Chapter Sixteen - silent in the Dark
1510 Words
The packhouse had never felt so fragile.
It was built of stone and timber, standing tall on the ridge above the village, its walls carved with generations of protection runes. To Ivy, it had always been more than just a building—it was a sanctuary. But that morning, after the rogue attack, every shadow felt dangerous, every draft a hidden threat.
She sat at the long oak table in the strategy hall, trying to steady her trembling hands. Maps were spread before her, marked with red ink where the rogues had pressed hardest. Michael stood at the head of the table, speaking with his Beta, Luca, and several other warriors, but Ivy barely heard the words.
Her mind was elsewhere—on the crimson glow of Arthur’s eyes in the forest. On the way her body had betrayed her, swaying toward him even as blood dripped from her claws. On the heat of the mark that had burned against her skin like fire.
Selra’s voice cut through her spiraling thoughts. He won’t stop now. He’s tasted your fear.
Ivy closed her eyes, pressing her fists into the table. “I wasn’t afraid,” she whispered.
Then why are your hands shaking?
---
Michael’s voice drew her back. “Ivy.”
Her eyes snapped open. The room had gone quiet, all eyes on her. Heat flushed her cheeks as she realized she’d been drifting again.
Michael’s golden gaze softened, though his voice was firm. “You need rest. The healers say your body’s strained from pushing past your limits.”
“I’m fine,” she said quickly, forcing her voice steady. “I can keep going.”
Luca exchanged a look with Michael, but neither argued further. Instead, Michael dismissed the meeting, his warriors filing out one by one until the hall was empty.
When the doors shut, he moved closer, bracing his hands on the table across from her. “You’re not fine,” he said quietly. “I can feel it.”
Ivy swallowed, her throat tight. “He’s in my head, Michael. Even when he’s not here, it feels like he is. Like I can’t breathe without him noticing.”
His jaw clenched, a flicker of rage passing through his eyes. “Then we’ll find a way to cut him out.”
Her voice dropped to a whisper. “What if we can’t?”
The silence stretched between them, heavy with fear neither wanted to name.
Finally, Michael reached across the table, taking her hand. His grip was warm, steady. “Then I’ll burn him out myself,” he said, voice low and fierce.
The vow sent a shiver through her, part terror, part hope.
---
That night, Ivy lay in her chamber, exhaustion pulling at her bones but sleep refusing to come. She tossed and turned, the sheets tangling around her legs. Selra paced inside her mind, restless, snarling at every creak of the old floorboards.
When sleep finally claimed her, it came like falling into ice.
She was standing in a forest, silver mist curling low to the ground. The air smelled of pine and blood. Shadows pressed close, thick and suffocating.
And then he was there.
Arthur.
He stepped from the mist as though it parted just for him, tall and broad, his dark hair catching the moonlight. His eyes burned crimson, fixed on her with predatory hunger.
“You fight so hard against me,” he murmured, his voice like velvet and poison. “But you can’t deny the bond. You feel it every time your heart beats.”
Ivy’s chest constricted, the mark blazing hot. Her body ached with the pull, traitorous and cruel. “Stay out of my head,” she whispered.
Arthur’s smile curved, sharp as a blade. “Why would I? This is where you belong. With me.”
She stumbled back, but the mist closed around her, trapping her in his presence.
“You think Michael can protect you?” Arthur’s voice deepened, mocking. “He’s strong, yes, but not against me. I know every weakness in your pack, every secret path. When I strike again, he won’t be able to stop me. Not unless you stand at my side.”
Her nails dug into her palms. “I’ll never stand with you.”
Arthur’s eyes glowed brighter, the crimson light searing. “You already do. Every breath you take belongs to me now.”
The mark seared like fire, and she screamed—
And woke.
---
Ivy bolted upright, gasping, sweat slicking her skin. For a moment she didn’t know where she was. The chamber was dark, the only light a sliver of moon through the window.
But she wasn’t alone.
Her pulse spiked as she felt it—the faintest trace of another presence in the room. Selra snarled in her mind, fur bristling.
He’s here.
Ivy scrambled for the dagger on her nightstand, her hand shaking. She spun toward the corner of the room—and froze.
A shadow moved, darker than the rest. A shape too solid to be imagined. For a heartbeat, she swore she saw crimson eyes gleaming back at her.
The dagger slipped in her grip. “Arthur…”
And then the shape vanished, dissolving into the darkness like smoke.
The door burst open. Michael stormed in, half-shifted, golden light blazing in his eyes. “Ivy!” His gaze swept the room, his wolf senses sharp. “What happened?”
She clutched the dagger tighter, her voice breaking. “He was here. I saw him.”
Michael growled, his chest heaving as he searched every shadow. But the room was empty. The runes on the walls flickered faintly, their light dimmer than they should have been.
“He breached the wards,” Michael said, voice low with fury. “Even if only for a moment.”
Ivy’s knees buckled, and Michael caught her before she could fall. His arms were solid, his warmth grounding, but her body still shook violently.
“He’s getting stronger,” she whispered against his chest. “He’s not just in my head anymore. He’s here.”
Michael held her tighter, his lips brushing the crown of her hair. “Then we’ll strengthen the wards. We’ll hunt him down if we have to. But I swear, Ivy, he won’t take you from me.”
Her breath hitched, her heart thundering. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to sink into the safety of his arms and let his promise be enough.
But in the back of her mind, Arthur’s laughter still echoed, chilling and certain.
---
The next morning, the packhouse buzzed with fear. Word of the breached wards spread quickly, and even the strongest warriors cast wary glances at the shadows. The runes along the walls glowed faintly, but not as brightly as before, as though something had drained their power.
In the council chamber, Michael gathered his Betas and elders, Ivy at his side. The weight of a hundred eyes pressed on her, some filled with worry, others with doubt.
“He’s targeting the Luna,” one elder muttered darkly. “If he can reach her even within these walls, what chance do we have when he comes in full force?”
Murmurs spread through the room, sharp and fearful.
Ivy’s chest tightened. The doubt wasn’t just about Arthur—it was about her. About the mark she bore, the bond that tied her to him.
Michael’s voice cut through the noise, deep and commanding. “We have more than a chance. We have strength, loyalty, and something Arthur will never understand—unity.” His gaze swept the room, firm and unwavering. “He wants us divided. He wants us afraid. I won’t allow it.”
The murmurs quieted, but the unease lingered.
Ivy forced herself to raise her chin. Her voice shook, but she spoke anyway. “Arthur doesn’t just want to destroy us. He wants to use me to do it. If I falter, if I give in, he wins. So I won’t. Not now, not ever.”
Her words surprised even herself. But as silence fell over the room, she saw the way some of the doubt faded from their eyes.
Michael’s hand brushed hers beneath the table, a subtle squeeze of pride and reassurance.
---
That night, as the moon rose again, Ivy stood with Michael on the packhouse balcony, the village lights glowing faintly below. The forest loomed beyond, dark and endless.
“He won’t stop,” Ivy said softly, her fingers gripping the railing. “Not until he takes everything from us.”
Michael’s golden eyes glowed faintly in the moonlight as he turned to her. “Then we’ll take everything from him first.”
The certainty in his voice sent a shiver down her spine—not fear this time, but something sharper, stronger. Hope, fragile but burning.
And though Arthur’s shadow lingered at the edges of her thoughts, Ivy found herself clinging to that hope, refusing to let go.
Because the war had only just begun.
- Writer
