The howl came at dawn. Low, guttural, and wrong.
Keona froze mid-step, her basket slipping from her hands, fruits spilling across the dirt path. The sound carried from the tree line beyond the village—a dreadful echo that made every instinct in her blood scream.
"N-nyra, did you hear that?" Her voice trembled.
Nyra was already beside her, eyes narrowing, body tensing. "I did, and that's no living wolf."
The dreadwolves were back.
The Black Mane warriors poured out from the barracks, weapons gleaming in the faint morning light. Orders were shouted, but confusion rippled through them. The dreadwolves had never approached so close to the heart of the pack's lands before. They were growing bolder, more brazen.
Keona's heart raced. She wanted to run, to hide—but the vision still haunted her. Blood on the throne. Silver wolves. A choice.
She couldn't keep running.
"Stay close," Nyra snapped, shoving her behind a broken wall as the first dreadwolf burst from the trees.
Its body was grotesque, patchwork flesh stitched together by magic. Its eyes glowed with sickly green fire, its teeth gnashing in frenzy. Two warriors lunged, but the beast threw them aside with terrifying ease.
Another followed. Then another.
The square erupted in chaos. Wolves shifted, claws slashing, snarls filling the air. Still, the dreadwolves pressed forward, their movements jerky but relentless, almost impervious to pain.
"Keona—move!" Nyra shoved her out of the way again as a dreadwolf crashed through the wall where she had crouched. Dust flared. Keona's lungs burned.
And then—heat.
It started in her chest, spreading through her arms until her veins felt aflame. Silver light flared from her hands, streaking upward like fire thrashing in the air. The nearest dreadwolf reeled back, snarling.
Ragged breaths erupted from warriors who saw.
"What is she doing?" one warrior asked, confusion etched in his voice.
"What else do you think she's doing? She's about to unleash that accursed fire of hers. I don't know which evil to be scared of—her, or the dreadwolves," another said, fear written into his features.
"Stop that glowing Stormfang!" the warrior barked. "Control yourself, or you could set us all alight," a third warrior chimed in.
"No—that's not cursed or evil, that's… power—silvertail power untamed," the last warrior said with awe in his eyes.
Keona stared at her own trembling hands, she was scared of hurting the people around her, but at the same time, she didn't want to cower either. The silver fire burned brighter with each heartbeat.
But before she could unleash it fully, a sharp whistle cut through the din. Mercenaries—half-feral rogues wrapped in leather and chain—slipped from the shadows of the alleys, blades glinting. Their eyes were not on the dreadwolves.
They were on her.
Selene's bribes and threats had borne fruit. Was this what Elder Elandra had warned her about?
Nyra stopped, she wondered why the mercenaries had their sights on Keona.
"I think they're here for you Keona, but why?" Nyra asked, confused.
"I-I don't know," Keona was shaking. She didn't ask for any of this, why was she so hated?
Then one pounced. Nyra blocked the strike with her arm, snarling as claws raked her flesh. "Run, Keona!"
"I'm not leaving you!" Keona shouted back.
The fire surged in panic, lashing outward like a whip. It struck the mercenary across the chest, searing his armor and flinging him back into the dirt.
Every eye froze on her. Even the dreadwolves seemed to hesitate, their snarls low and uncertain. They began shrinking backwards.
Then the fire flickered, the surge collapsing as quickly as it came. Keona's knees buckled.
"Dammit," Nyra hissed, dragging her into the cover of a side street. "You can't control it yet."
"I—I didn't mean—" Keona stammered, clutching her chest.
More mercenaries closed in. One shouted, "The Luna's orders were clear—kill her!"
Nyra's head jerked towards the mercenary who spoke, her eyes blazed with fury. "Wait! What? Selene?" she spat. "That evil, venomous—"
Another mercenary cut her off, addressing his fellows loudly while staring at Nyra. "The other one stands in our way, kill her too."
Nyra cackled, a sound Keona had never heard from her before. "I'd like to see you all try. If I can fight dreadwolves and survive, you're all easy pickings."
The mercenaries converged on her.
The fight blurred into flashes of blood and silver fire. Nyra shifted mid-stride, her wolf form exploding into the fray—sleek, fierce, claws tearing through leather and steel. She carved a path for Keona, but the rogues kept coming, relentless. Some of the other warriors engaged the dreadwolves, while others joined Nyra in fighting the mercenaries.
Keona stumbled, cornered against a crumbling stone wall. A mercenary weaved through the chaos and found his way to Keona, he raised his blade.
Her body moved before her mind did. The fire erupted again, brighter, hotter, an arc of burning light that split the man's weapon in half, slashing him across the face. His scream echoed, and the others hesitated.
The dreadwolves paused mid-fight and darted back into the woods.
But the surge ripped through Keona's strength. Her vision blurred. The world tilted.
Nyra's growl carried from somewhere distant. "Stay awake, Keona—stay with me!"
Her knees gave way. The flames died out.
Darkness pressed in—until arms caught her. Strong. Steady.
A deep voice, fierce but gentle, cut through the haze. "You will not take her."
Keona's eyes fluttered open, hazy, to the sight of Darius Dravenmoor, the rival Alpha, his wolf form fading as he shifted back to his towering human frame. His scarred temple glowed in the sunlight, his dark eyes blazing with intensity.
The mercenaries froze, fear on their faces. They had not expected him.
Darius lifted Keona into his arms without hesitation, his voice a thunderous command to the square, loud enough for every witness to hear:
"Why send mercenaries after the one who can save you all? Why endanger her? If you do not want her, you don't have to kill her." Darius said, irritation clear in his voice but he kept it steady.
"I have said this before, and my offer still stands. If the Black Mane Howlers cast her aside, if you do not want her, then give her to me. I will gladly take her, Ironcrest will claim her."
The pack knew he spoke the truth, but it didn't stop them from expressing their anger and discomfort, shouts erupted and warriors exchanged horrified looks.
And from the entrance of the council hall, where Kalethorn had just arrived with blood on his sword, his eyes were locked on the mercenaries—fury, shock, and something darker twisting in his chest.
The mercenaries took one look at him and then fled. The job they were hired for had gotten more complicated than anticipated.
Kalethorn turned his attention to Darius, he took one step forward, his voice a growl that caused even the air to tremble: "I don't know how many more times I need to say this before you hear me. Put her down, and stay away from her."
With Keona still in his arms and a smirk on his face, Darius didn't move. Didn't flinch.
This further infuriates Kalethorn, and he takes another step forward. "I said put her down Dravenmoor. Now!"