Chapter Four: The She-Wolf Among Wolf
2182 Words
The days that followed passed in blood, sweat, and silence.
Martha rose with the sun, trained until her muscles screamed, and ate by the fire without speaking unless spoken to. The rogues observed her from a distance, first with wariness, then with intrigue. She had survived wounds that should have killed her, defeated Cassian in combat her first morning, and carried herself like a ghost with purpose.
They began calling her Silver Wolf, because of the pale glint in her eyes that shimmered under moonlight.
She didn’t correct them.
Cassian watched her closely. He didn’t trust her yet he couldn’t deny she was changing things. For the first time in years, the rogues trained harder. They were sharper. Hungrier. Martha brought intensity wherever she went, like wildfire in the shape of a woman.
But no one knew her secret.
Not yet.
On the fifth day, Cassian brought her to the upper ridge of the rogue territory. From there, you could see the valley stretch far into Moonclaw land. The forests below looked peaceful, almost soft in the distance.
Martha kept her gaze fixed on the distant trees.
“You don’t belong to any of us,” Cassian said quietly beside her. “But you don’t belong to them either. Do you?”
She didn’t respond.
“You don’t talk about your past,” he added. “But your nightmares scream loud enough for everyone to hear.”
Martha turned her head slowly toward him. “And what do they say?”
“That someone hurt you. Badly.”
He paused, studying her face.
“Was it a mate?”
She blinked once. “It was everyone.”
Cassian exhaled, his jaw tightening. “You keep moving like you’re ready to go to war. But the question is, with who?”
She looked back at the trees. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
That night, the rogues prepared for a scouting mission. A few bounty wolves had been spotted near the border, likely hired by one of the corrupt Councils to root out rebel activity.
Cassian picked Martha to join the group.
They moved through the forest like shadows. Martha found herself at ease in this world. The smells were stronger. The sounds sharper. She no longer feared the darkness, she felt made of it.
Near the border, they spotted a pair of bounty hunters setting up a trapline. Martha watched from a high perch in a pine tree, her instincts humming.
“They’re not from here,” she whispered to Cassian. “The way they walk, stiff, city-trained. Council dogs.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
Cassian nodded. “We’ll take them out. Fast and quiet.”
But something tugged at Martha’s senses.
A scent.
One she knew.
Moonclaw steel.
Pearce’s patrols had used it. She could smell its trace on the weapons the bounty hunters carried.
Her blood turned cold.
They weren’t just hunting rebels.
They were hunting her.
The fight was quick and brutal. Martha moved like lightning, taking down the larger of the two with a spinning kick to the throat before sinking her blade into his ribs. The other tried to flee, but Cassian dragged him back by the ankle and finished the job cleanly.
Afterward, Cassian crouched beside the bodies, examining the mark etched into their necks.
“Council seal,” he muttered. “Moonclaw. What the hell are they doing this far north?”
Martha said nothing.
But her thoughts churned.
They know. Someone suspects.
She had been careful, but not perfect. Morgana had always been cautious. And if she had begun consolidating power as Luna, she wouldn’t risk someone whispering about a ghost.
She’d send hunters.
Just in case.
Martha’s pulse quickened. She looked at her bloodied hands.
Maybe she wasn’t just running from her past anymore.
Maybe it was already chasing her.
Back at the camp, Cassian cornered her after they reported in.
“You didn’t flinch,” he said. “You didn’t hesitate to kill.”
“I’ve been hunted before,” she replied.
He folded his arms. “You say you don’t remember your past, but you fight like someone who had everything taken from them.”
Martha looked at him. “That’s exactly what happened.”
He didn’t press her further. But that night, Martha noticed two rogues following her. Cassian’s men. Quiet, subtle, but watching. Her secrecy was now a liability.
If she was going to stay ahead of them and ahead of Morgana. She needed allies. And she needed to learn more about what had happened after her death.
The next morning, she approached Cina, the scout with the missing eye.
Cina was sharp, observant, and well-connected. She handled communications with border informants and supply lines from sympathetic wolves in nearby villages.
“I need information,” Martha said.
Cina raised a brow. “About what?”
“Moonclaw. The Luna. The Council. Anything you’ve heard.”
Cina leaned back against the wooden post beside her. “That’ll cost you.”
“What do you want?”
“Truth,” Cina said. “You’re not just some wandering rogue. You bleed like a warrior, move like a Luna, and you’re haunted by more than bad dreams.”
Martha stared at her.
“I’m not ready to give you everything,” she said carefully. “But I can give you this. I was betrayed. Poisoned. Left for dead.”
Cina’s eye flickered.
“I need to know who stands at the top now,” Martha said. “Who rules the Moonclaw Pack?”
Cina nodded slowly. “Word from my contact says the Council hasn’t named a permanent Luna yet. But your Alpha mate Pearce, right? he’s been letting a woman sit beside him at Council meets. Acting like a Luna. Her name’s Morgana.”
Martha’s breath stopped.
Cina continued. “Some say she was a fidus achate of the last Luna. Others say she always wanted the role.”
Martha’s jaw clenched. “She got what she wanted.”
“Not officially. But she’s rising. Fast.”
Cina gave her a long look. “You plan to take it back?”
“I plan to burn it down,” Martha whispered.
That night, she sat at the edge of camp again, staring at the moon.
Her thoughts returned to Pearce.
She remembered the coldness in his eyes. The way he hadn’t cried. The way he had stood by while Morgana grieved louder than anyone.
But she also remembered the flicker in their bond still alive. Still pulsing.
Why?
If he had known about the poison, if he had been part of the plot, the bond should have severed.
But it hadn’t.
And that terrified her more than anything.
Because it meant there was still a thread connecting them.
And she didn’t know if she wanted to cut it or choke him with it.
As the moon rose higher, Martha closed her eyes.
She could feel it now, the prophecy shifting.
The Goddess watching.
The past clawing toward her.
And the future sharpening its teeth.
She was no longer Rochelle.
And Martha had no intention of being forgotten.
Not by Pearce.
Not by Morgana.
Not by the Moon itself.
- Writer
