The pack had grown restless.
After every battle, fewer wolves returned. The shadow's influence spread like rot, whispering in the ears of weaker hearts, twisting them into rogues that turned against their kin. The den no longer felt safe; it was a nest of suspicion.
Aradia felt their eyes on her every time she crossed the stone cavern. Some were filled with awe, others with hatred. The witch had saved them, but she had also burned hunters and wolves alike. Fire was not trusted.
Kael shielded her from their barbs, his towering form always at her side, his growl silencing mutiny before it grew. But even he could not silence the truth: the pack was fracturing.
One night, a wolf named Garron stood before Kael, his scars glowing in the firelight.
"She weakens us," he said, his voice hard. "We fight your battles, Alpha, but we bleed for her. Wolves die while she plays with fire."
Kael's wolf surged beneath his skin, his green eyes blazing. "Say that again."
But Aradia stepped forward. "No."
The cavern silenced. She stood tall, her cloak falling from her shoulders, her fire glowing faintly at her fingertips. Her voice shook, but her words were steel.
"You fear me. I see it in your eyes. But know this: I fear myself more. Yet every time I burn, it is for you. I do not ask you to love me. Only to survive beside me."
Her fire flared, filling the den with warmth, not destruction. For a heartbeat, the wolves wavered, torn between fear and reverence.
And Kael—Kael looked at her with something deeper than pride. Love