Frost’s Echo: Rejected by the Alpha

Chapter 4 — The Black Wolf the Border

Four guards emerged first, breathing hard. Merek came ahead, the short crossbow still in his hands, his face red with cold and irritation. Two others flanked the path with drawn swords. The last, younger, looked hesitant, but still advanced.

— Enough — Merek said.

His voice no longer carried disguise.

There was no hall. No noble witnesses. No need for politeness.

Zafira took one step back.

— Do not come closer.

Merek laughed.

— Now she gives orders.

One guard spat into the snow.

— We should have let her fall into the ravine.

— The Alpha wants answers first — Merek replied.

Zafira’s heart struck hard.

— Ethan sent you?

Merek tilted his head.

— The Alpha does not need to know every detail for his pack to remain clean.

The answer was worse than yes.

Zafira looked at the other guards. None of them looked surprised. The youngest looked away, but did not lower his weapon.

— I did nothing — she said.

The sentence came too small.

The wind carried it away almost immediately.

Merek took another step.

— You shamed the Alpha before everyone.

— I was rejected.

— And still you made the moon point to you. An orphan. A flaw. A thing that should not have been seen.

The pain inside her moved, but it was not only the pain of the bond. It was anger now. A weak, wounded anger, but alive.

— I did not ask for the bond.

— It does not matter.

That was the truth of the Blood Moon Pack in two words.

It does not matter.

It did not matter what she had wanted. Did not matter what she had suffered. Did not matter whether she was innocent. Her value had always depended on how the powerful could use her or hide her.

Zafira backed away until she felt the ancient stone behind her.

One of the runes touched her torn cloak.

Cold climbed her spine.

Merek lifted the crossbow.

— Come with us. Do it without a fight and perhaps you may end your days in the corridors, as Tanya suggested.

Zafira almost did not hear the last part.

Tanya.

Of course.

The perfect future Luna. The correct choice. The woman who did not need to dirty her hands if others were willing to turn her rival into silence.

Zafira laughed.

It was a broken sound, almost without air.

Merek frowned.

— What is funny?

— You are afraid of me.

The guards looked at one another.

Merek smiled with contempt.

— Of you?

— If I were nothing, you would not be here.

His smile vanished.

For one instant, Zafira saw that she had struck something.

She did not know what.

Perhaps the frost.

Perhaps the elder.

Perhaps the simple possibility that the moon had not been wrong.

Merek aimed the crossbow at her chest.

— Last chance.

Zafira looked at the passage between the pillars.

Beyond it, the dark forest looked like an open mouth.

Behind, the guards.

Ahead, the unknown.

The pain in her chest pulsed.

Her inner wolf, curled small since the rejection, stirred deep inside her. Not strong. Not clear. But there. Wounded, yes. Terrified, yes. Still alive.

Run, the ancient voice said again.

Zafira turned and crossed the pillars.

The bolt came in the same instant.

She felt the air split behind her. She threw herself aside, struck a stone, and fell into the snow on the other side of the border. The bolt hit the pillar with a dry c***k. Ancient runes lit for one second, so pale they looked like moonlight’s reflection.

The guards cursed.

— She crossed!

— Get her!

Merek crossed first.

As soon as his feet touched the snow beyond the pillars, the wind changed.

Not strongly.

Deeply.

As if the whole forest had inhaled.

The torches flickered.

Zafira tried to rise, but her legs failed. Blood from her arm dripped onto the dark snow. This time, the silver sprouts grew larger, bending around her fingers like small hands of ice. The glow rose a few inches, then dissolved into luminous particles.

Merek saw.

They all saw.

Silence fell heavy.

— What is that? — whispered the youngest guard.

Merek turned pale for one instant, but ambition defeated fear.

— Proof — he said. — Proof for the elders.

He advanced.

Zafira tried to drag herself backward.

Her body no longer answered. The flight was taking its price. The rejection was taking its price. The cold, the blood, the fear, everything joined into a dark haze at the edges of her vision. She heard her own breathing fail. Felt the world becoming distant, as if she were sinking beneath ice.

Merek reached out to grab her.

Then something growled.

Not loudly.

Not at first.

