The Shattered Pack

Chapter four

The dawn came without warmth, filtering through the high, barred window of my cell in pale, dusty gray shafts. My throat was stiff, and when I swallowed, a sharp pain shot up to my ears. I didn't need a mirror to know Kaelen’s fingerprints were written black and blue across my skin.

The heavy iron bar on the outside of my door rattled, sliding back with a harsh, metallic screech.

The door swung open, revealing a short, stout woman with salt-and-pepper hair pulled into a severe bun. She wore the dark, practical linen of a manor servant, but the subtle power radiating off her told me she was a shifted wolf—just a low-ranking one. Her nose flared the second she stepped into the room, searching for a scent she already knew wasn't there.

"Get up," she said, her voice sharp but lacking the outright malice I had grown used to back at Timber Claw. She dropped a bundle of clean clothes and a chunk of dense rye bread onto the end of my cot. "The Beta wants you in the lower archives. You're to report to Elder Vance."

"Elder Vance?" I asked, my voice cracking slightly.

The woman frowned, looking at me with a mix of pity and irritation. "He ran the records. The Alpha said You should not leave the grounds, but he didn't say you could sit around rotting. If you can't hunt or patrol, you work. Change quickly. I'll be waiting outside."

She stepped out and pulled the door shut, though she didn't bar it this time.

I changed out of my travel-stained rags into the heavy wool tunic and trousers she had brought. They were slightly too big, hanging loosely on my small frame, but the fabric was warm. I ate the bread in three large bites, ignoring the ache in my throat, and slipped out of the room.

The servant, whose name I learned was Martha, led me deep into the bowels of the Citadel. We bypassed the grand, high-ceilinged halls of the upper levels and descended a spiral stone staircase that seemed to cut straight into the mountain’s roots. The air grew progressively colder, thick with the scent of dried parchment, old ink, and damp stone.

At the bottom of the stairs lay the archives—a massive, cavernous chamber filled with towering rows of dark oak bookshelves. Thousands of leather-bound ledgers, ancient scrolls, and historical maps were crammed into the space, illuminated only by the flicker of wall-mounted torches.

Sitting at a heavy desk near the center of the room was an elderly wolf, his back stooped and his eyes covered by thick spectacles.

"The tribute from Timber Claw, Elder," Martha announced, bowing her head slightly before turning to leave without another word.

The old wolf didn't look up immediately. He finished scratching a line of ink into a ledger before finally lifting his head. His eyes were milky with age, but they were sharp as needles.

"Evangeline, is it?" he asked, his voice like dry leaves scraping across gravel. "They say you have no wolf. They say you are a genetic blank."

"I am a Latent, Elder Vance," I replied, stepping closer to the desk. "But I have eyes, and I have a memory."

He let out a dry, hacking chuckle. "A memory? In this room, memory is the only thing that matters. The young warriors think history is written in blood, but it is kept in ink. Alpha Kaelen has decreed that you are to be kept busy. He thinks cataloging old tax records will keep a useless girl out of trouble."

Elder Vance stood up, gesturing to a massive, chaotic pile of unsorted parchments on a long table in the corner. "These are border reports and treaty drafts from the last three decades. They are completely disorganized. Sort them by date and pack lineage. If you can read, that is."

"I can read," I said quietly.

I walked over to the table, my fingers brushing against the dusty parchment. To everyone else, this was a punishment detail—mindless, grueling administrative work. But to me, it was an absolute goldmine. Alpha Kaelen had tried to bury me in the dark, but he had accidentally handed me the keys to his kingdom's secrets.

For hours, I worked in absolute silence. Elder Vance ignored me, buried in his own ledger, while I meticulously organized the documents. But I wasn't just sorting them; I was absorbing them.

My photographic memory laid every page out in my mind like a map. I read about the Obsidian Crest’s grain shortages three winters ago. I memorized the exact patrol schedules of the eastern border markers. And, most importantly, I found the early medical logs from when Alpha Kaelen first inherited his title.

The beast is fractured, one old healer’s note reads, dating back five years. The bloodline curse intensifies with every full moon. The Alpha's dominant aura is becoming volatile, threatening to reject his own pack bonds.

"You read exceptionally fast for someone sorting by date," a deep, dark voice rumbled from the shadows of the arched doorway.

My heart leaped into my throat. I turned slowly, my back pressing against the wooden table.

Alpha Kaelen stood just inside the perimeter of the torchlight. He wore a simple black tunic, devoid of his heavy furs, making his terrifying, muscular physique even more prominent. His eyes weren't swirling with black chaos like they had been the night before; they were a steady, piercing gold, locked entirely on me.

Elder Vance immediately scrambled out of his chair, dropping to one knee. "Alpha. We did not expect you."

Kaelen didn't look at the old man. His gaze never left my face, tracking the way my chest rose and fell, measuring my breath. He stepped into the room, his movements entirely silent despite his massive size.

"Leave us, Vance," Kaelen commanded.

The old scholar didn't hesitate. He practically scrambled up the stone steps, leaving the two of us alone in the cavernous, quiet archives.

The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. Kaelen stopped three paces away from me. Up close, the sheer heat radiating off his body was overwhelming. He looked down at the pile of papers I had been sorting, his eyes narrowing as he spotted the old healer's report tucked neatly beneath a stack of treaties.

"You are looking for a weakness," Kaelen murmured, his voice dropping to a low, predatory register. "You think because I did not snap your neck yesterday, you are safe to play games in my house, little lamb?"

I forced myself to keep my hands steady against the table, refusing to show the terror clawing at my throat. "I am sorting what I was given, Alpha. But I don't need to look for a weakness. Your pack's records already tell the story."

Kaelen’s jaw clenched, a dangerous flicker of dark gold flashing in his eyes. He leaned down, his face inches from mine, trapping me against the table. "And what story is that?"

"That you are running out of time," I whispered, looking directly into his eyes. "The curse is breaking your pack bonds. Your enforcers fear you, but they don't trust you to keep your sanity. If you don't find a way to anchor your beast before the next eclipse, the Obsidian Crest will tear itself apart from the inside—and your enemies won't even need to cross the border to finish you."

A deadly, terrifying silence fell over the room. For a second, I thought I had gone too far. Kaelen’s hand twitched, his claws subtly extending from his fingertips, scraping lightly against the edge of the wooden table.

But instead of ripping my throat out, he let out a low, humorless growl that sounded remarkably like a laugh.

"A frail, unshifted thing with a death wish," he muttered, his face so close I could feel the heat of his breath. "You think a few dusty pages make you an expert on my beast?"

"I think I am the only person in this castle who isn't too terrified of you to tell you the truth," I shot back, my voice remarkably steady.

Kaelen stared at me for a long, agonizing moment, his gold eyes searching mine for any sign of deception. Slowly, the claws retracted into his fingers. He straightened up to his full, towering height, looking down at me like I was a bizarre puzzle he couldn't quite solve.

"We will see how much you like the truth when the winter storms hit, Evangeline," he said, turning on his heel. "Keep sorting. But if I catch you looking at things you shouldn't, I won't just lock you away. I will hand you back to Hector myself."

He vanished up the stairs, his dark aura lingering in the chilly air long after he was gone. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, my knees trembling so violently I had to lean against the table for support.

He hadn't denied it. He was desperate. And for the first time since I arrived, I realized I didn't jus

t have a chance to survive—I had leverage.