Chapter 7 — The Wolves Who Were Sent to Die
1389 Words
The neutral forest did not belong to any pack.
No scent marks.
No patrol routes.
No dominance.
Only old trees and older secrets.
The wind moved differently here—quieter, heavier. As if even the air refused to take sides.
A single lantern burned inside a canvas tent near the riverbank.
Inside, an old wolf sat at a wooden table carved by hand.
Dickens had once been powerful. His shoulders were still broad, though age had bent them slightly. His hair had gone white long ago, but his eyes remained sharp.
He did not startle when the tent flap shifted.
He did not reach for a weapon.
“You took your time,” Dickens said calmly.
A tall figure stepped inside.
Coat dark. Shoulders wide. Movements silent.
Stanton.
The wild wolf.
No pack mark.
No territorial scent layered into his skin.
Only wilderness.
He closed the flap behind him without a word.
Dickens poured a second cup of something dark and steaming.
“You’re bleeding,” the old wolf noted.
Stanton glanced at his forearm.
“Not mine.”
Dickens raised a brow slightly but said nothing.
Silence settled between them.
Then Stanton reached into his coat and placed something on the table.
A photograph.
Dickens looked down.
His eyes narrowed.
A young woman stared back at him.
Dark hair. Sharp gaze. Controlled posture.
Recognition flickered.
“That one,” Dickens said quietly.
Stanton’s voice was low, rough from disuse.
“Is she their daughter?”
Dickens didn’t answer immediately.
He picked up the photograph slowly.
Studied it longer.
Then nodded once.
“Yes.”
Stanton’s jaw tightened.
“They came here.”
It wasn’t a question.
Dickens exhaled slowly.
“They did.”
“Looking for shelter.”
“Yes.”
“From whom?”
Dickens’ eyes lifted.
“You already know.”
Stanton didn’t blink.
“The Alpha.”
Dickens nodded.
“They were the best hunters that pack had ever trained.”
Stanton’s fingers curled slightly.
“Stronger than his sons.”
“Yes.”
“Loyal?”
Dickens’ mouth curved faintly.
“They believed in balance.”
“Not obedience.”
“Exactly.”
The lantern flickered.
“They came here three nights before they disappeared,” Dickens continued.
“Why?”
“Because they had discovered something.”
Stanton’s eyes sharpened.
“What?”
Dickens leaned back slowly.
“They uncovered proof that the Alpha had been trading border information to provoke smaller conflicts.”
Stanton’s expression darkened.
“To justify expansion.”
“Yes.”
“And to consolidate power.”
Dickens studied him.
“You understand this game well for someone without a pack.”
Stanton ignored the remark.
“He threatened them.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Dickens’ jaw tightened.
“He told them if they refused the mission, their daughter would suffer.”
The air in the tent shifted.
Colder.
Stanton’s voice dropped.
“What mission?”
Dickens met his gaze.
“A hunt beyond the western ravine.”
Stanton didn’t move.
“The rival territory.”
“Yes.”
“They were sent to provoke retaliation.”
“Yes.”
“And die.”
Dickens didn’t correct him.
Silence thickened.
Stanton’s hand pressed flat against the table.
“You were there.”
Dickens’ eyes flickered.
“I watched them leave.”
“Did you warn them?”
“They already knew.”
Stanton’s jaw tightened.
“They chose to go.”
“Yes.”
“To protect her.”
Dickens nodded once.
Stanton’s gaze dropped briefly to the photograph.
“She doesn’t know.”
“No.”
Stanton’s breathing shifted—subtle, controlled.
Dickens watched him carefully.
“There are whispers,” the old wolf added. “That you were involved.”
The silence that followed was long.
Heavy.
Stanton did not speak.
He did not look away.
After several seconds—
He nodded.
Once.
Dickens’ eyes darkened.
“You killed them?”
Stanton’s voice was barely above a whisper.
“I finished what was started.”