It was a low sound, so deep it seemed to come from beneath the earth. Snow on the branches trembled. The torches bent in the same direction. Distant horses, somewhere beyond the forest, neighed in panic.

Merek froze.

So did Zafira.

The growl grew.

The pines to the left darkened, not because the light faded, but because something enormous moved among them and filled the space of the night.

First came the eyes.

Two amber embers, low and ancient, fixed on the guards.

Then the head.

A black wolf emerged from the shadows.

He was not merely large.

He was impossible.

His body stood taller than any wolf Zafira had ever seen. His shoulders were broad as stone, covered in dark fur that looked like wet charcoal. Each breath released warm vapor into the frozen air. Scars crossed his muzzle and vanished beneath the coat, silver marks against darkness. His paws sank into the snow without hurry, yet every step made the world feel smaller.

The guards stepped back.

Even Merek.

— By the old blood... — someone murmured.

Zafira could not move.

The black wolf looked at her only once.

Only once.

And in that look there was something she could not name.

It was not hunger.

Not cruelty.

Not the contempt with which the Blood Moon Pack had looked at her all her life.

It was recognition.

Or perhaps her delirious mind was inventing gentleness where there was only danger.

The wolf turned his eyes back to the guards.

The air changed.

His presence fell over the clearing like a storm without rain. Merek lifted the crossbow by instinct. The weapon trembled in his hands.

— Stay back — he said, but his voice broke halfway.

The wolf took one step.

Only one.

The torches went out.

Not from ordinary wind.

From fear, Zafira thought, delirious.

The flames died at the same time, plunging the clearing into blue moonlight and shadow. One guard stumbled back. The youngest let his sword fall into the snow.

— This is Mist territory — he whispered. — We crossed.

Merek gritted his teeth.

— She belongs to the Blood Moon Pack.

The black wolf showed his teeth.

The growl that followed was more command than sound.

Zafira felt it in her bones.

So did the guards.

No one needed to translate.

Belongs?

The word seemed ridiculous before that beast.

Merek tried to hold the weapon steady, but his hand shook so badly the point of the crossbow lowered a few inches.

— She is not worth a war — one guard said.

— Shut up — Merek growled.

— It is the black wolf.

The name was not spoken, but everyone understood.

Zafira had heard whispers, even in the Blood Moon Pack. Stories told in kitchens and corridors, always in low voices: a renegade Alpha in the mountains, a colossal wolf with ember eyes, protector of exiles, killer of hunters, lord of mist. A monster to frighten the young. A threat to keep wolves away from the borders.

Malakai.

The name appeared in her mind like lightning.

The black wolf advanced another step.

This time, Merek retreated.

The shame of retreat burned across his face, but fear was stronger.

— This does not end here — he said.

The wolf remained still.

Merek looked at Zafira on the ground.

— The Alpha will know.

Zafira tried to answer, but her throat produced no sound.

The guards began to retreat through the passage of pillars. Slowly at first. Then faster. The youngest grabbed his fallen sword with shaking hands and ran after the others. None of them turned their backs on the wolf until they were beyond the ancient runes.

When they disappeared between the pines, the forest remained silent.

Zafira was alone with the beast.

No.

Not alone.

Watched.

Her body was too cold now. The adrenaline that had kept her alive was dissolving, leaving only pain, weakness, and a dangerous sleepiness. The snow felt soft beneath her face. The bleeding from her arm had slowed, perhaps because of the cold, perhaps because of something she did not understand. Small silver sprouts still grew near her hand and dissolved like sighs.

The black wolf approached.

Slowly.

Zafira tried to move away, but only managed to move her fingers.

— No... — she murmured.

The voice sounded like someone else’s.

The wolf stopped.

That obedience to such a weak word confused her.

He tilted his head.

The vapor of his breath touched the snow near her, melting a thin layer of ice. Up close, he was even more immense. The scars on his muzzle looked old. His ember eyes, however, did not hold the madness of corrupted wolves from stories. They held awareness. Weight. Care.

Zafira blinked slowly.

The moon behind him made his silhouette look cut from shadow.

— Did you come to kill me? — she whispered.

The wolf did not answer.

Of course he did not.

But his eyes changed.

Or perhaps fever had begun.