Chapter Eighteen ;- The Pack Awaits
999 Words
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(Leyla POV)
Silver Claw had not felt this alive since the day we arrived.
Banners bearing the silver wolf crest hung from watchtowers. Warriors ran synchronized formations across the training fields. Children chased one another beneath strings of lanterns being prepared for the ceremony.
Idris was coming home.
And when he stepped through those gates next week, he would not be a warrior.
He would be Alpha.
The pack did not whisper it anymore.
They declared it.
“The day Idris returns,” they said, “everything will change.”
I tried not to let those words settle inside me.
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The first year after our rescue, I barely spoke in class.
I listened.
Observed.
Learned.
Silver Claw’s schoolhouse was larger than Blood Moon’s had ever been. The teachers were patient but firm. History lessons spoke of alliances, betrayals, ancient wars. Governance classes explained rank, duty, tradition.
Tradition.
I learned quickly.
I studied harder than necessary.
Not because I loved books but because knowledge felt like armor. Something no one could burn or steal.
By the second year, I was no longer the silent girl in the back.
I answered questions.
Helped younger students with reading.
Corrected Samir’s messy handwriting when he grew frustrated and dramatic.
“You write like a wounded squirrel,” I would tell him.
He would gasp in betrayal.
Warda, of course, had been loud since day one.
She made friends before introductions were complete. She laughed too freely. She talked during lessons and then somehow still scored well on exams.
“You think too much,” she often told me.
“And you don’t think enough,” I would reply.
Somehow, we balanced.
Life was not perfect.
But it was stable.
And stability felt like a miracle.
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As days went on the Infirmary Became Home.
The infirmary had once smelled foreign.
Now it smelled like crushed mint leaves, clean linen, and something steady.
Healing.
The head healer began trusting me with more responsibility during the second year. I prepared poultices. Assisted with stitching. Organized shelves of dried herbs from the southern hills.
Sometimes warriors came in with deep cuts from patrol skirmishes.
Sometimes children scraped knees.
Sometimes elderly pack members simply needed someone to sit beside them.
I learned to listen.
I learned that healing was not always physical.
“Your hands are steady,” the head healer once told me quietly. “Not many who survived what you did remain steady.”
I didn’t know how to answer that.
Because the truth was,
If I stopped moving, if I stopped helping, if I stopped rebuilding…
The memories might return too loudly.
So I stayed busy.
And somewhere in that rhythm, I began to feel useful again.
Not broken.
Not pitied.
Just… needed.
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Samir changed the most,the first months, he woke screaming,Clung to my clothes.
Refused to sleep alone.
Now?
He raced through the pack grounds with other boys, wooden practice swords clashing dramatically.
“I’ll be stronger than the Alpha!” he once declared boldly.
Warda laughed. “Careful. Lady Salma might hear you.”
Samir puffed up proudly. “I’ll protect my sister anyway.”
I smiled, even when my chest tightened.
He had grown taller.
His nightmares grew fewer.
Sometimes at night, he would still crawl into my bed quietly but he did not tremble anymore.
He trusted the walls around us, he trusted the patrol guards.
He trusted Silver Claw.
And that trust mattered more than anything.
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If Silver Claw buzzed with excitement, Salma radiated certainty.
She trained daily on the fields flawless form, perfect posture, hair never out of place. When she sparred, warriors gave her space. When she spoke, girls listened.
“As future Luna,” she would say gently, “I expect dignity from Silver Claw’s daughters.”
It sounded kind.
It felt territorial.
Whispers followed her.
Warnings disguised as advice.
No one openly challenged her assumption.
Idris would return,and Salma would stand beside him.
That was the expectation,and expectations in a pack were heavy things.
I tried not to think about it.
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“You’re thinking again,” Warda accused as we sorted herbs one afternoon.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
She leaned closer. “Do you think he’ll remember the girls he saved?”
I kept my eyes on the bundles of sage. “He probably has a lot on his mind.”
She nudged me. “You don’t secretly hope he remembers you?”
I rolled my eyes. “Go on, Warda. I’m working.”
She smirked.
“Still… what if he’s your mate?”
My breath caught.
“Don’t,” I whispered sharply. “Warda, don’t say that.”
She lowered her voice but didn’t look ashamed. “You’ve thought about it.”
“You know Salma has everything planned,” I said firmly. “It doesn’t matter what I think.”
Warda studied me for a long moment.
“But what if the Moon doesn’t care about plans?”
I had no answer.
Because deep down, that was what frightened me most.
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The Clock Ticks,and next week, Idris would walk through the gates.
Next week, the Alpha-in-waiting would stand before the council.
If the Moon revealed his mate, she would be marked publicly.
If not…
A chosen Luna would step forward.
The pack would celebrate.
The future would be sealed.
And next month.,....I would turn eighteen.
The age when the Moon could reveal truths no one could ignore.
I did not know yet what that meant.
I did not know that the quiet life I had carefully rebuilt was balanced on the edge of something ancient.
All I knew was this:
For two years, I had survived.
I had studied.
I had healed.
I had protected Samir.
I had stayed small enough not to threaten anyone.
But the Moon was patient.
And next week,when Idris returned, Silver Claw would not remain ordinary.
Not for the pack.
Not for Salma.
And not for me. 🌙
- Writer
