Covetous Wolf

Shadows

The pack was restless.

All morning, wolves moved through the clearing with clipped words and sharp glances. Noel felt the weight of it on her back with every step. Conversations hushed when she approached, then swelled again after she passed.

The poison still lingered in their minds. And now, the whispers grew teeth.

“She’s cursed.”

“The alpha’s blinded by her scent.”

“She’ll destroy us.”

Noel tried to hold her head high, but every glance cut deeper. It didn’t help that Maris drifted like smoke through the camp, whispering in ears, offering smiles too sweet to be sincere.

By midday, Thalos asked Noel to gather water from the far stream. A simple chore. A chance, maybe, to breathe away from the firelight. She carried two clay jars, boots crunching on the forest path, the hush of leaves her only companion.

But unease prickled at her neck. She wasn’t alone.

Her wolf stirred nervously, ears pricked. She quickened her pace.

At the stream, she knelt to fill the jars, the cold water rushing fast beneath her hands. She was just lifting the second jar when movement caught her eye—shadows shifting in the branches above.

And then it snapped.

A heavy branch cracked loose, plummeting straight toward her.

Noel gasped, stumbling back, the jar slipping from her hands and shattering. The branch slammed into the earth where her skull had been a heartbeat before, splintering into shards.

Her heart thundered. That wasn’t chance. The cut marks along the wood were too clean. Someone had weakened it—deliberately.

She looked up, but the branches swayed empty, the forest silent. Whoever had been there was gone.

“Noel!”

Her head snapped toward the voice. Dorian stormed into the clearing, Kieran close behind. His gaze fell to the shattered jar, the felled branch, the way Noel shook on the ground.

“What happened?” His voice was rough, urgent.

She swallowed hard, words catching. “It—it was a branch. Someone—” She stopped, fear twisting sharp in her gut. If she accused without proof, it would only feed the whispers.

Dorian’s eyes scanned the trees, nostrils flaring, his wolf raging just beneath his skin. Then he looked back at her, crouching low, his massive frame shadowing hers. His hand brushed her cheek, gentle in contrast to the fury radiating from him.

“You’re trembling.”

“I almost—” Her throat closed.

“Not while I breathe,” he growled. His gaze flicked to Kieran. “Find out who was here. Now.”

Kieran nodded and vanished into the trees.

Dorian turned back, his voice low, meant for her alone.

“Stay close to me, Noel. Someone wants you gone, and I will not allow it.”

Her breath hitched. The way he said it—it wasn’t just protection. It was possession.

But in the shadows between the trees, Noel swore she felt eyes watching. A smile hidden in the dark.

And she knew.

Maris wasn’t finished.

The walk back to camp was silent except for the steady thud of Dorian’s boots beside her. His presence was overwhelming—heat rolling off him, his shadow swallowing hers—but he didn’t speak until they stepped into the clearing.

“You should have called for me,” he said low, a growl threading his words.

Noel’s spine stiffened. “I didn’t know someone was up there until—” She broke off, biting her tongue. She wasn’t going to beg for sympathy.

Dorian stopped. She almost walked into his chest. His hand shot out, gripping her wrist—not harsh, but firm, steady.

“You don’t get it, do you? One day without you, and this pack would eat itself alive. You hold me steady.”

Her breath caught. He didn’t look away, his eyes molten, hungry. She wanted to say he was wrong, that she was nothing but a curse in their midst, but her tongue tangled under the weight of his conviction.

For one reckless second, the world shrank to the heat of his grip, the faint scent of smoke and pine clinging to him, the bond humming between them like wildfire waiting for a spark.

And then—

“Alpha.”

Maris’s voice sliced through the air like a blade.

She stood by the fire, head tilted, smile sharp as glass. “We need your counsel. The scouts returned with news.”

Her gaze flicked to Noel, icy and deliberate. A warning. A challenge.

Dorian’s hand lingered on Noel’s wrist a moment longer before he let go. “Stay in the cabin until I return,” he ordered. His tone was alpha-command, leaving no room for refusal.

Noel bristled but nodded.

As Dorian strode toward Maris, Noel caught the gleam of triumph in the beta’s eyes. She wasn’t just whispering lies anymore—she was maneuvering herself closer, step by calculated step.

And Noel knew this wasn’t over. Not the whispers. Not the accidents. Not Maris’s war.

That night, as Noel lay on the narrow cot in Dorian’s cabin, she stared at the ceiling, sleep far away. She could still feel the phantom press of his hand on her wrist, the way his words had lit something terrifying and undeniable in her chest.

But beneath it all, louder than her heartbeat, pulsed a single truth:

Maris wanted her gone.

And she wouldn’t stop until Noel was ash under her boots.