Ashthorn Territory
Kera's POV
Far from her fire, another burned.
Kera sat alone on a jagged rock, his arm bound but still seeping, his cloak discarded like a useless skin.
The makeshift bandage was soaked through, dark and heavy, and still the crimson seeped between his fingers. He stared at it, willing it to stop, as if sheer discipline could command the blood back into his veins.
It wasn't the pain that gnawed at him…it was the reminder. The sting of her blade was nothing compared to the echo of her voice when she had snarled his name. Too familiar. Too much like something that belonged to him.
"She cut you deep," a voice drawled from the shadows.
Kera didn't flinch. He didn't need to. Miran's presence was a fire long before his form broke from the dark. His brother stepped into the firelight, sharp angles and restless heat, every movement calculated to provoke. Where Kera carried storm-cloud calm, Miran burned like wildfire, unrelenting, hungry. His eyes gleamed with a satisfaction that set Kera's teeth on edge when they landed on the bandaged wound.
"Her rage is… exquisite," Miran said, voice coiling with pleasure. "It makes her blind. Predictable. You should thank me for feeding it."
Kera's head lifted slowly, eyes narrowing, gaze sharp as tempered steel. "You meddle too close."
Miran smirked, lips curling. "Close enough to weaken her faith in you. Close enough to keep this war inevitable."
The words were bait which is carefully laid, sharpened on both ends. Kera's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Silence was his shield, his weapon. Yet silence was also admission, and Miran knew it.
Above them, the night wind carried the faint echo of a distant howl…Areya's wolves still celebrating a victory she didn't quite believe in.
And somewhere between her silence and his restraint, the noose Miran wove grew tighter, one strand at a time.
---
Areya's POV
Sleep did not come.
The camp had long gone quiet, the rowdy songs fading into drunken snores and the steady hum of night insects. Yet her wolf paced within her, claws raking across her ribs, restless and demanding.
He bled.
The thought slithered in unbidden, like smoke curling beneath a door. She shoved it back, gritting her teeth until her jaw ached.
She should care only that Kera's retreat gave them ground, that his warriors slunk back into their shadows. But every time she closed her eyes, she saw the moment his sword lowered instead of striking.
Why?
Why had he stopped?
The question is rooted like poison. She rose, slipping past the embers of the dying fire, moving to the edge of camp where the trees swallowed the starlight whole. Cool night air bit at her skin, sharper than breath. Her wolf surged, pressing against the boundary of her control. She didn't want stillness.
She wanted to run. She wanted to hunt. To chase the lingering trail of iron and storm that clung to him, thick in her senses even now.
"No." Her whisper cracked in the dark. "He is the enemy. He killed them. He…"
But the words fractured in her mouth, brittle, splintering beneath the weight of the gnawing pull inside her. Rage was simple.
Grief was steady. But this… this confusion was a wound she could not cauterize.
"Areya."
Daren's voice brushed from behind her, low and cautious. She stiffened, hand twitching toward her blade before she recognized him.
"You're awake," he said.
She turned, jaw tight. "Couldn't sleep."
His eyes lingered, too perceptive, too calm.
"Neither could I. The men are unsettled. They cheer, but they sense it too."
"Sense what?" she asked, though her chest already tightened with the answer.
"That he could have pressed harder. That he chose not to."
The air sharpened between them, heavy with what neither wanted to name. Her wolf growled low in her chest, a rumble of warning.
"If they doubt my blade," she said coldly, "let them challenge me and see who bleeds."
Daren dipped his head, but his gaze didn't falter. "It's not your strength they question, Alpha. It's… why him."
Her throat worked as she swallowed. Why indeed.
---
Kera's POV
The fire burned low, throwing long, jagged shadows across the gathered faces. His men were silent, but not at peace…the silence was fractured, brittle. Doubt seeped through it like smoke, choking, inescapable.
"She cut you," one finally muttered, voice carrying more accusation than concern. "You let her."
A growl rippled through the circle, wolves restless, pride wounded on his behalf. Kera let it wash over him, steady and cold as stone, until the sound ebbed into silence again.
"I bled," he said evenly. His voice was quiet, but it carried weight. "So they believe they won. That is enough for tonight."
"It's weakness," another spat. "To withdraw when we could have crushed them."
A murmur of agreement rippled like kindling catching fire. Wolves were not bred for patience; they were bred for blood. And blood withheld was as dangerous as blood spilled.
Then Miran's voice slid in, smooth and cutting, like a blade across bare flesh.
"He hesitates because of her."
The fire cracked as every eyes turned at his voice.
Miran stood at the edge of the circle, a shadow with teeth, his smirk curling like smoke.
"You all saw it," he said, smooth and merciless. "He spares her when he should end her. He toys with her, as if she is more than a rival Alpha. And you know what happens when wolves hesitate."
The growls deepened, suspicion sparking like tinders thrown on dry grass.
Kera's jaw tightened. "Careful, brother."
Miran tilted his headwith his eyes glinting with amusement. "I only speak the truth. If she is not your weakness, prove it. Kill her. Be done with this game of ghosts."
The circle waited with breath held, eyes hungry.
But Kera did not answer. Because the truth he carried was heavier than the fire, heavier than their doubt.
Because every time her blade met his, something older and deeper than war stirred in him.
And that was a truth he could not give them.
---
Areya's POV
By dawn, she still hadn't slept. Her blade lay unsheathed at her side, gleaming faintly in the half-light, but steel wasn't what she was afraid of.
What she feared was the truth inside his restraint.
And the question her wolf refused to stop asking.
What if vengeance has the wrong face?