The wolfless Heir

Dunce of Hope

The half-moon pendant shone brightly in the moonlight, illuminating the brilliant green eyes of the child. Raven kept wriggling beneath the white linen placed over his small body. Mallory’s judgment had been clouded by her sheer desperation to save her son, but contrary to her protective intentions, she had accidentally dumped Raven right under an oak tree in the heart of the rogues' haunting ground.

It didn’t take long before one of the beasts picked up his scent. A massive black wolf, distinguished by a distinct silver line across its forelimb, padded silently into the clearing and tested the air. It found no adult presence whatsoever—only the unique, unusual signature emitted by the human infant.

A human child... and more! the creature thought in stunned wonder.

Raven cooed softly at the beast, his sudden tears vanishing as he stared intently into the wolf’s dark, predatory eyes. Killing him should have been its immediate, instinctive reaction, but somehow, the wolf found itself completely drawn to the infant's gaze. It circled the basket six slow times before lowering its heavy body right beside the baby, deciding whether the newborn would become its midnight meal or something entirely different.

"Swish!"

An arrow cut sharply through the night air, grazing past the wolf's ear. The beast scrambled up in sudden terror, whipping its head around toward the direction of the missed shot. An unmistakable, pungent odor hit its sensitive nostrils.

Hunter!

The rogue glared down at the fallen arrow stuck only a few meters away from Raven's basket. Astonishingly, the baby didn't cry; instead, he giggled, seemingly mesmerized by the feathered base of the arrow quivering in the dirt. Snarling, the werewolf reared its paw, ready to charge the hidden invader.

Before it could move, a second arrow whistled through the clearing, this time sinking deep into its forelimb. Baring its razor-sharp teeth, the rogue grew fiercely aggressive, its bloodlust amplified by the raw power of the Bloodmoon.

Yet, it lacked the courage to press the attack. The moment the female hunter stepped out from the dense foliage, the rogue turned tail and bolted. It hadn't sprinted ten paces before a third arrow pierced clean through its flesh, driving straight into its heart. The rogue let out a choked, terminal howl before the deadly poison coated on the arrowhead paralyzed its veins, dropping it dead in the leaves.

The woman scoffed loudly, wiping a strand of hair from her ponytail as she admired her handiwork. She strode over to the fallen carcass and gave its groin a contemptuous kick. When no sound came from it, she rolled her eyes.

"Weakling bastard! I thought your kind couldn't stop bragging, f*****g beast!" she sneered into the dark. "Even a Bloodmoon couldn't save you from me."

She reached for her bow, sliding another arrow into place. "Bounty for this one will easily cover the week."

She bent down to heave the heavy carcass over her shoulder, but froze as her eyes locked onto a pair of glowing green irises. They sparkled brilliantly in the moonlight, and a half-moon necklace rested boldly against a tiny chest.

Startled, the woman scrambled backward, her eyes darting through the surrounding trees to check for hidden threats. Hearing nothing, she cautiously approached the basket, her bow raised defensively in one hand. Hunters were trained to slaughter all werewolves without mercy, and the bounty on shifter pups was notoriously high. Yet, as she stared down at the infant smiling up at her, she realized he smelled neither entirely like a werewolf nor fully human.

"What are you? Wolf or human?" she murmured.

Raven just cooed playfully, reaching his tiny hands toward her.

She hesitated, her conscience warring within her. What kind of madman would abandon an infant deep in the dead-zone forest?

"You're wolfless, aren't you?"

Raven simply stared into her eyes. The woman glanced back at the dead rogue on the dirt, realizing it had either been protecting the child or weighing it as food. Straightening her posture, she turned her back on the infant, breaking the strange, inexplicable charm he held over her.

"I spared you, and that's enough," she muttered to herself, walking away. "Your survival isn't my business."

Securing her tunic, she hoisted the heavy rogue carcass onto her shoulder. She needed to move fast before dawn broke and the corpse began its gruesome human reversion. Securing her twentieth official kill meant she would finally climb the hunter ranks, earning enough respect to afford a decent weapon instead of a cracked wooden bow and poisonous scraps.

As she pushed deeper into the timber, however, flashing memories plagued her mind—fragments of her own forgotten childhood, the bitter isolation she had endured, and an aching vision of a child's cheerful laughter.

She stopped dead in her tracks.

That child is no wolf, she thought heavily. He was abandoned, just like I once was.

In the distance, a fresh wave of hunting howls tore through the night air. She knew what those sounds meant: a pack patrol was sweeping the area. That infant stood zero chance against wild predators or hostile trackers. With a sharp gasp of realization, she violently hurled the heavy carcass to the ground and sprinted back the way she came.

The pungent stench of werewolf grew thicker with every stride. She knew she was blindly walking straight into a death trap, but she couldn't stop her legs. If a stranger hadn't intervened when she was an abandoned infant, she would have been torn apart long ago. No innocent child deserved that fate.

Please, God... let me get there in time, she prayed fiercely.

She splintered through the thick underbrush, gripping her bow tightly with two poisoned arrows notched and ready. As she neared the clearing by the giant oak tree, the howls grew deafeningly loud. She surged forward—only to skid to a horrified halt.

The basket was gone.

I'm too late, she thought with a sick plummet in her stomach.

Except... she wasn't.

"Are you looking for this?" a deep, cold voice called out from the shadows, holding high a glittering golden basket in the pale moonlight.

It was Raven's basket.