Chapter 3 – Alera
I ran harder than I had in weeks, claws digging into soft earth, heart thudding like thunder in my chest. The wind ripped past my ears, but I couldn't outrun what had just happened.
Kael.
He was back. In the flesh. Alive.
The forest blurred around me, but his voice haunted every step.
"I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you—if I survive the next few weeks."
Like hell he would.
I skidded to a stop near the riverbank where my stash of clothes was hidden beneath a fallen log. Shifting mid-stride, I crouched and grabbed a tank top and jeans, hands shaking so hard I nearly tore the fabric trying to get dressed.
My wolf was pacing inside me, restless and confused. And if I were being honest, so was I.
Five years.
Five years of mourning a ghost. Of pretending I didn't see him every time I closed my eyes. Of swallowing pain like it was breakfast and training hard enough to forget the boy who shattered me.
And now he waltzed back in, like time hadn't turned us into strangers.
He looked different. Older. Harder. The sharp angles of his face more pronounced, his eyes darker, as if he'd seen things that left marks deeper than wounds. But beneath all that change, he was still Kael.
The boy who kissed me beneath the oak tree during my first shift. The rogue who risked everything to love an alpha's daughter.
The traitor who vanished the night my mother was murdered.
My jaw clenched. I couldn't afford to fall back into that hole. I had more important things to worry about—like the fact that my father was in a political meeting with three neighboring packs, completely unaware that a ghost from our past had crossed into Fenmoor.
And if what Kael said was true, and something older and deadlier was wiping out packs... then we were in trouble. Big trouble.
But could I trust him?
That was the question gnawing at me.
Because if he was lying, it wouldn't just be my pride on the line—it would be my people's lives.
I reached the edge of the main trail leading back to the packhouse when I heard a rustle behind me. Not footsteps—wings. A raven landed on the branch above, feathers dark as pitch, eyes unnaturally bright.
I froze. That wasn't a normal raven. Not here. Not now.
"Spying already?" I muttered, staring at it. It cawed once, a sound that didn't belong in nature.
My blood ran cold. Witchmarked.
Someone had sent it. And not just anyone. Only a coven-born witch could summon a marked raven to track a werewolf. And there were only a handful of witches powerful enough to do it.
Which meant Kael wasn't lying. He was being followed.
I didn't think—I shifted again and lunged at the branch. My jaws snapped around the bird before it could fly off, and its body burst into a puff of black smoke. The sulfuric scent hit my nose instantly.
Dark magic.
Damn it.
I shifted back and spat on the ground, fury boiling under my skin. Whatever Kael had stumbled into, it had teeth. And it had found him here. On my land.
The rational part of me screamed to alert my father, to call a council, to play it smart.
But the part of me that still burned when Kael looked at me? That part had other ideas.
Because if he was in danger, then so was I.
And I needed answers.
Fast.
I marched toward the packhouse, past the training fields, ignoring the wolves sparring and the few that tried to greet me. I wasn't in the mood for questions. I went straight to the east wing, to the old storage room we never used anymore.
I yanked open the door, stepped inside, and grabbed a flashlight from the hook by the shelves. Then I pulled out the trapdoor beneath the rug and descended into the hidden chamber below—a place only I knew existed.
I had a plan.
Kael wanted to play the protector? Fine.
But this time, I'd be the one calling the shots.
Because if death was coming for us again, I wasn't about to sit back and let history repeat itself.