The world was a blur of motion and the steady, comforting rhythm of a powerful heartbeat against my ear. I was so exhausted, so broken, that I could do little more than rest my head against the hard plane of my rescuer's chest, letting him carry me through the dense, unwelcoming forest. His scent was nothing like Damien's sharp frost and pine; it was warmer, like summer earth and approaching rain. It was a scent of life, not of cold, hard power.
I drifted in and out of consciousness. At some point, I was aware of other wolves joining us, their movements silent and disciplined. There were no questions, only a quiet acceptance of their Alpha's actions. They formed a protective escort around us as we moved.
When I finally opened my eyes with some clarity, the oppressive darkness of the deep woods had given way to a landscape that stole my breath. We were in a wide, verdant valley, cradled between two towering, snow-capped mountains. A city—if it could be called that—was built not upon the land, but with it. Houses were carved into the living rock of the valley walls, connected by elegant wooden bridges that crisscrossed a rushing, crystal-clear river. There was no grand, intimidating manor that dominated the skyline. Instead, a great, ancient tree stood at the center of the valley, its branches large enough to hold several sprawling structures within them. It was a place of harmony, not of hierarchy.
The wolves of the Stormwind Pack moved through their home with a relaxed confidence I had never seen in my own pack. Omegas weren't scurrying in the shadows; they were laughing with Betas, their children playing together in the open meadows. It was a society built on mutual respect, and the sight of it made my heart ache with a longing for something I never knew I was missing.
Lucian carried me across a bridge and into the heart of the Great Tree, into what I could only assume were his personal quarters. The space was warm, filled with the scent of beeswax and drying herbs, comfortable and rustic rather than opulent.
He gently placed me on a soft, fur-lined couch near a warm hearth. "You are safe here," he said, his sapphire eyes looking at me with a concern that felt utterly foreign.
Just then, a woman entered the room without knocking, her movements sharp and precise. She was tall and athletic, with the same golden hair as Lucian, but braided tightly back from a face that was all sharp angles and sharper eyes. She wore the leather armor of a warrior, and her gaze, as it landed on me, was as cold and hard as flint.
"Lucian," she said, her voice a low, dangerous purr. She completely ignored me. "What is this? The scouts reported you bringing a stray into the heart of our city. An Omega from the Silvermoon pack, no less."
Lucian's calm demeanor didn't change, but a new layer of authority entered his voice. "This is our guest, Astrid. She is under my protection."
Astrid, his sister I presumed, finally deigned to look at me, her eyes raking over me with undisguised suspicion. "A guest? Or a spy? Has Damien Blackwood grown so bold that he sends his cast-offs to sniff out our defenses?"
"She is no spy," Lucian said firmly. "She is a refugee, and she has been grievously wounded. Look at her."
Astrid's gaze flickered to my bandaged wrist, and for a moment, her hard expression wavered. She knew the mark, or at least she could guess its meaning. But her suspicion quickly returned. "A wound does not make her a friend. It could be a trick, a way to earn our sympathy."
"That is enough, sister," Lucian said, his voice dropping. It was not a shout, but the quiet command was absolute, leaving no room for argument. "My decision is final. She stays."
Astrid held his gaze for a long moment, a silent battle of wills passing between them. Finally, she gave a stiff, almost imperceptible nod. "As you wish, Alpha," she bit out, the title used like a weapon. "But if this stray brings ruin upon us, the responsibility will be yours alone." She spun on her heel and strode out of the room, leaving a chill in her wake.
Lucian let out a slow breath and turned back to me, his expression softening. "Forgive my sister. Astrid is the lead warrior of our pack. She sees threats in every shadow."
"She is right to be cautious," I whispered, my voice hoarse. "I am from an enemy pack."
"You are a person in need of sanctuary," he corrected gently. "And you will find it here." He called for a servant, his tone once again warm. When an older woman appeared, he gave his orders. "This is Elara. Prepare the northern guest chamber for her. See that she has fresh clothes, warm food, and anything else she requires. And send for Healer Maeve. I want her to look at that wrist immediately."
He turned back to me. "Maeve is the best healer in the valley. She will tend to your… wound." He said the word with a quiet fury, a testament to his feelings about the one who had inflicted it.
I was led away to a room that was larger and more beautiful than any I had ever seen. A soft bed was piled high with furs, and a balcony opened up to a stunning view of the valley. It wasn't a servant's quarter. It wasn't a cell. It was a room for an honored guest.
Later that evening, after Healer Maeve had treated my brand with a soothing, magical balm and I had eaten my first real meal in over a week, I stood on the balcony, wrapped in a warm wool cloak. The sounds of the Stormwind Pack drifted up to me—the laughter of children, the murmur of conversation, the distant song of a lone wolf singing to the rising moons.
It was peaceful. It was safe. And it was the most terrifying thing I had ever experienced.
I had spent my entire life in a cage, defined by my rank, by my weakness, by the whims of others. Damien's cruelty was a horror I understood. This kindness, this respect… it was an alien language. I didn't know how to respond to it. I didn't know if I could trust it.
Clutching the railing, I rested a hand on my stomach. The secret life within was the only thing that felt real. I had escaped the fire of Damien's hatred, only to find myself in the warm, uncertain light of Lucian's protection. And I had no idea which one was more dangerous.