THE REJECTED LUNA

ROGUES

The first thing Elara noticed was the smell... Rank and sour, matted fur, old blood and desperation. It slid through the rain and coiled around her, so thick she could almost taste it, and every hair along her spine stood on end.

She turned her head slowly. Three shapes slid between the trees, thin as skeletons, their ribs showing under mangy coats. Their eyes burned yellow in the dark, and they moved with the easy patience of hunters who had never once been outrun. Water dripped from the branches above, and somewhere behind her a twig snapped, cutting off the only way back.

Her paws were still raw from the long walk, and the shift had drained her so deeply that even standing felt like holding up a mountain. We can't run, she realized. "We don't have it in us." Lyra pressed against her mind, silent and watchful, and Elara could feel her counting the distance between them and the trees.

"Fresh meat," the biggest one rasped, shifting partway into human form, a gaunt man with cracked lips and wild hair. "Smells like a rejected one. No pack. No Alpha to avenge her." He chuckled darkly.

"Rogues," Lyra hissed. Don't let them circle us.

Elara's heart hammered against her ribs. She had never fought anyone. She had never even been in a real argument. For twenty-one years, her whole life had been about staying quiet, staying small, staying out of the way. But instinct, Lyra's instinct, flooded her limbs, hot and sure, and she dropped low, bared her teeth, and growled.

The rogues laughed.

"She growls like a puppy."

"Let's see if she bites like one."

The one who had spoken stepped closer, sniffing the air. "She's got the scent of a pack on her, though. Fresh. Still bleeding from the cut." His smile widened, showing yellow teeth. "Poor little thing. Did they throw you out with nothing?"

Elara said nothing. The words stung more than they should have, because they were true.

They attacked together.

The first one lunged and she met him with her shoulder, spinning him into the mud. He hit the ground with a grunt of surprise. The second came from behind, claws raking her flank, and pain exploded along her ribs. She snapped at him and tasted blood and fur. "Left," Lyra shouted, and she twisted just in time to avoid the third wolf's jaws. His teeth clicked shut an inch from her throat.

She swung around, panting, and slammed her paw into his ribs. He yelped, but the sound didn't stop him. None of them seemed to feel pain the way she did. They were too hungry, too used to it, and every time she knocked one down, another was already lunging.

She was strong. She was faster than she'd expected. Every move felt like something she'd always known how to do, like a song she had somehow memorized in her sleep. But there were three of them, and she was exhausted, her entire body wrecked by the rejection and the shift. Her breath came in ragged gasps and her legs trembled. The mud sucked at her paws, dragging her down.

The biggest rogue slammed into her side and she went down hard, her breath knocked out of her. The world spun.

Rain pelted her face, and for a moment all she could see was black sky and silver water.

His jaws closed on her shoulder.

Agony tore through her. She howled, thrashing, but his weight pinned her down. Lyra screamed a warning, Elara saw the other two closing in, yellow eyes shining, saliva dripping from their teeth, and thought, very clearly, "I'm going to die in the mud, alone, in a ruined dress."

It was almost funny. She had just been given everything she'd ever wanted, a mate, a place, a name, and in the space of a single night it had all been taken away. And now she would die in the dark, and no one would even know to mourn her.

She thought of Nell, standing at the back of the circle with her hands pressed to her mouth. She thought of the blue ribbon she had left folded under her pillow, the cracked mirror, the unfinished hem. All of it was gone now. All of it belonged to someone else.

No, Lyra growled, suddenly fierce. Not like this. Not tonight.

And then suddenly, the night split.

A shape the size of a horse crashed out of the darkness, hitting the rogue on her shoulder with the force of a battering ram and flinging him into a tree with a c***k of breaking bone. The ground shook. The air filled with a pressure like a giant hand pressing on her chest, so heavy she could hardly breathe. It was an Alpha's aura, vast and furious.

The remaining two rogues dropped to their bellies, whimpering, pressed flat against the ground.

The black wolf stood over Elara, his fur slick with rain, his shoulders broad as a door.

He was the most magnificent creature she had ever seen. For a wild moment she forgot her pain, forgot the rogues, forgot everything, and simply stared. Steam rose from his back in the cold. His eyes were storm-grey, and they swept over her once, quickly, like a man counting wounds, before they turned on the rogues. He looked at them and said, in a voice that rolled through all their minds at once, deep and cold, "Go. Before I change my mind."

They scrambled up and fled, dragging their broken packmate between them. Their footsteps crashed through the underbrush and faded, until there was nothing left but the sound of falling rain.

Silence fell.

For a long moment, Elara could do nothing but breathe. The storm rumbled overhead. The smell of blood and wet fur hung in the air, and her whole body trembled with the aftershock of being alive when she had been so sure she wouldn't be.

Elara tried to stand. Her legs buckled. Blood ran warm down her shoulder, and every breath felt extremely painful.

She tried again, and again her legs gave out, and she lay there in the mud, shaking, too tired to be ashamed. The black wolf moved closer, enormous and silent, and she smelled him: cedar, wet earth, and something wild, like open sky.

Danger, she thought. Run.

No, Lyra said, in a voice Elara had never heard from her, soft and stunned. No, wait. Listen.

"Listen to what? There's a stranger standing over us, and I can't even..."

"Elara. Please. Listen."

Elara listened.

Over the rain and the thunder and her own ragged breathing, she heard a heartbeat. Slow. Steady. Strong. Not her own.

It was answering hers.