~Killian
The Blackthorn stronghold hums with restless energy, the cedar-scented halls echoing with the clatter of weapons and the low murmurs of warriors preparing for Bloodclaw's next move. My boots echo on the stone floor as I pace the war room, the weight of the pack on my shoulders heavier than ever. My wolf, Raze, is a caged beast, clawing at my control, his gold-flecked eyes fixed on one thing: Selene. The rogue healer's silver gaze lingers in my mind, stirring a guilt I've buried for three years. Lyra's face—her soft hazel eyes, her broken sobs—haunts me, and Selene's scent, ash and wildflowers, feels like a cruel echo of her ghost.
I slammed my fist on the war table, scattering maps. The pack looks to me, their alpha, to hold us together against Bloodclaw's raids, but I'm fracturing. Selene's healing of Kael, the beta whose shoulder was torn to shreds, was nothing short of miraculous. He's sparring again, his strength restored, and the pack whispers of her skill. But her knowledge of our ways, her ease in our halls—it unsettles me. No rogue should know Blackthorn so well. My wolf paces, snarling Mine, sensing something I can't name. Is she a saviour or a spy?
Mara's voice cuts through my thoughts, sharp and insistent. "Killian, she's dangerous." She stands at my side, her golden hair gleaming in the torchlight, her blue eyes cold with calculation. "Selene healed Kael. Yes, but how? No rogue has that kind of power. She's hiding something, and you're too blind to see it."
I growled, low and warning, my wolf bristling at her tone. "She's saving our warriors, Mara. We're stretched thin. Bloodclaw's raids are relentless, and we can't afford to lose her." My words are practical, but my wolf's reaction isn't. He wants to protect Selene, not cage her, and it's driving me to the edge.
Mara steps closer, her jasmine scent cloying, her hand brushing my arm. "You're letting her cloud your judgment, like Lyra did." The name hits like a blade, and my wolf snarls, gold flashing in my vision. Mara flinches but presses on. "She was weak, and you did what was best for the pack. Don't make the same mistake with this rogue."
I turn away, my jaw tight, guilt clawing at my chest. Lyra was my fated mate, her hazel eyes full of love I didn't deserve. I rejected her, sent her to die in the Frostfang Mountains, because she was an omega, too soft to lead. Mara was the stronger choice, the Luna Blackthorn needed. But every night, I see Lyra's face, hear her sobs, feel the mate bond I severed. Selene's presence is salt in that wound, her scent too close to Lyra's, her defiance too familiar.
"Enough," I snap, my voice echoing in the war room. "Selene stays under watch. Darius, find me." I stride out, needing air, needing to escape the ghosts in my head.
Outside, the mountain air bites, the mist curling through the cedars like a living thing. Darius waits by the training grounds, his broad frame silhouetted against the torchlight. His amber eyes are grim, his scarred arms crossed. "Alpha, the patrols found another rune at the border," he says, holding up a scrap of cloth. The violet glow pulses faintly, unnatural, wrong. "Same as before. Smells like magic, not wolf."
My gut twists. The rune is a reminder of the stories of Varkis, the rogue sorcerer who turned on his clan centuries ago, wielding forbidden magic. I thought he was a myth, but these runes, Bloodclaw's boldness, the whispers of a traitor—they're too connected.
"Burn it," I say. "And keep it quiet. The pack's on edge already."
Darius nods, but his eyes flick toward the infirmary. "Selene's too convenient, Killian. Showing up now, healing like that? Mara's right to suspect her."
My wolf growls, protective, and I force it down. "She's not a spy until we prove it. Watch her, Darius. Every move, every word. If she's tied to these runes, I'll rip the truth from her myself."
But even as I say it, my wolf rebels, urging me to trust her, to claim her. It's madness.
I headed to the infirmary, drawn by a pull I couldn't resist. The room is quiet, the scent of herbs and blood heavy. Selene works alone, sorting vials of salve, her dark hair falling over her scarred cheek. My wolf surges, gold flooding my vision, and I grip the doorframe to steady myself. She's beautiful, even with the scars, her silver eyes sharp with focus. But it's her scent—ash and wildflowers, layered with something achingly familiar—that unravels me.
"Selene," I say, my voice rougher than intended.
She startles, a vial slipping from her hands, and I catch it before it shatters. Our fingers brush, and the mate bond sparks, a jolt that burns through me. My wolf howls, 'Mine', and I step back, fighting for control.
"Alpha," she says, her voice steady but her eyes wary. "Checking on the wounded?"
"Checking on you," I corrected, my gaze locked on hers.
"Kael's recovery is… unnatural. You know Blackthorn's ways too well for a rogue. Who are you, really?"
Her lips press into a thin line, but she doesn't flinch. "I told you, I'm a healer. I've seen enough packs to know how they work. Test me again if you doubt me."
Her defiance is a challenge, and my wolf wants to answer it, to close the distance and claim her. I clench my fists, the guilt of Lyra's death anchoring me.
"You're under watch," I say, my voice low. "One wrong move, and you're done."
She nods, her silver eyes unreadable. "I understand."
But there's a flicker in her gaze—pain, maybe, or secrets. My wolf senses it, and it takes everything to walk away.
Later, under the moonless sky, I patrol the stronghold's perimeter, my wolf restless. The runes, Bloodclaw, the traitor—it's all closing in. I catch a scent—ash and wildflowers—and freeze.
Selene's slipping through the shadows, her cloak blending with the mist. She moves with purpose, heading toward the sacred grove beyond the stronghold. My wolf snarls, torn between suspicion and the need to follow her, to protect her.
I tailed her, silent, my heart pounding. She's hiding something, and I'll find out what.
But as I watch her disappear into the cedars, her scent wraps around me, a ghost I can't shake.
Lyra's ghost.