The Luna's Dark Protector

Whispers in the Hall

The discovery of the signs in the Council Chamber was a poison spreading through the veins of Silvermane Keep. It could not be contained. By midday, it was the only thing anyone spoke of, and the whispers slithered through the stone corridors like ghosts.

Elara walked through the Great Hall, now set for the pack’s common meal. The atmosphere was a far cry from the coronation feast. The air was thick with the smell of roasted meat and fresh bread, but underneath lay a sharper scent: fear, and the bitter tang of suspicion. Heads turned as she passed, conversations hushing before resuming in lower, more urgent tones.

She heard the pieces of her own story, fractured and reflected at her in distorted shapes.

“…pulled it right from the stone, they say. With his bare hand. The shadows did his bidding…”

“…why would the Alpha allow such a creature near our Luna? It’s an affront to the Moon Goddess…”

“…my cousin served at the outpost near the Cursed Mire. He spoke of a man there who walked through shadows. They called him a Soul-Drinker. Said he fed on the light of others…”

Elara kept her spine straight, her gaze fixed ahead. Kael walked two paces behind her, a living void that seemed to suck the sound from the space around them. The stares he received were no longer just curious; they were openly hostile, terrified. He was the physical manifestation of their fear, the perfect scapegoat.

She took her place at the high table. Theron was already there, deep in murmured conversation with a stony-faced Captain of the Guard. Kaelen sat to her left, the picture of elegant concern. He offered her a plate of fruit.

“You look pale, my dear. The morning’s… revelations… have shaken us all.” His voice was a soothing balm, expertly applied.

She took the plate without looking at him, her mind replaying the look in his eyes when the rune was revealed. “It’s a lot to process.”

“Of course.” He leaned closer, his scent of sandalwood and snow cloying. “It’s precisely why we must not let fear divide us. This… Shadow-Stalker… his methods are terrifying the pack. My own people are uneasy. His presence may be doing more harm than good.”

The political needle, threaded once more. She finally turned to look at him. “He uncovered the threat, Kaelen. A threat that’s apparently been under our feet for years.”

Kaelen’s smile was gentle, patronizing. “Or he created a spectacle to make himself indispensable. It’s an old trick, Elara. Create a problem only you can solve.” He placed a warm hand over hers on the table. “I only worry for you. You’re surrounded by danger on all sides real and imagined. I want you to feel safe.”

The touch felt like a spider crawling on her skin. She gently extracted her hand. “Safety seems to be a rare commodity these days.”

At the lower tables, the whispers coalesced into a more sinister story. A grizzled old hunter, his face a roadmap of scars, held court, his voice carrying.

“…not the first time a stalker has been among us. My grandfather’s time. The Blackwood Pack.” The name dropped like a stone in a pond, spreading ripples of silence. “They took in a Stalker, too. To guard their Luna. A female, she was fiery and young. They say he became… obsessed. When their rivals, the Frostfangs, attacked, the stories say the Stalker didn’t fight for the pack. He fought to keep her. And when he saw she would be taken, that she would belong to another…” The hunter lowered his voice to a gravelly whisper. “They say he shadow-kissed her. Not a kiss of love. One that steals the soul. He took her light with him into the dark rather than let anyone else have her. Left the whole pack to die in the snow.”

A collective shiver went through the listeners. The tale was a perfect perversion: the protector as a possessive monster, love twisted into a murderous, final claim. It reframed Kael’s intense focus on Elara not as duty, but as potential obsession.

Elara’s blood ran cold. She felt Kael’s stillness behind her deepen into something absolute. He had heard.

Lady Lyra, Theron’s viper-tongued cousin, appeared at Elara’s side as if conjured by the dark tale. She shimmered in amber silk, her smile sharp enough to draw blood.

“Pay the old fools no mind, dear cousin,” she purred, pouring wine into Elara’s cup. “They need a monster to explain the monster. But the real thinkers… we see the deeper game.” Her eyes, cunning as a fox’s, darted to Theron, then to Kael. “Your brother is a strategist, Elara. Perhaps appointing a creature so terrifying is a masterstroke. What enemy would dare strike at a Luna guarded by a legend of nightmares?” She leaned in, her whisper a venomous silk. “And, of course, should our new Luna ever prove… difficult to manage, too headstrong for her own good… who would question a tragic accident? A protector, pushed beyond his limits by a rebellious charge. So very… unfortunate. And so very final.”

Elara froze, the wine turning to acid in her mouth. She looked at Theron. He was listening to his captain, his profile stern. Had he considered this? Was Kael not just her shield, but her brother’s leash and his potential executioner?

Before she could process Lyra’s poison, a commotion erupted at the hall’s entrance. A young scout, still in his travel-stained leathers, staggered in, supported by two guards. He was gaunt, his eyes wild. “Alpha!” he croaked, his voice raw. “The western patrol… we found them at Sunfall Ridge.”

Theron was on his feet. “Found them? Report, soldier!”

The scout’s gaze swept the room, landing on Elara with a kind of terrified awe before skipping to Kael and flinching away. “Not dead, Alpha. Not… not right. They’re just standing there. In a circle. In the old stone ring. They won’t speak. Won’t move. Their eyes…” He shuddered. “Their eyes are open, but they’re not there. And around their necks…”

“What?” Theron barked.

The scout’s voice dropped to a horrified whisper. “Freshly carved totems. Our own Silvermane sigil.”

A new wave of shock rolled through the hall. Not just Stonefang. Now Silvermane’s own were being marked, turned into vacant, standing stones.

Kaelen stood abruptly, his chair scraping. “This proves the blight is indiscriminate! It mocks our symbols, our alliances! We are all victims here!”

But Kael, from his post, spoke, his voice cutting through the panic like a knife through fog. “A circle at Sunfall Ridge. The old ring is a place of celestial alignment. It’s not a mockery. It’s a pattern. A second marker.” His stormy eyes locked with Theron’s. “They are being placed. Like points on a map. To triangulate.”

“Triangulate what?” Theron demanded, but the dread in his eyes said he already knew.

Kael’s gaze swung, slowly, deliberately, to Elara. “The source of the brightest light.”

The entire hall seemed to hold its breath, every wolf realizing the same terrifying truth. The attacks, the markers they weren’t random assaults. They were surveying. Mapping. And the Luna was the coordinates.

In the ringing silence that followed, a soft, melodic humming began.

It came from the center of the high table.

From the ornate, silver-gilt centerpiece a sculpted howling wolf with a moon gripped in its jaws.

The metal wolf’s head turned, with a tiny, grinding sound of rusted gears, to look directly at Elara. Its jeweled eyes began to glow with a soft, familiar green light.

Then it spoke, its voice a metallic, chiming version of the lullaby from her poisoned tea.

“Little Luna… we hear your heart beat. We taste your fear. The map is drawn. The key is here.”

The wolf’s metal jaws clacked open and shut. “We are in the stone. We are in the stories. We are in the silver… and in your betrothed’s promises.”

With a final, fading chime, the green light died. The centerpiece was just metal again.

The hall erupted into pure pandemonium. Wolves scrambled back, overturning benches. Theron roared for order.

But Elara was staring at Kaelen.

He stood frozen, all color drained from his face. Not the shocked outrage of the others, but the pure, unadulterated terror of a secret laid bare. The centerpiece had not just threatened. It had taunted. And it had linked the corruption directly to him.

The whispers in the hall had just been given a voice. And it had named her prince as part of the poison.

Kael took a single, silent step forward, placing himself fully between Elara and Kaelen, his body a wall of promised violence. The message was clear: the political game was over. The hunt was on.

And the most dangerous wolf in the room might be the one wearing the crown of an ally.