EPISODE 16:FIGHT FOR AUTHORITY
1136 Words
Nyra POV
The clearing felt wrong.
Not because of the blood soaking in the earth, or the copper tang clinging to the air. Not even because of the collector’s words still echoing in my head, crawling under my skin like parasites.
It was the silence afterward that set my nerves on edge.
The forest should have been alive again by now—crickets returning, night birds calling, leaves whispering secrets to the wind. Instead, it held its breath. Every tree stood rigid, every shadow stretched too long, as though the land itself was waiting to see what we would do next.
The pack gathered around the injured scout near the edge of the clearing. He lay on his side, pale and shaking, blood crusted along his ribs where claws had torn through the flesh. Rowan crouched beside him, his presence steady despite the injury he carried himself. His voice was low, controlled, alpha-calm even when the air reeked of danger.
I stayed a few steps back.
My wolf refused to settle. Her hackles remained raised, muscles tight, senses stretched thin. I tasted fear in the wind—but beneath it was something else.
Something familiar.
Too familiar.
“I didn’t hear them coming,” the scout rasped, breath hitching as he spoke. “No scent warning. No boundary tremor. Nothing.”
Rowan’s jaw tightened, a muscle ticking near his temple. “That’s impossible.”
I stiffened.
The boundary wasn’t just an invisible line drawn through the forest. It was layered with wards—ancient, carefully woven, tied into blood and bone and land. Every wolf in the pack knew the feeling when it was crossed. A pulse through the spine. A subtle shift in the air. A warning that hummed through instinct before thought could catch up.
Unless…
“Unless someone let them in,” I said quietly.
The words fell into the clearing like a stone dropped into deep water.
Ripples spread instantly.
Several wolves turned toward me. Shock flashed across some faces. Denial hardened others. Anger sparked fast and bright.
“That’s not funny,” someone snapped from the back of the group.
“I’m not joking,” I replied, forcing my voice to stay steady even as my wolf bristled, teeth itching to bare. “The collectors didn’t force their way through. They walked in.”
Silence followed—thick, suffocating.
Rowan looked at me then. Not surprised.
Grim.
“I was hoping you were wrong,” he said.
The realization settled heavy in my chest, dragging my breath down with it. An inside traitor meant the fight wasn’t just at the borders anymore. It wasn’t something we could track, scent, or drive back into the dark.
It was already among us.
Rowan rose to his feet, rolling his shoulders despite the stiffness in his movements. His presence snapped the pack into attention instantly.
“No one leaves,” he ordered. “No one shifts without permission. We regroup in the den. Now.”
No one argued.
The walk back felt longer than it should have. Every snapping twig made my muscles tighten. Every rustle of leaves had my wolf turning, ready to strike. The pack moved in tense silence, formation tighter than usual, eyes darting toward shadows that hadn’t felt threatening before tonight.
Every packmate suddenly felt like a question mark.
Who knew the wards?
Who had access?
Who stood close enough to Rowan to betray him?
The den lights glowed warm when we arrived—a soft amber ward-light that usually brought comfort. Tonight, it felt like a lie. A thin veil stretched over something rotten.
Wolves shifted back into human form as we entered, tension thick enough to choke on. Conversations stayed hushed. Trust frayed at the edges. Eyes lingered where they never had before.
Rowan pulled me aside near the stone corridor that led deeper into the den. The walls there were carved with old runes—protective marks laid down generations ago.
“You sensed it before I did,” he said quietly.
“I felt it during the fight,” I admitted. “The collectors moved like they knew our patterns. Like they’d trained with us.”
His eyes darkened. “There are only five wolves who know the boundary spells.”
My stomach dropped. “Five?”
“Me,” he said. “You. The healer. Mara. And the ward keeper.”
The words had barely settled when a scream cut through the den.
Sharp. Female. Close.
The healer.
Rowan and I moved at the same time.
We sprinted down the corridor, boots pounding against stone. The door to the healer’s chamber hung open, splintered along one edge. Inside, chaos reigned.
Overturned tables. Crushed herbs ground into the floor. Shelves torn from the walls.
Blood smeared across stone.
The healer lay unconscious beside her bed, breathing shallow but steady. A dark bruise bloomed along her temple, and blood matted her hair. My wolf snarled, rage surging hot and fast.
“They silenced her,” I growled.
“No,” Rowan said slowly, eyes scanning the room, sharp and calculating. “She was attacked from inside.”
My gaze followed his.
A jagged symbol had been carved into the stone near the bed.
A crescent.
The same mark I had seen on the collector woman’s neck.
Footsteps echoed behind us.
Too many.
I turned just as Eryk stepped into the doorway.
The ward keeper.
His expression was calm. Too calm. Ward-light clung faintly to his skin, responding to him the way it always did. Behind him stood two guards, tense but uncertain, clearly waiting for instruction.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Eryk said evenly.
Rowan straightened, every inch of him Alpha. “Explain.”
Eryk’s gaze flicked to the crescent, then back to Rowan. “The healer was planning to leave the pack.”
My heart slammed against my ribs. “That’s a lie.”
“Is it?” Eryk asked mildly. “Or is that what you want to believe?”
The air shifted.
I felt it before it happened—the subtle pull of energy unraveling, like threads being drawn loose. The wards around the den trembled, their hum faltering.
Someone was opening them.
Rowan’s eyes widened. “Nyra—move!”
Too late.
The ground beneath us cracked with a surge of power as the den’s protective barrier collapsed inward. Cold air rushed in, violent and sharp, carrying the unmistakable scent of collectors.
Predators.
Hungry.
Close.
Eryk smiled.
Not wide. Not cruel.
Certain.
“You should have killed me when you had the chance,” he said softly.
My wolf exploded forward, fury and betrayal colliding in my veins as the truth finally settled into place.
Because the enemy hadn’t been knocking at our gates.
He had been holding the keys all along.
- Writer
