28. Outsider
1139 Words
= Amara =
If there was one thing I’d learned in the short time since I’d crossed into Veyrath territory, it was this: weakness was blood in the water. And these people—these wolves—were apex predators through and through.
The pack stood gathered beneath towering pines, their bodies forming loose clusters around the wide stone platform at the center of the clearing. Torches burned low despite the open sky, flames flickering against faces twisted in expressions they didn’t bother to hide.
Disgust. Suspicion. Outright hatred.
Some stared at me as if I were something rotten dragged in from the outskirts of their world. Others looked… eager. Like they were waiting for permission to tear me apart.
So this was what it felt like to be known.
Apparently, everyone here knew exactly who I was.
I swallowed and forced myself to keep walking, my shoescrunching softly over gravel as I followed the path laid out for me. My heart hammered against my ribs, but I refused to let it show. I refused to shrink.
I hadn’t realized I was quite so… famous.
Not that it mattered.
I wasn’t here to win anyone over. I wasn’t here to be liked. Whatever story they’d already decided to tell about me—outsider, burden, curse—it didn’t change the reason I stood in this clearing now.
Or the man waiting at its center.
Mikael stood atop the stone platform, tall and immovable, his presence commanding without him saying a word. His aura rolled outward in controlled waves—power restrained only by choice.
When his gaze found mine, something inside my chest tightened.
Not fear.
Something far more dangerous.
Recognition.
I took my place at the edge of the platform, slightly behind him, exactly where I’d been instructed to stand. I could feel the heat of his presence even from there, steady and grounding in a way that unsettled me more than the hostility surrounding us.
The murmurs started almost immediately.
“She’s the outsider.”
“That’s her?”
“She doesn’t look like much.”
“I heard she was an…outcast?”
A ripple of agreement followed.
I clenched my fists at my sides.
Breathe, Amara.
Mikael lifted a hand.
The effect was instant.
The clearing fell into silence so abrupt it felt unnatural, like sound itself had been ripped away. Every head bowed slightly—not in submission, but respect. Authority here was unquestioned.
Mikael waited a beat longer than necessary, ensuring their attention was absolute, before he spoke.
“Tonight,” he began, his voice deep and resonant, “I commend everyone’s duties.”
The pack listened, rapt.
“We gather today because Veyrath stands at the edge of change.”
A stir ran through the crowd.
I stared straight ahead, my senses hyper-aware of every movement, every breath. Mikael continued, speaking of territory, of alliances, of strength and unity. His words were measured, deliberate—crafted to reassure without revealing too much.
This wasn’t a casual gathering.
This was politics.
“And in times like these,” Mikael said, “the pack must be reminded of who we are—and who we stand with.”
His gaze swept over them, sharp and unyielding.
I could feel the tension building, coiling tighter with every passing second.
Then it happened.
A man from the middle of the crowd stepped forward, emboldened by numbers and ignorance. He was broad-shouldered, his scent sharp with aggression and poorly masked curiosity.
“Alpha,” he called out, his tone respectful but edged with mockery. “If I may ask.”
Mikael’s eyes flicked toward him. “Speak.”
The man’s gaze slid to me.
Straight through me.
“Why is an…enemy standing among us tonight?”
The silence that followed was charged.
I felt every stare snap back to me, sharper than before. My skin prickled, instincts screaming even as I forced myself not to move.
Another voice joined in, this one female and amused.
“Is she an offering?”
A beat.
Then laughter.
It spread fast—low chuckles, cruel snorts, voices layering over one another as the idea took root.
“A sacrifice,” someone said with a grin.
“That would explain it.”
“She does look fragile.”
My stomach twisted.
I told myself not to react. Not to give them the satisfaction of seeing me flinch. Hands trembling, I curled my fingers tighter into my palms.
The laughter swelled.
And then—
It stopped.
Not gradually.
Instantly.
Mikael’s aura exploded outward.
The ground beneath the platform vibrated, a low, ominous hum rippling through the clearing. Torches flared violently, flames stretching high as if bowing to his rage. The air grew dense, suffocating.
“Enough.”
The single word cracked like thunder.
Every wolf froze.
The man who had spoken first paled, taking an involuntary step back as Mikael turned fully toward the crowd. I had never seen such controlled fury—sharp, lethal, restrained only by will.
“You mock what you do not understand,” Mikael said, his voice cold. “And you dare do so in my presence.”
No one laughed now.
No one even breathed.
Mikael gestured toward me.
“This woman is not an offering.”
His gaze hardened further.
“She is not a sacrifice.”
He paused, letting the weight of his next words settle deep into the bones of every wolf present.
“She is the future Luna of Veyrath.”
The world tilted.
For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
The clearing erupted—not with laughter this time, but shock. Gasps tore through the crowd, voices rising in disbelief, outrage, confusion.
“What?”
“That’s impossible—”
“An outsider?”
“Our enemy!”
I felt like the ground had vanished beneath my feet.
Future… Luna?
My heart slammed violently against my ribs as my mind scrambled to catch up. I stared at Mikael’s back, searching for any sign this was a cruel misunderstanding.
He didn’t look back.
He stood firm, immovable, daring them to challenge him.
“I will not repeat myself,” he said over the uproar. “Amara stands here because she belongs here.”
Belongs.
The word struck deeper than anything else that night.
Some faces twisted with fury. Others with fear. A few—very few—looked at me with something like awe.
I didn’t know which reaction terrified me more.
Mikael finally turned his head, just slightly, enough that I could see his profile. His voice dropped, carrying only to me.
“Stand straight,” he murmured. “They smell doubt.”
I swallowed hard and obeyed.
Because whether I was ready or not—whether I wanted this or not—the pack had been given an answer.
- Writer
