CHAPTER THREE
1050 Words
Morning did not soften Blackridge Pack.
If anything, daylight made everything sharper.
Liora woke before the sun fully rose, her body stiff from the night before. For a moment, she lay still, listening. The pack house was already awake—footsteps above her ceiling, voices drifting through the walls, the clatter of breakfast preparations that never included her.
She sat up slowly.
Her head felt heavy, as though she hadn’t slept at all. When she swung her legs over the side of the narrow bed, a wave of dizziness hit her. She pressed her hand to the wall until it passed.
Something had changed.
It wasn’t dramatic. There was no sudden strength, no glowing power. Just a subtle awareness of herself that hadn’t been there before—like her body was finally listening to her.
That frightened her more than weakness ever had.
Liora washed quickly, tying her hair back with a worn strip of cloth. As she stepped into the hallway, the smell of cooked meat and bread filled her nose. Her stomach tightened, half hunger, half dread.
She kept her head down as she entered the common area.
Conversation dipped immediately.
It always did.
She moved toward the sink, hands busying themselves with dishes before anyone could tell her to. A few whispers drifted her way—nothing clear enough to answer, but sharp enough to hurt.
“Did you hear—”
“—Elder Moru was watching her last night—”
“She’s bad luck—”
Liora swallowed and kept scrubbing.
Then the room went silent.
Not the awkward kind. The dangerous kind.
Her spine stiffened.
“You.”
Elder Moru’s voice cut through the space like a blade.
Liora turned slowly.
He stood near the long table, flanked by two other elders. His pale eyes fixed on her with unsettling focus.
“Come here.”
Her hands trembled as she wiped them on her dress and obeyed. Every step felt heavier than the last.
“You turned eighteen last night,” Moru said, his tone neutral but probing.
“Yes, Elder.”
“And yet you have not shifted.”
“No.”
A murmur rippled through the room.
Moru circled her once, like a predator evaluating a meal. Liora stared at the floor, heart pounding.
“Tell me,” he said softly, “did anything unusual happen in the forest?”
Her breath caught.
Images flashed through her mind—the pain, the pull, the moonlight spilling through the trees like a judgment.
“I… fell,” she said quietly. “I felt unwell.”
Moru stopped in front of her.
“For someone unwell,” he said, “you returned without injury.”
Liora said nothing.
Silence stretched.
Finally, Moru straightened. “You will be watched,” he announced to the room. “Closely.”
Liora’s chest tightened.
“You are dismissed,” he said to her. “For now.”
She bowed her head and fled the room before the tears could betray her.
At Ashen Ridge, Kael stood before his council with arms crossed, expression unreadable.
The elders sat in a semicircle, their faces weathered by time and power. Rafe stood to Kael’s right, silent but alert.
“You requested this council urgently,” Elder Soren said. “Why?”
Kael met their gazes one by one.
“Last night,” he said, “something crossed pack boundaries.”
A stir ran through the group.
“That is a serious claim,” another elder said.
“I do not make claims lightly,” Kael replied. “Nor do I mistake instinct for imagination.”
Elder Soren leaned forward. “Do you believe it was an attack?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
Kael paused.
“I believe,” he said carefully, “that someone awakened.”
The word hung in the air.
Rafe’s eyes widened slightly.
“An awakening strong enough to be felt by an Alpha,” Soren murmured. “That suggests—”
“I don’t care what it suggests,” Kael interrupted sharply. “I care about consequences.”
Silence fell.
“Blackridge has always been unstable,” one elder said. “Their treatment of outcasts—”
“—creates fractures,” Kael finished. “Yes.”
Soren studied him. “Why involve yourself?”
Kael didn’t answer immediately.
Because he couldn’t say the truth.
Because admitting that the echo still hadn’t left his chest—that it pulsed softly even now—would be a weakness he could not afford.
“Because when something breaks,” Kael said instead, “it sends ripples.”
“And you intend to investigate?”
“I intend to observe,” Kael corrected. “Nothing more.”
The elders exchanged looks.
“Be careful,” Soren warned. “Some bonds, once acknowledged, cannot be undone.”
Kael’s jaw tightened.
“I am not my father,” he said coldly.
Liora spent the afternoon in the herb shed, sorting dried leaves with shaking hands.
She jumped at every sound.
At every footstep outside.
When Mira appeared in the doorway, arms folded, Liora knew trouble had found her again.
“You really think you can hide it?” Mira asked.
Liora didn’t look up. “Hide what?”
Mira stepped closer. “Whatever happened to you last night.”
“I told the elder—”
Mira laughed. “You think we didn’t notice? The way Moru watched you? The way the forest went quiet?”
Liora’s hands clenched.
“You don’t belong here,” Mira continued. “And now you’re dangerous.”
“I didn’t choose this,” Liora whispered.
“No one ever does,” Mira said cruelly. “But you’ll pay for it anyway.”
She turned and left.
Liora sank onto a crate, breath shallow.
She was being watched.
Feared.
And she didn’t even know why.
That night, the pull returned.
Softer than before. Gentler.
Like someone standing just beyond a door, not knocking—only waiting.
Liora pressed her forehead against the cool wall, tears slipping free.
“Please,” she whispered. “Whoever you are… stop.”
Miles away, Kael stood at his window, staring east.
The same ache bloomed in his chest.
And for the first time, he didn’t fight it.
- Writer
