CHAPTER FIVE
1006 Words
ALLESIA'S POV
If there’s one thing I’ve learned in this house of wolves, it’s that silence is rarely safe.
Too much silence means someone is plotting.
Too little means they’re doing it right in front of you.
Right now, I have the wrong kind of silence.
I stand alone in the training yard at dawn, gripping a dulled practice blade. My shoulders ache from hours of drills Lira barked at me until she got bored and left me here — an unclaimed Luna with bruises as proof I don’t bend easily.
A few warriors linger along the fence, pretending to practice while their eyes keep sliding back to me. Some flinch when I meet their gaze. Others hold it too long, daring me to break first.
I don’t.
I swing again, harder, the blade biting into the training dummy with a satisfying c***k. My breath clouds in the morning chill, hair sticking to my neck.
“Impressive.”
I don’t have to turn to know who it is.
Rowen’s voice slithers under my skin like a thorn.
“Go away.”
He ignores me, stepping closer. His scent is sweat, old smoke, the rotted sweetness of someone who smiles while sharpening a knife behind your back.
“Training so early? What would your Alpha say?”
I whirl, blade leveled at his throat. He doesn’t flinch.
“He’d say I’m not wasting time playing wolf politics with traitors.”
He laughs softly. “Traitors? My lady, you wound me.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Why not? You’re his Luna, aren’t you?” He takes another step, so close I can see the faint scar running along his jaw. “Except you’re not marked. Not claimed. Not really his at all.”
I grip the sword so tight my knuckles burn. “Take another step, Rowen. I swear to the moon—”
He tilts his head, mock curiosity dripping from every word. “What? You’ll kill me? Right here? In front of your new pack?”
The warriors watching pretend not to hear, but I feel the way they tense. Waiting to see which wolf shows their throat first.
I lower the blade a fraction — not because I’m backing down, but because I know what he wants.
A fight.
An excuse to call me the curse he whispers about in the shadows.
I smile instead. Sweet. Venomous.
“No, Rowen. I won’t kill you.” I flick my wrist and tap the tip of the blade against his chest — light enough to tease, hard enough to remind him I could. “I’ll let your lies rot you from the inside. That’s always slower. More satisfying.”
His smile falters. Just a flicker. Good.
“Careful, princess. You’re sounding like one of us.”
“No,” I murmur, leaning close enough to taste his fear. “I’m worse.”
I toss the blade aside and stalk past him, my boots crunching frost underfoot.
Behind me, I hear him mutter to the others, voice oily and thick with poison.
“She’ll ruin us all. Just wait. Blackthorn’s b***h will drown this pack in blood.”
Back in my chambers, my pulse still rattles my ribs. I strip out of my sweat-soaked tunic and wash at the basin until my arms sting.
I catch my reflection in the silvered glass above the water.
I barely recognize her.
Not the girl who danced at court, draped in silk and false promises.
Not the daughter who once believed the council’s justice was pure.
No — this girl has teeth.
And every bruise is a reminder that she’s still alive.
A soft knock interrupts my thoughts.
It’s not Damian — I’d feel him through the bond before he even touched the door.
I pull the latch open to find a young servant girl — no older than fifteen, clutching a folded scrap of parchment so tight her knuckles are white.
She thrusts it at me, eyes darting toward the corridor behind her. “They said I should give you this. Please don’t tell—”
I grab her wrist. “Who?”
Her mouth opens. Closes. She shakes her head hard and bolts before I can stop her.
I look down at the paper.
The same rough parchment as the note I burned last night.
With trembling fingers, I unfold it.
Four words this time, scrawled in the same harsh hand:
“The walls have eyes.”
My blood chills.
I spin, scanning every corner of my room — the shadows, the carved wolf gargoyle near the ceiling, the vent in the far wall.
How close have they been, watching me?
How much have they seen?
I barely hear the door open again. I whip around, blade drawn from my belt without thinking — only to find Damian filling the doorway, eyes dark, jaw tight.
He takes in the paper in my hand, the fear I haven’t buried fast enough.
“What is it?”
I shove it at his chest, stepping into him so he can’t look away. “Your wolves whisper in the dark, Damian. They watch. They want me gone. Or worse.”
His hand closes over the note. He doesn’t look at it. He only looks at me.
“You are mine to protect.”
The words land like a promise. Or a curse.
I want to believe him.
But I remember my father’s blood on polished marble, the council’s lies, the price of trusting the wrong wolf.
I step back, swallowing the growl clawing at my throat. “Then protect me.”
He brushes a thumb across my jaw — tender where the world has only been cruel.
Then, through the open window behind him, a wolf’s howl splits the night.
Panicked. Warning.
And Damian’s voice drops to a growl I feel in my bones:
“They’ve come too close. Stay here. Do not follow me.”
But as the door slams shut behind him, I already know—I will.
- Writer
