Chapter six
1380 Words
Chapter Six – she left
Elle’s silence had unsettled me before.
But this?
This was different.
For seven sunrise she had not come to the training grounds. Seven nights she had not answered my knocking. No messenger returned with word. No scent trail led to her door.
And now
“She has gone.”
The words rang in my ears as I stood outside the stone gates of the pack compound, boots grinding into gravel.
“She called out, ‘Jake, here I am,’” Lydia Cole said brightly as she hurried toward me, skirts gathered in her hands to keep from the mud.
I did not look at her.
I turned instead to Thomas Reed, who stood watching with quiet amusement. “Did your father speak to her?”
Thomas shrugged. “He did. Told her to leave you be. But she said you were only a friend. And she sees no reason to stop speaking to a friend—unless you carry secret desires.”
His grin widened.
My jaw tightened.
Lydia stopped before me, her expression expectant. “Will you walk me home?”
“No.” My voice was sharp enough to cut. “Leave. I am waiting for someone.”
Her eyes narrowed. “For Elle?”
“She is not here.”
A small, cruel smile curved her lips.
“She left an hour ago.”
The ground seemed to tilt beneath me.
“She left in a hurry too,” Lydia continued, almost gleeful. “Said she wished to begin her future at once. Said she would not cling to what was behind her.”
My heart slammed once against my ribs.
“She left her pack,” Lydia finished softly. “How bold of her.”
I did not answer.
I turned and strode through the gates toward the Alpha’s Hall, gravel crunching beneath my boots like breaking bone.
The great wooden doors groaned as I pushed them open without waiting for permission.
“Father William.”
The Alpha looked up from the long oak table where maps and training charts lay scattered.
His gaze hardened. “Mind your tone, Harrison Blake.”
“Did you know?” My voice shook despite myself. “Did you allow her to leave before her birthday?”
“Who?”
“Eleanor Whitmore.”
Silence fell between us like a blade.
He studied me carefully, then leaned back in his chair.
“Sit.”
I did not.
“Yes,” he said at last. “I knew. And I permitted it.”
The words struck harder than any blow.
“She has not yet received her wolf,” I said. “Her awakening comes in three days. How is she to survive training without it? How is she to stand against seasoned warriors? With those—”
“Enough.”
His voice was low but final.
“She carries grief heavier than most warriors twice her age,” Father William continued. “Her father’s death has hollowed her. She asked to leave. To begin training early. To carve strength from pain. I would not deny her that.”
“Poor girl,” I muttered bitterly.
“Yes,” he said firmly. “Poor girl.”
My fist slammed onto the table. The maps jumped.
“You let her walk into the wild unclaimed by her wolf!”
“And what troubles you most?” he asked quietly. “That she left? Or that she left you?”
The question pierced deeper than he knew.
“She is my friend.”
He held my gaze.
“True?”
His doubt stung.
He sighed and folded his hands.
“She stood where you now stand three nights ago. She asked permission. She did not cry. She did not beg. She stood straight, as her father would have. She leaves next week regardless. What would seven more days have changed?”
“She would not have left,” I said hoarsely.
“And why is that?”
Because I would have stopped her.
Because I would have told her.
Because—
“I do not know,” I admitted.
His expression softened, just slightly.
“She has always been special to you.”
“Since we were pups,” I whispered.
“Then perhaps,” he said evenly, “you should have spoken before silence grew between you.”
I had no answer.
I turned and left.
My chamber felt colder than the forest at dusk.
I closed the door and leaned my forehead against the wood.
“She is gone.”
The words felt unreal.
I dropped onto the bed furs and stared at the ceiling beams.
I should have gone to her.
I should have pushed past her silence.
I thought I was giving her space to grieve.
Instead, I left her alone in it.
My fist struck the mattress.
“She needed strength,” I muttered. “And I gave her distance.”
Memories rose unbidden—
Her standing alone by the river.
Her watching me laugh beside Lydia.
Her eyes when I did not cross the training field to her.
And the night—
The night she waited on the dock.
Two hours.
Two hours beneath a rising moon while I stood in the outer courtyard, distracted and foolish.
I had meant to go.
I had meant to explain.
But pride had held me still.
And now she was gone.
A knock sounded at my door.
“Enter.”
Emily stepped inside, her expression carved from stone.
“You know,” she said without greeting.
“Yes.”
She folded her arms.
“Do you know why she left?”
I remained silent.
“Because you made her believe she was nothing,” Emily said sharply. “You let Lydia circle you like prey. You let the pack whisper that you had chosen another.”
“I did not choose—”
“You stood with Lydia in the courtyard while Eleanor watched.”
Her words struck true.
“You did not go to the dock,” she continued. “You did not go when she waited. You did not go when her father fell ill. You did not stand beside her when she buried him.”
Each accusation burned.
“She thought you did not care.”
I swallowed.
“I cared.”
“Then you hid it poorly.”
Silence filled the chamber.
“She leaves for the eastern training grounds,” Emily said finally. “Beyond the Ironwood Ridge.”
The eastern grounds.
Dangerous terrain.
Unforgiving trials.
Warriors returned hardened—or not at all.
My chest tightened.
“She should not be there alone.”
“She chose it,” Emily replied. “She said she would not kneel. Not to grief. Not to pity. Not to you.”
Those words cut deepest of all.
Not to you.
The wind outside howled through the stone corridors like a warning.
Emily turned for the door.
“If you mean to do something,” she said without looking back, “do not wait another sunrise.”
The door closed behind her.
The chamber felt too small.
Too silent.
Too empty.
I rose slowly.
If she believed I did not care—
If she believed she stood alone—
Then I would prove otherwise.
The eastern path was treacherous. Wolves without their awakening often faltered there. The trials stripped weakness from bone.
And Eleanor Whitmore had left without her wolf.
My pulse thundered.
Was it pride that drove her?
Or pain?
Or something worse?
I moved to the wall where my weapons hung.
Steel glinted in firelight.
Three days until her awakening.
Three days alone in hostile ground.
My jaw hardened.
“She would not have left,” I whispered.
But she had.
And now—
Now the forest would test her.
And if the forest broke her before her wolf rose—
A dark, unfamiliar fear coiled in my gut.
I strapped my blade to my hip.
If she believed she walked alone into that wilderness—
She was wrong.
The door slammed behind me as I stepped into the night.
The moon hung low and red above the treetops.
Somewhere beyond Ironwood Ridge—
She ran.
And the forest was watching.
- Writer
