Chapter 5 – When the Music Breaks
1200 Words
If joy had a sound, it was the pack singing around a bonfire.
The clearing glowed under hanging lanterns and the swollen moon. Flames licked high in the center, sparks spiraling into the dark. Wolves—some in skin, a few with eyes already edged in gold—laughed, shouted, clapped to the beat as drums and fiddles tangled in the air.
Coren’s fingers were warm around mine as he led me toward the circle.
Everywhere I looked, I saw my world: Selune swaying with a baby on her hip, Branik pretending not to dance and failing; Kieron and a gaggle of teenagers daring each other toward the edge of the light; Dargan scowling from a bench but his foot tapping despite himself.
This was home. This was worth every night in the clinic, every sleepless patrol, every bruise.
“Breathe,” Nyra hissed from behind me, poking my ribs. “You look like you’re heading to execution, not a party.”
“I’m fine,” I muttered. My heart disagreed, slamming against my ribs.
Coren stopped at the edge of the packed circle around the fire. Conversations rippled quieter. It wasn’t official, not yet, but everyone knew when their alpha was about to speak.
He turned to face me, still holding my hand. Up close, his eyes caught the firelight, ember-dark, molten. The bond hummed between us, steady and strong, but under it tonight there was a bright, nervous thread I’d rarely felt from him.
He was… anxious.
For me.
“Lyris,” he said quietly, just for my ears. “If you’re not ready, we can wait.”
My throat tightened. “And let Nyra push you into the river for nothing? I don’t think so.”
His mouth curved. The tension eased at the corners of his eyes. Through the bond, a rush of affection and pride poured into me, warm as the fire.
He squeezed my fingers once, then let go and stepped forward.
The packhouse fell fully silent.
Coren’s gaze swept over them all—our wolves, our children, the humans who had chosen to live under our protection. When he spoke, his voice carried with the quiet authority that made people listen even before they processed the words.
“We’ve seen enough of blood and fear this year,” he said. “Tonight is for the things we fight for. For full bellies, loud music, and pups who don’t know what war smells like.”
A ripple of laughter, soft agreement.
“And,” he added, and his eyes came back to me, “for choosing the ones who stand at our side.”
My lungs forgot how to work.
“Lyris has been my heart longer than most of you knew,” he said, not looking away from me. “She has kept our wounded breathing, our children safe, our hotheads stitched together, and me… somewhat sane.”
Someone hooted. Jarek, probably. Heat flooded my cheeks.
“She has stood with us in every dark night,” he went on, “and I intend to stand with her in every one still coming. Not as an alpha claiming a luna because a council says it is time. As a man choosing the woman who already chose us all.”
The air felt thick as honey. My hands trembled. Through the bond, his sincerity burned—no politics, no calculation. Just him, laid bare in front of everyone.
“Lyris,” he said, stepping forward, hand extended, “will you—”
The scream cut him off.
Sharp, high, wrong. Not fear from a pup or a startled laugh. A patrol whistle, amplified by wolf lungs from the treeline beyond the lanterns.
My insides turned to ice.
Soren burst into the edge of the clearing in wolf form, fur bristling, eyes glowing hot gold. He skidded to a stop, shifting mid-stride, bones cracking, fur sliding back into skin. By the time he stumbled into the light he was human again, barely, dragging on pants someone shoved into his hand.
“Alpha!” he shouted, voice raw. “North border—”
He didn’t have to finish. The bond snapped taut, Coren’s focus slamming from me to the edges of our territory in an instant.
Behind Soren, a second wolf staggered into view, bleeding from a deep gash along his side. The sharp, bitter chemical stench I’d noticed on the road hit my nose like a fist.
Not a fluke. Not old.
Here.
“Get the pups inside!” Maelis barked, already moving. Her calm was gone, replaced by the crisp, clipped tone of someone who’d seen too many of these.
The clearing erupted.
Selune scooped up her baby and grabbed Rafi by the collar, dragging him toward the house. Branik threw an arm around Lunea, shielding her as he hustled her away. Dargan snapped orders at two of the older teens, sending them to bar the doors.
My healer’s brain kicked in. I lunged toward the bleeding wolf, catching him under the arm as his knees buckled. “Table,” I snapped. “Now.”
Jarek and Nyra materialized at my sides, hauling him toward the rough bench near the food tables. Blood smeared across his ribs, thick and dark against his pale skin.
“What happened?” Coren demanded, already halfway between me and the treeline, torn.
“Scouts,” Soren gasped. “Just outside the wards. Didn’t cross. Threw something—” He coughed. “Trap. Chemical. It burned through the shield and—”
His gaze flicked to me. Just for a second. The meaning was clear: they’d aimed where they knew I’d pass.
“You should go,” I told Coren, pressing a cloth to the gash, my hands already slick. “They’re testing us. Again.”
“I’m not leaving you without—”
“I have Jarek, Nyra, half the pack, and Maelis,” I snapped. “You have the border.”
Our eyes locked. The bond shuddered with his conflict—wolf howling to stay, alpha already calculating routes and risks. A heartbeat later, duty won.
“Stay inside the wards,” he ordered, voice dropping into pure alpha command that thrummed through every bone in the clearing. “No one leaves the clearing or the house without my say.”
“Yes, alpha,” I said, not because he’d ordered it, but because for once, we were in absolute agreement.
He gave Soren a short nod. “With me.”
In three strides they were at the treeline, bodies stretching, bones reshaping, fur bursting along their skin as they shifted. Two wolves—one dark as midnight, one storm-gray—disappeared into the shadows.
The music lay strangled where it had stopped. Lanterns flickered in the sudden wind.
Under my palms, blood warmed my fingers. The wounded scout groaned, and I bent over him, blocking out the whispers, the frightened eyes, the way the festival had shattered in a single breath.
Later, I thought, as I worked. Later we’d talk about ceremonies and titles and promises made under moonlight.
For now, the only promise that mattered was the one pulsing through the bond:
Come back. Alive.
- Writer
