Chapter 4: The Pack Turned Away
1515 Words
~SARIA's POV~
The silence he leaves behind feels like another rejection.
I stay where I am, staring into the darkness he disappeared into.
Part of me still expects him to come back.
My wolf gives a low, restless sound inside me, like she only now realizes he's really gone.
My fingers curl tightly against my palms.
"Just like that?" I whisper.
The forest gives me nothing back except silence.
Yet the pull remains. Not as strong as before.
Just enough to feel like a thread stretched too far without breaking.
A painful tightness spreads through my chest.
Not as violently as before. Just enough to remind me it is still there.
My hand rises slowly to my neck.
The cracked crescent burns faintly beneath my fingertips.
I still can’t believe what almost formed there.
And I know what I saw on his wrist.
That dark-gold crescent was real.
“But something is wrong,” I whisper slowly. “This goes against every law of fate.”
The bond should have broken after Darian rejected me.
So why can I still feel both of them?
I close my eyes briefly and force myself to think past the confusion.
What just happened?
The moment I touched him, everything shifted. The pain didn’t disappear completely. But it faded enough for me to notice.
My eyes open slowly.
“That wasn’t normal…”
I should have been afraid of him. Instead, I wanted to follow him. I wanted to stay near him.
And the way he looked at me was like he knew something I didn’t.
My teeth press together hard.
“And then he just leaves.”
Anger cuts sharply through the confusion.
“What kind of person does that?”
I wipe roughly beneath my eyes before the tears can fully fall.
No.
I am done standing still while other people decide what happens to me.
If he knows something about the bond, I will find him again and force answers out of him myself.
Suddenly, the second force jerks violently inside me.
I suck in a breath and grab my chest.
The sensation drags at me again like it wants to pull me back toward him.
Instead, it is followed by the memory of the night my family died.
I try to shove it away, but the force reacts and my mark heats beneath my skin.
Red-masked figures.
Nine of them.
Clear as daylight.
My parents stand in front of us, trying to protect us.
My siblings are screaming beside me.
I hear my own voice too.
We screamed for help that night. For the pack. For anyone.
Nobody came.
Tears spill down my face as the memory breaks apart again.
The pain hits so hard my knees give out beneath me.
I collapse against the cold ground, shaking.
I stay there for several seconds, trying to breathe through the images still flashing through my head.
I have never fully remembered that night. Only fragments. Only broken pieces that vanish whenever I reach for them too hard.
I remember waking up alone afterward.
Blood everywhere. My family was dead. My older sister was gone without a trace.
The attack felt ritualistic. And my mark burned during it like the bond itself witnessed something I was never meant to forget.
That was the first time the Curse-Scent appeared.
Every time my mark pulses painfully, the scent follows.
But now—
Why did the second bond trigger that memory?
And why did he look at my mark like he recognized it?
A cold feeling crawls down my spine.
No.
Please no.
“He can’t be part of this,” I whisper quickly.
I shake my head hard.
I can’t accuse someone without proof.
I don’t even know his name.
And if he truly wanted me dead, he had opportunities in that forest.
Instead, he looked terrified of recognizing me.
My wolf never viewed him as a threat either.
Even through the fear. Even through the discomfort. She recognized him before I did.
I wipe roughly at my tears, trying to steady myself.
I want one normal moment. Just one.
But I can’t let this go. I can’t forget what happened to my family.
I won’t.
Someone killed them.
Someone destroyed my life and disappeared afterward like it meant nothing.
The house has felt empty ever since.
Too quiet.
Like part of it died with them.
The pain sharpens again when my thoughts drift toward Darian.
The broken bond aches faintly inside me.
A sharp sting runs through my neck, and the scent slowly begins to rise around me.
The ceremony flashes through my mind piece by piece.
The way his jaw tightened.
The way his shoulders stiffened.
The way he looked toward the council before rejecting me, like the choice was never fully his.
They didn’t gather to crown me as their Luna. They gathered to erase me.
A broken sound escapes my throat before I can stop it.
My family is gone.
Darian rejected me.
And the stranger who felt tied to me ran away too.
For one dangerous moment, exhaustion almost wins.
If I disappeared tonight…
Would anyone actually come looking for me?
The thought settles heavily in the silence.
Then anger follows immediately behind it.
No.
I refuse to disappear quietly for people who already decided my life means nothing.
My hand tightens against my fractured mark.
The crescent pulses violently beneath my palm.
Heat surges through my skin without warning.
My wolf whimpers inside me like she already knows something worse is coming.
***
The moment I step back into Night Crown territory, they smell me.
Heads turn instantly.
Voices drop.
Then rise again, sharper this time. Afraid.
I stop at the edge of the clearing as the scent surges under my skin so violently it almost steals my breath, yet I always feel nothing from it except heat.
A child near the training posts starts crying.
His mother grabs him and pulls him behind her fast.
“Gods…”
“What is that?”
“It’s worse than before.”
“She brought it back.”
The whispers move quickly through the crowd.
Some wolves step away immediately.
Others avoid looking at me entirely.
One older warrior lowers his head the moment our eyes almost meet, like guilt tastes worse than the scent itself.
My fingers curl tightly at my sides.
I try to force the scent back.
“Kora,” I whisper inside myself. “Hold it.”
My wolf barely responds.
Too faint.
I push harder, trying to steady myself, but resistance only makes the heat beneath my skin spread faster.
The cracked crescent throbs sharply.
I press my hand against it immediately.
The movement only draws more attention.
“Stay back!”
The shout comes from one of the guards.
Several rush forward immediately, forming a barrier between me and the center of the pack.
Like I am dangerous.
Like I am no longer one of them.
A bitter laugh escapes me before I can stop it.
“Right,” I murmur.
Of course.
Nothing changed. Except somehow it became worse.
A woman near the front recoils visibly. “She’s unstable,” she says, voice shaking. “Can’t you feel it?”
“That’s not only a scent,” another whispers.
“It’s wrong.”
“That thing was cursed from childhood,” an older man says coldly. “The signs were always there.”
The words land deeper than I expect.
Curse.
The word spreads quickly through the clearing.
Whispered. Repeated. Accepted.
I shake my head once.
Then again.
Since my family died, that is what they have called me.
Curse.
Bad omen.
Broken.
No one ever wanted to understand. Not really.
The one person I believed understood me most proved me wrong the moment he rejected me.
The thought tightens something painful in my chest.
For one horrible breath, I almost beg them.
Almost tell them I did not ask for any of this.
That I am trying.
That I am scared too.
I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood.
“I didn’t ask for this,” I say instead.
My voice comes out lower than I expect. Steadier too.
“And I’m tired of all of you acting like I chose what happened to me that night.”
The clearing falls quiet for one brief moment.
Not because they agree.
Because no one expected me to answer back.
I look across the crowd slowly.
Faces I grew up beside.
Warriors my parents fought beside.
People who once ate in our home.
Now they stare at me like they are waiting for me to lose control.
Something inside me hardens quietly.
The guards move closer now. Slower. Careful. Like approaching an animal that might attack.
“We need to take her to the council,” one mutters quietly.
“Now.”
I do not argue.
I do not run.
Not because I accept this.
Because I need answers more than I need pride.
And right now, the council knows more than they admit.
- Writer
