Whispers
1087 Words
By dawn, the whispers had already begun.
Noel felt them like thorns pricking her skin as she crossed the clearing. The way wolves glanced at her, then at Dorian, their gazes sharp with curiosity, envy, or disdain. The story of the rogues, of the alpha’s furious protection, had spread like wildfire.
“Claimed her already.”
“Didn’t waste time, did he?”
“She’ll be his downfall.”
Noel bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. I didn’t ask for this.
But the memory of last night—his wolf pressed close, his growl vibrating through her bones, the word mine—clung to her like heat she couldn’t shake.
She ducked into the trees, desperate for space, only to find someone waiting for her.
“Running again?”
Maris leaned lazily against a pine, arms folded, eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. Today, her beauty was sharpened into something dangerous, like glass catching sunlight.
“You think a rogue attack will win you the alpha’s favor?” Maris’s voice dripped honey, poisonous underneath. “Convenient, how you always end up in trouble. Convenient, how he always swoops in.”
Noel’s spine stiffened. “You think I planned that?”
“I think you’re cleverer than you look.” Maris’s lips curved. “But let me make something clear. You may have his attention now, but it won’t last. Alphas don’t fall in love with omegas. They use them.”
The words sliced deep, though Noel refused to flinch. “Better to be used than forgotten, isn’t it?”
For the briefest moment, Maris’s mask cracked, fury flashing in her eyes. Then she smiled again, sharp as a knife.
“You’ll regret staying here.”
She turned, vanishing back into the clearing, leaving Noel shaking with anger.
By the time the sun dipped low, Noel had barely managed to avoid Dorian. But fate wasn’t kind.
He found her at the river again, sleeves rolled up, scrubbing a cloak against the rocks. She froze when his shadow fell over her.
“You’re avoiding me.” His voice was quiet, but it wasn’t a question.
Noel straightened, water dripping from her fingers. “Maybe I don’t like being claimed like property.”
Dorian’s jaw flexed. He crouched beside her, too close, his presence swallowing the air between them.
“I didn’t mean to say it.”
Her breath caught. His gaze burned, softer now, dangerous in a different way. “But I won’t deny it.”
Noel’s pulse stumbled. Her wolf pressed forward, aching, but her human heart screamed no, no, no. She shoved herself to her feet.
“You don’t own me.”
His eyes darkened, his voice low and guttural.
“Then stop smelling like you belong to me.”
She flinched at the raw hunger in his tone, but before she could respond, a howl echoed from the heart of the pack. Urgent. Alarming.
Dorian’s head snapped up. “Trouble.”
He took off into the trees, shifting mid-stride, his black wolf vanishing into the dark. Noel followed the sound, heart hammering—only to find chaos when she reached the clearing.
A young wolf lay writhing by the fire, foam flecking his lips, eyes rolling back. Pack members crowded around, shouting.
Poison.
Noel’s stomach dropped. And standing just beyond the ring of firelight, Maris watched her with a smile that never reached her eyes.
The elder, Thalos, dropped to his knees beside the convulsing wolf, pressing a steadying hand to the boy’s chest.
“Hold him down. Get the healer!”
Panic churned through the clearing. Wolves snapped at one another, scrambling for water, for herbs, for anything to stem the boy’s spasms.
And then a voice cut through the noise.
“She was the last one near him.”
Noel froze. Dozens of eyes swung toward her.
It was Maris who had spoken, her tone cool, calculated—loud enough for every ear to catch. She stepped forward, her beauty shadowed by triumph.
“Everyone saw her lurking on the edges. An omega stranger. And now—” She gestured at the boy’s twisted body. “Poison.”
“No!” Noel’s voice broke, too thin against the tide of suspicion. “I didn’t—”
“Check her hands,” another wolf snarled. “Check her clothes!”
“Noel had nothing to do with this.”
The words came like steel, and the crowd fell silent.
Dorian stood at the edge of the firelight, towering, his black hair damp with sweat, his chest rising with slow, dangerous breaths. His gaze swept the pack before locking on Maris.
“You accuse my guest without proof?”
Maris didn’t flinch. If anything, her chin lifted higher. “I protect this pack, Alpha. If she’s guilty—”
“She’s not.” His voice cracked like thunder. “If I hear another word of this, I’ll treat it as an insult to my authority.”
The pack stilled. Even Maris lowered her gaze, though fury coiled in her eyes like a snake.
Reluctantly, the wolves turned back to the convulsing boy as the healer, Liora, knelt to work.
Noel stood frozen, chest heaving. The weight of the pack’s suspicion still pressed heavy against her, but Dorian’s defense—public, absolute—burned hotter than the fire.
When the healer finally soothed the boy’s spasms and declared he would live, the crowd dispersed, murmuring. Noel turned to slip away, but a hand closed around her wrist.
Dorian.
He pulled her into the shadows beyond the clearing, his grip unyielding, his eyes burning into hers.
“You don’t leave my sight again.”
Her voice trembled. “Why? Because you think I’m weak? Because you think I can’t protect myself?”
His jaw tightened. “Because if someone is targeting you, they’ll have to go through me first.”
The heat between them was unbearable, his hand still wrapped around her wrist, his body close enough she could feel the restrained violence in every line of him. For a heartbeat, she thought he might kiss her—or bite her.
Instead, he released her suddenly, as if her skin had burned him. His voice was a low growl.
“Stay near the firelight, Noel. Or next time, I might not get to you in time.”
And then he was gone, swallowed by the night.
Noel stood shaking in the dark, heart hammering, the word echoing in her mind like a curse.
Targeting you.
- Writer