The words carried no pride.
No satisfaction.
Dickens leaned back slowly.
“They fought well?”
“Yes.”
“They died fighting?”
“Yes.”
The old wolf closed his eyes briefly.
“They deserved better.”
Stanton’s fingers tightened around the edge of the table.
“I didn’t know about the threat.”
Dickens opened his eyes.
“You were hired muscle.”
“Yes.”
“And now?”
Stanton’s gaze hardened.
“Now I am looking for truth.”
Dickens studied him carefully.
“And for her?”
Stanton didn’t deny it.
“She is the strongest wolf in that clan,” Dickens said quietly. “The most disciplined.”
“I’ve seen.”
“She is also bound.”
“To the heir.”
Dickens nodded.
“Bound by loyalty.”
Stanton’s jaw flexed.
“Is she his mate?”
Dickens shook his head slowly.
“No.”
Stanton’s eyes flickered.
“He has a mark.”
“Yes.”
“Then she is not his.”
“She is not his,” Dickens agreed. “But she belongs to the throne.”
Stanton’s gaze darkened.
“She belongs to no one.”
Dickens studied him.
“Careful.”
Stanton said nothing.
Dickens continued.
“She is loyal to the clan. But she is vulnerable to the Alpha’s son.”
“Because she loves him.”
“Yes.”
Stanton’s fingers tightened.
“He uses her.”
“Yes.”
“For power.”
“Yes.”
Silence fell again.
The lantern flame shifted in the draft.
“She is deep in the game,” Dickens said quietly. “Too deep.”
Stanton looked at the photograph once more.
“She deserves the truth.”
Dickens’ eyes sharpened.
“And what will that truth do?”
Stanton did not answer.
Dickens leaned forward slightly.
“If you approach her now, you destroy her.”
“Why?”
“Because she still believes in the structure that betrayed her parents.”
Stanton’s jaw hardened.
“That structure killed them.”
“Yes.”
“And you helped.”
Stanton did not deny it.
Dickens sighed.
“She is the best warrior they have.”
“I know.”
“She will defend them.”
“I know.”
“And if she learns you were there…”
Stanton’s voice cut low.
“She will try to kill me.”
Dickens held his gaze.
“Would you let her?”
A pause.
Long.
Then—
“Yes.”
The answer was not dramatic.
It was certain.
Dickens watched him for a long moment.
“You carry guilt.”
“I carry responsibility.”
“That is not the same.”
Stanton straightened.
“I need to know something.”
Dickens waited.
“If she is not the heir’s mate… then who is?”
Dickens’ lips curved faintly.
“That is the question the entire clan avoids.”
Stanton’s eyes narrowed.
“She has no mark.”
“No.”
“She is not claimed.”
“No.”
“But she will be.”
Dickens’ voice lowered.
“Sooner than she expects.”
Stanton’s expression sharpened.
“You sense it.”
“I sense imbalance.”
The old wolf pushed the photograph back toward Stanton.
“She is powerful.”
“Yes.”
“But power without truth is fragile.”
Stanton picked up the photograph.
“She is drowning,” Dickens added quietly. “In loyalty, in love, in lies.”
Stanton’s voice dropped.
“Then I will pull her out.”
Dickens’ eyes hardened.
“Or drag her deeper.”
Silence lingered.
Outside, wind moved through the trees.
Stanton turned toward the tent flap.
“Don’t approach her yet,” Dickens said.
Stanton paused.
“Why?”
“Because the heir watches her.”
Stanton’s eyes darkened.
“And if he discovers you?”
Stanton did not look back.
“He won’t.”
Dickens’ voice followed him.
“You underestimate politics.”
Stanton’s answer came from the shadows.
“I don’t underestimate anything.”
Then he disappeared into the forest.
Dickens remained seated for a long time.
Staring at the empty doorway.
At the place where wolves chose sides.
And at the girl who did not yet know—
She was born from betrayal.
- Writer
