Chapter 2: Banished
1086 Words
Pain.
That was the first thing I felt as I drifted between shadows and waking.
Burning, stinging, bone-deep pain. My ribs throbbed. My back ached. Every breath sent sharp knives through my lungs.
I wasn’t dead.
I could feel that much.
Something warm wrapped around me. Fur? A cloak? I didn’t know. My limbs were too heavy to move. My vision refused to clear. I only caught flashes—moonlight on snow, the rhythm of padded feet moving fast beneath me, a heartbeat that wasn’t mine.
I was being carried.
Not by a man.
By a wolf.
Huge. Powerful. Jet-black fur. Gold eyes I swore I saw in the dark.
I faded again.
---
When I woke again, I wasn’t in the forest.
I was lying on soft fur blankets, the scent of smoke and pine in the air. A fire crackled nearby, casting golden shadows across stone walls. I sat up with a groan, wincing as fresh pain radiated from my side.
I touched the bandages. Clean. Fresh. My robe was gone, replaced with a soft tunic I didn’t recognize.
Where was I?
The room was large—too large. The ceilings arched like a cathedral, carved from dark stone and veins of obsidian. A heavy door stood opposite the fireplace. Tapestries embroidered with strange symbols hung on the walls.
This wasn’t any place I knew.
It wasn’t Crescent Moon territory.
A door creaked open.
I flinched, grabbing the nearest object—a candlestick—as a weapon.
The man who entered paused, expression unreadable.
He was tall. Towering. Dressed in black with silver clasps down his chest. His skin was pale like winter snow, and his eyes—those eyes—were burning gold.
I recognized them.
The black wolf.
He raised an eyebrow. “You’re awake.”
I didn’t speak. I didn’t trust my voice.
“You were nearly dead when I found you,” he said coolly. “What happened?”
I hesitated.
He crossed the room slowly, movements graceful but deadly. He reminded me of a predator who didn’t need to rush. Power clung to him like a cloak. He wasn’t just a wolf. He was something more.
“Your silence tells me everything,” he murmured. “You were rejected.”
My lips parted. “How… how do you know?”
His jaw tightened. “Because I’ve smelled it before.”
I looked away, shame blooming hot in my chest.
He didn’t push. He sat in a chair near the fire and poured something into a silver cup.
“Drink,” he said, placing it on the table near me. “It’ll dull the pain.”
I didn’t move.
He studied me for a moment. “Do you know who I am?”
I shook my head.
“I am Lucien Blackthorne. King of the Midnight Pack.”
My breath caught. I’d heard the name whispered like a curse among wolves.
The Midnight Pack wasn’t a myth.
It was real. And I was in it.
“I don’t understand,” I rasped. “Why save me?”
Lucien’s eyes darkened. “Because the Moon has a strange sense of humor. And I don’t let rogues slaughter in my territory.”
His voice dropped. “Especially not females carrying that scent.”
I blinked. “What scent?”
He stood. “Rest. You’ll need your strength.”
---
Later that night, I slipped from the bed and crept toward the door.
I didn’t trust him. I didn’t belong here. I needed to go—
The moment my hand touched the handle, I heard it.
A growl. Deep. Warning. Deadly.
I froze.
Lucien stood behind me, shirtless now, eyes glowing in the firelight.
“You leave, you die,” he said plainly.
I turned slowly. “I never asked for your help.”
“No,” he agreed. “But now you owe me. And in my court, debts are paid.”
My heart thundered. “What do you want from me?”
He took a step closer. “Nothing. Yet.”
I backed up, but my spine hit the wall.
He didn’t touch me. He didn’t have to. His presence was like gravity—impossible to escape.
“You’re not just a rejected mate,” Lucien said softly. “There’s something… wrong about your scent. Something incomplete. I’ve never smelled a wolf like you.”
“I don’t have a wolf,” I whispered.
“Not yet,” he corrected. “But she’s there. Buried. Waiting.”
“Waiting for what?”
His eyes searched mine.
“For the right bond to break the cage she’s trapped in.”
I didn’t understand. None of this made sense.
But something deep in my chest—something ancient—fluttered at his words.
---
The next morning, a woman with silver hair entered the room. She didn’t speak, but handed me folded clothes. Soft leggings, a dark blue tunic, and boots far too fine for someone like me.
I dressed in silence.
When I emerged from the room, I found myself in a grand hallway with obsidian columns and silver-tipped torches lining the walls. Everything here was dark, sharp, cold—but not cruel. Not like Crescent Moon.
Lucien was waiting at the end.
He nodded once. “Come.”
He led me outside to a balcony that overlooked the most breathtaking sight I had ever seen.
The palace was carved into the side of a black mountain. Far below, wolves trained in the snow, some in human form, some shifted. The sky was steel gray. The air smelled of frost and power.
“This is my kingdom,” Lucien said. “It is not ruled by Elders or weak alphas. Here, strength decides survival.”
“And what am I?” I whispered. “Weak?”
He turned to me, and for the first time, there was no ice in his voice.
“No,” he said. “You are something… waiting to rise.”
---
Back in Crescent Moon, Alpha Damon stood before the council, frowning.
“She’s… gone,” he muttered. “Her scent disappears past the forest border.”
“You rejected her,” Beta Caleb said. “Why do you care?”
Damon’s face darkened. “Because… I’ve been dreaming of her.”
“The Moon is playing tricks,” Elder Ronan said.
Damon clenched his jaw. “She was mine. She still is.”
But the Moon had already chosen again.
And she had chosen a King.
- Writer
