The Wolfless Queen

CHAPTER 3

Adam moved through the southern forests long before the sun fully rose. He preferred to travel alone, away from the noise of other wolves. Silence helped him think. Silence helped him track. But the silence here felt wrong. Too complete. Too heavy.

The deeper he walked, the more the forest seemed to change around him. Branches hung low as if pressed down by invisible weight. The air felt thick and unmoving. Even the birds refused to sing. He paused once, listening hard, but nothing greeted him. No rustle of prey. No insects. Not even the faint heartbeat of small animals hiding underground.

It felt like stepping into a place the world had abandoned.

Adam tightened the strap on his pack and kept moving. The council expected answers. He did not usually care about politics or Alpha demands, but something about last night’s shadow had crawled under his skin. A creature without scent was not natural. Wolves recognized everything by scent. How do you track what leaves none? How do you hunt something that can stand inches from a window full of Alphas and not trigger a single instinct?

His wolf stirred uneasily. A low rumble echoed inside his chest, warning him something in these woods was not impressed by their presence.

He forced a slow breath and focused on the ground. He was close. He could feel it in the shift of the soil and the faint change in air pressure. The rogues had passed through here, but their trail was thin, almost forced away. Like someone had dragged an eraser over the world.

Then the trees opened. Adam stepped into the clearing of the first attack.

A large circle of blackened dirt stretched before him. Burned grass. Scorched earth. The scent of old smoke clung to the soil, mixed with something faintly metallic. Silver. He crouched, running his fingers through the ash. This much fire should have left obvious signs of a fight. Footprints. Blood. Bodies. Something. But the battlefield was wrong.

Someone had disturbed the ashes. Someone had erased every track with uncomfortable precision. Even the edges of the clearing looked too neat. Rogues did not clean after themselves. Wolves did not either. So who did?

Adam rose and scanned the treeline. Nothing moved. Nothing watched. Nothing breathed. His wolf hated it.

The primal part of him growled deep inside, a vibration against his ribs. It felt like standing in a graveyard that had not accepted it was a graveyard. Like the ground itself was carrying a memory it did not want to share.

Adam took a few steps toward the center of the clearing. His boots brushed something soft beneath a thin layer of leaves.

He froze.

Slowly, he crouched and pulled the leaves aside. A hand appeared. Pale. Still. Adam uncovered the rest.

A rogue lay half buried, face turned slightly to the side as if listening to someone in his final moment. The body showed no sign of attack. No claw marks. No bite wounds. No broken bones. Nothing that explained why he was dead.

It looked like the rogue had simply closed his eyes and stopped.

Peacefully.

Which made no sense. Rogues did not die peacefully. Moon sickness victims did not die peacefully either. Their deaths were violent. Their bodies convulsed. Their minds shattered. Fear remained even after life left them.

But this one looked calm. Too calm.

Adam pressed two fingers to the rogue’s neck out of habit, even though he already knew the answer. Cold. Long gone.

But the veins. Silver streaks trailed along the rogue’s throat, curling down into his collarbone like thin branches of metal under skin.

Moon sickness symptoms. Strong ones. Adam leaned closer, studying the expression on the dead face. No fear at all. No tension. No pain.

“How can someone with moon sickness die without pain?” he muttered under his breath. “Who drains fear out of a rogue?”

His wolf shuddered.

Something was wrong with the ground under them. Something old and angry, humming faintly like a distant drumbeat. Not magic. Not aura. Adam knew the difference. This was not a spell. Not a witch’s doing. This felt natural and unnatural at the same time.

Like the earth itself was holding a secret. He stood and looked around again, more alert now. The clearing was empty, but he could not shake the feeling that someone had walked here after the battle. Someone careful. Someone deliberate.

Someone who did not want the council to see the truth. His wolf growled louder, fur bristling inside Adam’s mind. The sound vibrated through him, sharp enough to make him clench his fists. His instincts pulled him toward the center of the ash circle. Something waited there.

Adam knelt.

The humming under the soil grew stronger, rising through his fingertips like a pulse. A slow, heavy beat. One. Then another. Then another. The rhythm did not match a heartbeat. It sounded older. Ancient. Something that did not need a body to keep living. He brushed more ash aside.

The ground beneath was not normal dirt. It was darker. Denser. As if something soaked into it recently. His wolf backed up inside him, ears flat, warning him to retreat.

But Adam did not retreat. He pressed his palm flat to the soil. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the forest inhaled.

The hum deepened, crawling up his arm, through his veins, into his spine. His vision blurred, silver spreading at the edges like frost. He tried to pull his hand back, but the ground felt like it held him, not gripping, not trapping, just refusing to let go yet.

A faint breath touched his mind.

Soft. Uncertain.

Not a man’s voice. Not a woman’s voice. Something between. Something that did not bother choosing.

It whispered inside his skull like wind passing through hollow reeds.

“Do not follow me.”

Adam jerked back so hard he fell to one knee. His heart hammered. His wolf snapped its teeth in panic, no longer calm, no longer steady. His hands trembled without permission.

Voices did not speak inside a wolf’s mind unless they shared a bond. That was law. That was nature. Only mates and pack bonds allowed shared words. Nothing outside that system ever slipped through.

So how did a stranger speak inside him? And why did it sound almost sad? Adam pushed to his feet and backed away from the soil. His breath came fast, harsh, fogging in the cool air. The clearing stayed still, pretending nothing had happened. The hum faded as if hiding from him now. The ground looked normal again. But he knew what he heard.

The warning had been gentle, not threatening. It carried something like fear. Or regret. Something that made the voice waver slightly.

Why would something with the power to command an army of rogues sound afraid?

Adam stared at the center of the clearing, pulse still racing. Someone cleaned the battlefield. Someone erased every sign. Someone left a corpse with no fear in his final moments.

Someone allowed him to step close, kneel, and touch the ground. Someone who did not want to be followed. His muscles tightened.

“Too late,” he said quietly.

His wolf rose in agreement, steadying again.

Whatever hunted these woods did not want him behind it. Which meant he needed to follow more than ever. He adjusted the strap on his pack and stepped deeper into the forest.

The trail ahead felt colder. Stranger. But he did not slow. The whisper still echoed faintly in the back of his skull, like a breath that had not fully vanished. Do not follow me.

Adam almost smiled, sharp and humorless. He would follow. He would follow until the forest gave up its King.

Or whatever stood where a King should be.