Chapter 2 - The Call of Shadows
1539 Words
Sleep was a stranger to me after that night.
Even when Elowyn curled against me with the easy trust of a child, her breath soft and even, I lay rigid and awake, staring at the dark beams of the ceiling while my mind ran in circles. I kept seeing those eyes, silver-bright in the forest. Watching. Waiting.
Every instinct screamed at me to run. To gather Elowyn in my arms, leave Pine Hollow behind, and vanish into another nameless corner of the world. But another instinct, deeper and sharper, told me running would only draw them nearer. Wolves smelled fear. They hunted weakness. If Zane’s pack was close, sudden movement would be like blood in the water.
So I did what I always did.
I stayed.
And I tried to pretend my world was not cracking.
⸻
The Weight of Morning
By dawn, the stillness outside felt like a held breath. Elowyn stirred, stretching like a kitten before blinking her bright silver eyes at me.
“Mommy,” she mumbled, rubbing her face. “You didn’t sleep.”
Children should not notice such things, but mine always did. She carried perception too keen for her age, a gift—or curse—that pulsed in her blood.
I forced a smile. “I was listening to the forest. It was quiet last night.”
Her gaze sharpened, far too much like her father’s. “Because they were here.”
The words chilled me. Elowyn’s dreams blurred into truths too often. I smoothed her hair and said nothing, because what else could I say? That I believed her? That the past was clawing at our door?
Instead, I busied myself with breakfast. Flatbread warmed over the hearth. Honey scraped from a jar. Dried berries softened with hot water. Elowyn ate with the vigor of someone who had no idea her very existence was a danger. I envied her.
When she was done, she leaned close and whispered, “I dreamed again. The big black wolf was calling me. I think he’s lonely.”
My hands trembled around the cup I held. Lonely. That was not a word I had allowed myself to associate with Zane Cavendish. Alphas were not lonely—they were feared, obeyed, desired. And yet once, I had seen something soft in him, in rare unguarded moments. A man behind the crown.
I swallowed hard. “Dreams are not real, Elowyn.”
But even as I said it, I knew it was only half true.
⸻
Whispers in the Village
Later that day, we walked into Pine Hollow. The village seemed the same on the surface—woodsmoke curling from chimneys, children chasing one another past the market stalls, men carrying axes and timber. But beneath it ran an undercurrent, a current I felt as sharply as the bite of winter air.
People whispered louder than usual. They gathered in knots, glancing toward the forests as if expecting shadows to step out.
I kept my hood low and Elowyn close. At the herb stall, I overheard two hunters muttering.
“Claw marks on the birches, deep as my hand. Not a bear. Too high.”
“You think it’s them?”
A pause. Then a voice lowered with fear. “Cavendish wolves.”
My blood ran cold.
“They never come this far,” the other argued weakly.
“Maybe something’s changed,” came the grim reply.
I turned quickly, heart hammering. Elowyn tugged at my sleeve. “Mommy, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing, little star,” I whispered, but my voice was too thin, my hand too tight on hers.
The truth pressed against me like a storm cloud. He was close. His wolves were marking the edges of this fragile world.
And if Zane himself was leading them north, it could only mean one thing: he was searching.
⸻
Night Terrors
That evening, Elowyn woke screaming. I flew to her side, gathering her small body in my arms as she shook.
“What is it, my love?” I whispered, rocking her.
Her eyes were wide, luminous in the firelight. “He called me. With his voice. It hurt in my chest. Like I had to go to him.”
The blood drained from my face. Wolves had a call, yes, but not to children so young. Not unless…
Not unless her blood recognized his.
I held her tighter. “You don’t have to go anywhere. You’re safe here. With me.”
But she trembled still, as though fighting an invisible tether.
When at last she slept again, I sat awake, staring into the flames. I remembered the sound of Zane’s howl the first time I’d heard it—a sound that shook mountains, that made lesser wolves bow, that made me shiver in ways I could never explain.
If Elowyn had heard it in her dreams, then his spirit was reaching for her. Whether he knew it or not.
And if that bond awakened fully, there would be no hiding. Not anymore.
⸻
A Slip in the Meadow
Days blurred together under the weight of dread. I tried to keep our lives normal, though nothing felt normal anymore.
One afternoon, I took Elowyn to the meadow beyond the village, where wildflowers painted the earth in splashes of gold and violet. She loved it there, loved weaving crowns of daisies and making wishes on dandelions. For a while, I almost convinced myself everything was ordinary.
Until I saw it.
She twirled among the flowers, her laughter carrying on the wind. And then—just for an instant—the air shimmered around her. A pulse of energy, wild and electric, rippled outward. The grass bent. The petals trembled.
I froze.
Her aura. Too strong, too soon.
A boy nearby cried out, falling back. “She—she glowed!”
Elowyn gasped, clapping her hands over her mouth. I ran to her, gathering her close. “It was just a trick of the sun,” I told the boy, forcing calm into my voice. “You imagined it.”
But the boy’s eyes were wide, and I knew children did not imagine such things.
I carried Elowyn home, my heart in my throat. That night, I made her promise not to let anyone see her gifts again. She nodded solemnly, but I saw fear in her eyes.
“I didn’t mean to, Mommy,” she whispered. “It just happened.”
“I know, little star.” I kissed her forehead. “But we must be careful. The world is not ready for what you are.”
What you are. What you cannot escape.
⸻
Preparing to Run
The more the forest filled with silence, the more the village buzzed with unease, the more I knew the truth: we could not stay.
I began preparing in secret. Dried food hidden in satchels. Herbs packed into small jars. A map tucked beneath a loose floorboard. Every night after Elowyn slept, I whispered prayers to the Moon Goddess for strength, though I doubted She still listened to me.
Elowyn noticed, of course. She always did.
“Are we leaving again?” she asked one evening, her small fingers tracing mine.
I hesitated. “Maybe. If it becomes unsafe.”
She tilted her head. “Because of him?”
My breath caught. “What do you mean?”
Her eyes gleamed, silver catching the firelight. “The man in my dreams. The one who calls me. I think… he’s looking for us.”
Tears burned behind my eyes. How could I explain to her that the man she dreamed of was her father? That once, I had loved him beyond reason, and that love had cost me everything?
Instead, I only said, “Then we must be very quiet, Elowyn. So quiet that no one can find us.”
She nodded, but I saw doubt shadow her face.
⸻
The Night of the Howl
It was a week later when it happened.
The village had gone to sleep under a heavy sky. Clouds smothered the stars, and the air carried the taste of iron, sharp and foreboding. Elowyn curled beside me, her small hand clutching my sleeve.
I was half-asleep when it tore through the night.
A sound so powerful it rattled the cabin walls. So primal it clawed into my very bones.
A howl.
Deep. Commanding. Unmistakable.
Every wolf in the region would bow to it. Every heart with wolf blood would recognize it.
And I did. Instantly.
My chest constricted. My lungs forgot to breathe. Because I had heard that voice before, too many times. In the woods. In the dark. In the circle of his arms.
Zane Cavendish.
Elowyn sat up, wide-eyed, her lips parting in awe. “Mommy,” she whispered, trembling, “it’s him.”
Her small body leaned forward, as though drawn by an invisible thread.
“No,” I rasped, pulling her back against me, my own body shaking.
But it was too late. I knew it. The sound had carried. It had reached her. It had reached me.
And with that single howl, the world I built of silence and shadows crumbled.
Because the Alpha had called.
And we had answered.
- Writer
