The scent of wolves was everywhere, thick and unyielding, filling every corner of the packhouse with a presence that felt both ancient and immovable. I forced myself to keep my steps steady, my breaths shallow. They didn’t need to see my discomfort; they already mistrusted me enough. Every stare in the room was a reminder that, for them, I was the enemy.
But here I was, standing before the wolves, asking for what none of my kind had ever dared ask—a plea for help, an alliance with the creatures we had once looked down upon. I tightened my jaw, letting the weight of my words settle in my mind before I spoke them aloud. Failure wasn’t an option; my coven’s survival depended on this.
Maeve, the Alpha, stood before me, her gaze unflinching. She watched me with an intensity that felt as thoug
