Chapter 16 – Second Meeting at the Border
1258 Words
Three nights later, the forest felt like it was holding its breath.
Moonlight slipped through the canopy in broken shards, painting the undergrowth in silver and shadow. Every crackle of leaves under my boots sounded too loud. Every rustle made my wolf’s ears twitch.
The coordinates Ashmere had sent sat like a splinter in my mind. Southern line. Too close to where Mistveil’s scents faded and the rumors of Duskhowl began.
“Don’t be followed,” the last message had said.
Easier written than done.
Coren had done his part. Two hours earlier, he’d “accidentally” instigated a sparring match near the barracks that ended in three bruised egos and half the evening shift shuffled. Jarek had cursed and rearranged patrol routes, sending most of the keenest noses north to “remind our warriors how to actually hold a damn perimeter.”
Which left a thin, sloppy net on the southern edge.
Convenient.
I slipped past the last of our scent markers, heart hammering. The vial under my shirt was a small, hard weight, warmed by my skin.
Last chance, my wolf murmured. Turn back, go to bed, pretend you never—
Something snapped softly ahead.
I froze, pulse spiking.
A figure stepped out from behind a birch, hands raised to shoulder height. Cloaked, hood up, no visible weapon. Shorter than me by a head, lean rather than bulky.
“Relax,” a low, amused voice said. “If I meant you harm, you’d already be bleeding.”
Not Council.
The scent hit me a beat later: river mud, crushed herbs, smoke… and underneath it, a note that made my wolf stiffen.
Duskhowl.
I tightened my grip on the small knife in my sleeve. “You’re not Ashmere.”
“Observant.” The hood tilted. “Ash sends their love. I’m the one who doesn’t mind getting my paws muddy.”
“Name,” I said.
“Call me Wren,” they replied. The voice was rough-edged, androgynous. “You brought the sample?”
“Maybe,” I said. “You brought proof you’re not going to run straight to the Council with it?”
A soft huff of laughter. “Cute. No, little Mistveil. The Council and I had a messy divorce years ago.”
They flicked the hood back.
Short-cropped dark hair, a narrow, scar-notched face, eyes that had seen too much. Not a wolf I recognized, but their bearing screamed someone used to ducking under arrows and slipping through cracks.
“If you’re working with Ashmere,” they said, “you know how this goes. You put the package down, step back. I pick it up. We pretend we never saw each other.”
“Right,” I said. “Except you’re standing on the wrong side of the border.”
They were a good three paces beyond Mistveil’s last marker, in the grey zone of no-man’s-land. Behind them, deeper in the dark, the scents shifted—wilder, sharper. Duskhowl’s hunting grounds.
“Technicality,” Wren said. “You want help that won’t end up in a nice bound report on Lucien’s desk, you meet us where his eyes are cloudy.”
Lucien’s name on their tongue made my stomach twist. They knew too much.
“Fine,” I muttered.
I stepped forward until I stood with my boots just brushing the fading edge of Mistveil’s scent line. My heart thudded as I reached under my shirt, fingers closing around the padded pouch.
“This is my Alpha’s blood,” I said quietly. “If you lose it, if you tamper with it—”
“I don’t work for free,” Wren cut in. “And I don’t waste good leverage. Ash wants the truth as much as you do. Poisoned Alphas make for messy neighbors.”
“Duskhowl cares that much about Mistveil’s internal rot now?” I asked.
Their mouth crooked. “Duskhowl cares about the Council not using ‘unstable packs’ as an excuse to roll their hunters through our forests. Your Alpha falls, your priestess gets bolder, my Alpha gets more headaches.”
My skin prickled. “You know a lot about us for an outlaw den we’re not supposed to talk to.”
“Outlaws listen better than priests,” Wren said. “Now. The sample.”
I hesitated only a heartbeat, then crouched and set the pouch on the leaf-strewn ground, right on the invisible line.
“Two days,” I said. “Ash said you can work fast.”
“If we’re still breathing, yes,” Wren replied.
I straightened, stepped back.
They moved in—quick, light, scooping the pouch up and tucking it into an inner pocket. No flourish. No gloating.
“You’re not the only Beta who’s asked for this kind of favor,” they said, almost conversationally. “You might be the first one still alive to see the results.”
My throat went dry. “How many—”
They lifted a hand. “You don’t want that number in your head before bed. Trust me.”
The wind shifted, carrying another scent to me: storm and pine and cold iron, faint but unmistakable.
My wolf’s ears pricked. Him.
“Your Alpha knows you’re here?” I asked, before I could stop myself.
Wren’s eyes gleamed. “He knows enough. And before you ask—yes, he remembers you, little Mistveil. Hard to forget the wolf who tried to stare a knife down with her throat.”
Heat flooded my cheeks. “I wasn’t—”
“Save it,” they said, amused. “Darkwind has a soft spot for idiots who don’t know when they’re outnumbered. Bad habit, if you ask me.”
A branch snapped deeper in the trees. Heavy. Confident.
Another presence brushed the edge of my senses—big, controlled, too familiar now to mistake.
Cassian.
My heart kicked.
Wren’s gaze flicked over my shoulder, then back to me.
“Time’s up,” they said. “You were smart to come alone. Be smarter and leave the same way.”
“I have questions,” I blurted.
“I bet you do,” they said. “Ask them when you’re not standing on a line every hunter in three packs would love to see you cross.”
Another step, closer. The faintest whisper of his scent.
“Two days,” Wren repeated. “Midnight. Same place. If you’re followed, we disappear. If you’re dead, we drink to your stubbornness and move on.”
“And if you lie?” I asked.
They smiled, sharp and humorless.
“Then you’re f****d,” they said, and melted back into the trees.
A shadow shifted behind them—a larger shape, broad shoulders, pale eyes—but before I could force my feet to move, they were both gone. The forest swallowed their scents like they’d never been there.
My wolf paced hard enough to make my skin itch.
“Coward,” she snarled. You should have stepped over. You should have asked—
“Not yet,” I whispered to her, palms clammy. “We do this step by step.”
Behind me, far off toward the heart of Mistveil, a bell tolled midnight.
I turned away from the border, from the place where the wild edge of Duskhowl brushed our tamed forest, and headed back toward the lights of home.
Two days.
Then I’d know whether my Alpha’s blood carried more than just fatigue.
And whether the Council had already marked him—and me—for collapse.
- Writer
