Whispers of Deceit
1171 Words
The morning sun filtered weakly through the fog as Ariana walked the narrow path back to the village grounds, the damp leaves muffling her footsteps. Her eyes were rimmed with exhaustion, her shoulders stiff from a sleepless night spent hiding in the woods, turning over every word of Liana’s whispered confession.
She knew what she had heard.
She just didn’t know if anyone would believe her.
The pack compound was stirring—smoke curling from chimneys, patrols changing shifts, pups tumbling through the grass near the common grounds. It should have felt like home. But it didn’t.
Every face Ariana passed turned quickly away.
Some gave her wary glances. Others, pitying ones.
She was no longer the she-wolf favored to be Alpha’s mate. No longer the girl with the silver-streaked hair and the quiet strength.
She was the one who’d been rejected—publicly—and worse, the one who’d tried to interrupt the sacred Moonbond.
“Ariana.”
The voice made her stop short.
Elder Mira stepped down from the stone council platform, her long braids swinging over her shoulder. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes were sharp.
“I was told you returned late last night,” Mira said calmly. “You disappeared after the ceremony. Many were concerned.”
“Were they?” Ariana asked, her voice clipped.
Mira gave her a look—gentle, but firm. “Come.”
They walked side by side toward the Elder Hall, where the scent of sage and parchment clung to the walls. Ariana used to love this place. It had been where she learned the history of the Moonbond, the laws of the pack, the sacred roots of their traditions.
Now it felt like a cage.
Inside, three more elders sat behind the crescent-shaped table. Elder Brann, always gruff and skeptical. Elder Yara, young for the council but devout. And Elder Thomlin, quiet but with eyes like ice.
Ariana stood tall despite the tremor in her limbs.
“You’ve come with a claim,” Brann said before she could speak. “Something about deception. Scent manipulation.”
“I have more than a claim,” Ariana said. “I overheard her. Liana. She admitted it. She used binding oil. Blood and hair. She said it herself—she used my scent.”
Brann leaned back in his chair. “And what proof do you bring?”
Ariana faltered. “I—I didn’t have time to gather any. But I know what I heard. And if you test her scent against mine, I know there will still be—”
“Binding oil is old magic,” Yara cut in. “Most formulas have been lost. It’s highly unlikely a young wolf like Liana could have created it undetected.”
“She didn’t work alone,” Ariana snapped. “I heard her with a man. I didn’t see him clearly, but someone’s helping her. Someone with access to f*******n knowledge.”
Thomlin’s cool voice entered the space like a shadow. “Even if she did acquire it—why would she need to? The Alpha chose her. Perhaps it’s simply not you he wanted.”
The words were like claws across her chest.
“I know what a mate bond feels like,” she said, heat rising to her cheeks. “I felt it with Caden before the ceremony. He lingered around me for weeks. He watched me like—like he knew.”
Yara gave a soft, rehearsed smile. “Feelings aren’t the same as proof, Ariana. The Moon has made its decision.”
“No, Liana made the decision!” she said, louder now. “You’re all just too afraid to admit the Moonbond can be tampered with!”
The room fell into a tense silence.
Mira stood from her place, gaze steady. “No one is accusing you of lying, child. But such claims—against a mated Luna, no less—require more than instinct and memory.”
“She’s not mated by the Moon,” Ariana said, quietly this time. “She’s mated by lies.”
Mira studied her for a long moment. Then, gently: “Let it rest, for now. Heal. Regroup. If the truth is what you say it is, it will come to light.”
Ariana stared at the elders. None of them looked angry. They looked… tired. Cautious.
They weren’t dismissing her because they believed Liana.
They were dismissing her because they didn’t want to unravel something sacred.
But Ariana couldn’t walk away. She wouldn’t.
Without another word, she turned and left the hall.
Outside, the sun had climbed higher, but the cold had not lifted.
She walked toward the training field, needing air, needing to move. Her boots crushed the frost-bitten grass as she crossed behind the lodge, past the storerooms, toward the path that curved along the riverbank.
She stopped when she heard it—voices again. Familiar.
Liana’s.
And Caden’s.
She edged closer to the thicket of brush near the corner of the lodge and crouched low.
“I’m worried about her,” Liana was saying, her voice soft and tremulous. “She’s… not well. I think losing the bond broke something in her.”
Caden exhaled. “I never wanted it to go like this. But the bond is the bond. I smelled you that night, Liana. Not her.”
“She’s dangerous,” Liana said, and Ariana could hear the catch in her voice. “What if she tries something? I think she still believes you’re hers.”
A beat of silence.
Then Caden’s low murmur. “I’ll speak with Mira. Maybe it’s time she was given a… temporary leave. For her well-being.”
Ariana’s mouth went dry.
They were turning her into a problem to be removed.
She stood abruptly, not caring anymore if they heard. She stormed away from the edge of the building, fury rising in her chest like fire. Let them see her. Let them hear.
She wasn’t broken.
She was betrayed.
That night, she sat alone at the edge of the eastern cliffs, the forest stretching endlessly before her.
The silver-streaked pendant at her neck—the one her mother had passed down—glowed faintly in the moonlight.
She rolled it between her fingers and whispered to the stars, “If you really see everything… show me how to fight this. Give me something. Someone. A way back.”
A branch snapped behind her.
She turned, expecting one of the pack guards.
But the figure that emerged from the shadows was not one she recognized.
A tall, lean man with dark, storm-swept hair and eyes that glowed—bright and unfamiliar.
He tilted his head slightly. “You don’t smell like someone who’s given up,” he said.
Ariana rose slowly, cautious. “Who are you?”
The man gave a half-smile, quiet and knowing. “Someone who’s been tracking your scent for weeks. And someone who knows—for a fact—that it’s not hers.”
- Writer
