The sun climbed higher as Elara walked, its warmth doing little to chase away the chill that had settled in her bones. North. She'd never been this far north before. The Moonstone Pack's territory had been vast, but it stretched east and south, toward the valleys and the trading routes. North was wilderness—untamed, uncharted, and according to the stories the elders told, cursed.
But curses seemed less frightening than the alternative.
Her feet moved mechanically, one in front of the other, even as her mind churned with questions. Why had Kael helped her? What did he gain from warning her about the bounty hunters? And more unsettling still—why did something about him feel so achingly familiar?
She'd never seen mismatched eyes before. It wasn't unheard of among their kind, but it was rare. A mark of something different. Something other.
The pack had always whispered about wolves who didn't fit the mold. Born under strange moons. Touched by forces beyond understanding. Her mother had called such talk superstition, but her father had been more cautious. "Not all differences are gifts," he'd said once, when she was small enough to sit on his lap. "And not all gifts are blessings."
She wondered what he would have said about Kael.
The forest gradually changed as she traveled. The deciduous trees gave way to evergreens—pine and spruce that stretched toward the sky like ancient sentinels. The air grew sharper, cleaner, carrying the scent of needles and sap. Underfoot, the ground became softer, carpeted with years of fallen pine needles that muffled her footsteps.
The Whispering Pines. She was getting closer.
A bird called overhead—sharp, unfamiliar. Elara paused, tilting her head to listen. Three notes, descending. Then silence. In Moonstone territory, she'd known every bird call, every rustle of leaves. Here, everything was foreign. The realization brought both freedom and fear in equal measure.
She adjusted the strap of her travel sack, which had begun to dig into her shoulder. The weight wasn't much—a spare dress, her mother's shawl, a waterskin, what little food remained—but after hours of walking, it felt like she carried stones.
Her hand drifted to her belly, feeling the small swell there. "We're doing fine," she murmured. "Just a little farther today."
The child had been quiet since morning. Not worryingly so—the healer had told her that babies sleep more than they move—but Elara found herself missing those small flutters of movement. They were proof she wasn't alone. Proof that all of this running, this fear, this exile... it was for something real.
Someone real.
She tried not to think about what the child would look like. Whether they'd have her dark hair or... or the features of whoever had fathered them during that hazy, terrifying night. The night of the raid. The night everything changed.
Elara pushed the memories away. They never came back clearly anyway. Just fragments. Fire. Screaming. Fangs. And those eyes—silver in the darkness, burning with something that wasn't quite rage and wasn't quite hunger.
She shook her head, forcing her attention back to the path.
By midday, the character of the forest had shifted entirely. The pines grew closer together here, their branches interlocking overhead to create a canopy that filtered the sunlight into soft, green-gold beams. The temperature dropped noticeably. Elara pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders.
This deep in, the silence felt different. Not peaceful—watchful. As if the trees themselves were observing her, judging whether she belonged.
She found a fallen log and sank down onto it, grateful for the rest. Her legs trembled with exhaustion, and there was a dull ache in her lower back that pregnancy had made a constant companion. She needed to eat something, even if her supplies were running dangerously low.
From her pack, she pulled out a small cloth bundle. Inside: a heel of bread, hard as stone now, and a few strips of dried meat. She'd been rationing carefully, but even so, this might be her last real meal for days.
Unless she learned to hunt.
The thought was laughable. She'd been trained in pack defense, in strategy and politics. She could organize a gathering, negotiate with neighboring alphas, recite lineages going back seven generations. But catch a rabbit? Set a snare? Those were skills for scouts and hunters, not for a Luna-to-be who'd spent her days in the estate learning to lead.
How useless those skills seemed now.
She bit into the bread, softening it with sips from her waterskin. The meat was salty and tough, but it was protein, and her body craved it desperately. She chewed slowly, making each bite last, trying to quiet the gnawing hunger that had become her constant shadow.
A rustling sound made her freeze mid-chew.
