't Eldric—she could tell by the scent, sharp and untamed, like nothing she'd ever smelled before. A rogue? Her grip tightened on her staff, her instincts screaming at her to run, but she couldn't. She had to know what was out there. She took a step forward, her heart pounding, when a hand grabbed her arm, yanking her back.
She gasped, spinning around to find Darius, his grip firm, his eyes dark with something she couldn't name. He pulled her close, their bodies almost touching, their breaths mingling in the cold air. His scent—pine and musk—overwhelmed her, the mate bond flaring so strong she felt it in her bones. Her body trembled, heat pooling in her core as she looked up at him, his face inches from hers. "You're playing a dangerous game," he growled, his voice low and rough, sending shivers down her spine. She could feel his heat, his chest brushing against hers, and for a moment, she thought he might kiss her, his lips so close she could almost taste them.
But then he let go, stepping back, his jaw tight. "Stay out of the woods," he said, his voice cold again, and turned away, leaving her standing there, her body still trembling, her heart a mess. She wanted to yell at him, to demand why he kept doing this—pulling her close, then pushing her away—but her words caught in her throat. She watched him walk off, her chest aching, a mix of anger and longing swirling inside her.
The scent hit her again, stronger now, and she turned back to the trees, her staff raised. The shadowy figure was still there, watching her, its eyes glinting with something feral. Her wolf growled louder, urging her to fight, to protect herself, but then the figure moved, slipping deeper into the forest. The scent lingered, wild and dangerous, and as Elara turned to face it, the figure vanished into the trees—