Chapter Four: Of Fire and Frost
1406 Words
The frost came with the dawn.
White-coated trees glistened in the early light, and the ground was brittle underfoot, crunching with every step as Calla made her way to the edge of the training field. The cold bit through her jacket, but she welcomed it. After last night—after that kiss—she needed something sharp to clear her head.
Darius was already there, shirtless this time, his body steaming against the morning air as he finished a series of grueling forms with a long staff. His back was scarred—claw marks, burns, old battle wounds that told stories without needing words.
Calla looked away too quickly.
She was still angry. Not at him exactly—but at the way he made her feel. Like she was teetering on the edge of a cliff, and he was both the fall and the hand reaching to catch her.
“Ready?” He asked, tossing her a wooden staff.
She caught it. “Don't you own shirts?”
“Not when I train. Distracted?”
She twirled the staff and smirked. “In your dreams.”
They began again, this time with more intensity. Staffs clashed, bodies spun, feet shuffled across the frost-covered earth. Darius didn’t hold back—not like before. He pushed her hard, testing her reflexes, her stamina, her anger.
It simmered beneath the surface, still fed by blood and trauma and that gnawing sense of something she couldn’t name.
Then he swept her legs.
She fell hard, breath knocked out of her.
“Get up,” he barked.
She glared at him from the dirt. “You're enjoying this.
“No,” he said. “I'm preparing you. You think rogues will wait for you to get comfortable?”
She rolled, sprung up, and attacked again. This time she caught him off-guard, slamming the staff against his ribs. Je grunted, stepping back.
“Better,” he said, rubbing his side.
“Good. I like breaking things.”
“Try not to enjoy it too much,” he muttered. “That's how you lose control.”
She froze. “Is that what you think of me? That I'm just another ticking time bomb?”
“No,” he said more quietly. “I think you're fire. You just don't know when to burn and when to warm.”
That startled her. He didn't say it like a compliment. He said it like a truth he'd learned the hard way.
Later, after training, she found herself wondering again—drawn to the quiet space at the sanctuary's northern wing. She passed a tall archway and froze.
A scent.
Familiar. Feral.
The hairs on her arms stood up.
Inside was a room cloaked in shadow, lit only by a small flame burning in an iron dish. Shelves lined the walls, holding relics, bones, dried herbs. At the center stood a woman dressed in crimson.
“Calla,” she said in a voice both soft and severe. “Come closer.”
Calla hesitated. “You know me?”
“I feel you. Like a storm on the edge of the sky.”
The woman moved like silk, her long braids wrapped with feathered and bone charms.
“I am Sabine,” she said. “Pack seer. Witchblood.”
“Witch?” Calla asked warily.
“Not the kind from bedtime stories. I'm bound to the wild things. To memory. To moonlight.” She gestured toward the flame. “Sit.”
Calla sat. The flame flickered higher.
“You want answers,” Sabine said.
“I want the truth.”
“They're the same only when you're ready.”
Calla frowned. “I'm ready.”
Sabine extended her palm. “Let me see your blood.”
Calla recoiled. “Why?”
“Because blood remembers what the mind forgets.”
After a moment, Calla drew the dagger from her waistband and presses it to her palm. A quick slice. She winced, then held it out.
Sabine took her wrist gently and let a few drops into the flame.
The fire flared silver.
Calla's breath caught.
Images flooded the room—not clear pictures, but flickers of sound and scent and color. A woman with black hair screaming. A cradle. A full moon. Teeth. Smoke. A name whispered a prayer.
“Rhiannon.”
“My mother,” Calla said
Sabine's voice came like a chant. “She bound you to the earth. To silence. To protect you from what hunted her. From what still hunts you.”
“Who?”
“The forsaken.”
A chill ran through her.
Sabine leaned in. “You are Moonborn. But you are not the last. The Forsaken seek to awaken an ancient line through corrupted blood. They failed with your mother. They won't fail with you—unless you stop them.
“How?”
“You must find the hidden flame. The one who knows the old ways. The Alpha who walked away from the packs.”
Calla frowned. “Who?”
“Ask Darius.”
Sabine pulled back, her eyes suddenly distant. “But beware, child. The wolf is not the only thing inside you. There is another.”
“What do you mean?”
But Sabine only stood, her face fading into the shadows.
“Walk carefully. Fire burns, but shadow devours.”
That night, sleep evaded Calla.
She tossed beneath heavy blankets, heart pounding with the rhythm of something she couldn’t name. A hunger. A calling.
She rose quietly, stepping outside into the cold.
The forest was alive with whispers—branches groaning, animals rustling in the distance, moonlight filtering through naked trees.
She didn't know why she walked, only that she had to.
Then she felt it.
Watched.
Her body tensed. She turned slowly.
From the trees, something stepped forward.
Not a man. Not a wolf.
Both.
Huge, wild, and dark furred, with glowing eyes and claws that scraped the earth. It wasn’t like her wolf. This thing was wrong. Twisted.
A Forsaken.
Her heart leapt. She took a step back—
It charged.
Calla creamed and dove aside, rolling across frozen earth. The beast snarled, its jaw snapping where her neck had been. She scrambled to her feet, but there was no weapon—no time.
The wolf lunged again—
Darius.
He tackled the creature, shifting mid-air, his own wolf bursting forth—black and massive. They rolled, bit, clawed, fur and blood flying. It was brutal, primal.
The Forsaken slashed deep into Darius’s shoulder.
Calla grabbed a broken branch and ran forward, jabbing it into the creature's side. It shrieked and turned on her—too fast.
Teeth grazed her neck.
But then Darius clamped his jaws on its throat and ripped.
The Forsaken crumpled.
Darius shifted back slowly, blood dripping down his arm.
“You okay?” He rasped.
Calla nodded, trembling. “Yeah. You?”
He shrugged. “Had worse.”
They looked down at the creature. Its body was already disintegrating into ash.
“What was that?” She asked.
“Something that shouldn't be this close to our borders,” Darius said grimly. “They're watching you.”
“I need answers, Darius,” she said, stepping close. “The alpha who walked away. The one Sabine mentioned.”
His jaw locked.
“I'm not ready to take you to him.”
She stepped even closer. ‘Why?”
“Because once you meet him, everything changes.”
He was still shirtless, his chest streaked in blood and sweat. Calla reached up and touched the wound on his shoulder.
He flinched—but didn't move away.
“Then maybe it's time, she whispered.
Their eyes met.
This time, when he kissed her, there was no hesitation.
Only hunger.
Her body melted into his, mouths clashing with need. His hands roamed her back, her hips, gripping like he couldn't get close enough. She tore at his belt, breathless and burning.
But before it could go further, he broke the kiss again, forehead resting against hers.
“We wait,” he said, voice hoarse.
“For what?” She breathed.
“For when it won't feel like a mistake.”
Calla clenched her fists, swallowing the ache. “And if it's already too late?”
He didn't answer.
Just pulled her close, holding her like a secret.
The trees stood witness. The moon kept silent.
And in the distance, something watched.
Waiting.
- Writer