She scanned the surrounding trees, every sense suddenly sharp. Nothing moved in her immediate line of sight, but the forest had changed. The birds had gone quiet. Even the insects seemed to have stilled.
Something was out there.
Elara's hand crept toward her dagger. She remained perfectly still, barely breathing, watching.
A doe stepped delicately into view, perhaps thirty feet away. It paused, ears swiveling, dark eyes cautious. For a moment, Elara's heart lifted—just a deer, just an animal passing through—but then the doe's head snapped up, nostrils flaring.
It had caught her scent.
Their eyes met for a single heartbeat. Then the doe bolted, crashing through the underbrush with all the grace of panic.
Elara exhaled slowly, her pulse gradually settling. Just a deer. Nothing to fear.
But if she'd startled it so easily, that meant she still smelled like pack wolf. Like someone who belonged to an organized territory. That scent would fade with time, but for now, it marked her as clearly as if she carried a banner.
She finished her meal in silence, then carefully wrapped the remaining food and tucked it back into her pack. She should keep moving. Cover as much ground as possible before nightfall.
But her body protested. Just a few more minutes of rest. Just a moment to gather her strength.
She closed her eyes, leaning back against a pine trunk. The bark was rough through her dress, but she was too tired to care. Just a few minutes...
The sound of snapping twigs jolted her awake.
Elara's eyes flew open, panic flooding her veins. How long had she dozed? The light had shifted—later afternoon now, the shadows longer and deeper.
And there, not twenty feet away, stood a figure.
Her hand found her dagger instantly, the blade singing as she drew it.
But the figure didn't move. Didn't speak. Just stood there, half-hidden in shadow, watching.
"Show yourself," Elara commanded, trying to keep her voice steady.
A pause. Then: "Still jumpy, I see."
That voice.
Kael stepped into a shaft of sunlight, and Elara's heart did something complicated in her chest—part relief, part frustration, part something she didn't want to name.
"You followed me," she accused.
"Did I?" He tilted his head, those mismatched eyes catching the light. "Or are you still in my territory?"
"You said—" Elara struggled to remember his exact words. "You said the Whispering Pines were two days north."
"They are. You've been walking for half a day." He leaned against a tree with infuriating casualness. "You planning to sleep out here tonight?"
"I was resting."
"You were unconscious. There's a difference." His gaze flicked to her travel sack, then back to her face. "When's the last time you actually slept? Not counting that nap just now."
Elara didn't answer. She couldn't remember.
Kael sighed, a sound heavy with something that might have been concern. "There's a hollow about a mile east. Old oak, big enough to shelter in. You'd be safer there than out in the open."
"I don't need—"
"Your help. Yes, I gathered." He pushed off the tree. "Consider it information freely given, then. What you do with it is your business."
He started to turn away, and Elara found herself speaking before she could stop herself.
"Wait."
He paused.
She struggled with the words. Pride warred with desperation, and desperation was winning. "This hollow. Is it... is anyone else likely to find it?"
"Not unless they know what to look for." His expression softened, just barely. "And no, I won't tell anyone you're there."
"How do I know I can trust you?"
Kael studied her for a long moment. "You don't," he said finally. "But you're going to have to trust someone eventually, Elara. The question is whether you wait until you're too weak to have a choice."
The truth of his words stung.
"One mile east?" she asked quietly.
He nodded. "Look for three stones stacked at the base. That's the marker. The entrance is hidden behind a curtain of moss."
"And you? Where will you be?"
Something flickered across his face—surprise, maybe, that she'd asked. "Around," he said vaguely. Then, after a pause: "I'll check on you tomorrow. Make sure you haven't been discovered."
"You don't have to—"
"I know I don't have to." His voice held an edge now, something almost like frustration. "But I'm going to anyway. So you might as well accept it."
Before she could respond, he melted back into the trees, disappearing as silently as he'd arrived.
Elara stood alone in the dappled sunlight, her dagger still in her hand, her mind a whirlwind of confusion.
Why was he helping her? What did he want?
And why, despite every instinct screaming at her to run, did part of her hope he'd keep his word about tomorrow?