The forest slept beneath a silver sky. The moon hung low and watchful, its light pouring through the tangled branches like spilled water. Crickets whispered in the tall grass; the wind moved softly, carrying the scent of ash and pine.
Inside the small hut built of rough stone and animal hide, Liora slept with her back against the wall, her breath shallow but calm. Elira lay curled beside her, a thin blanket wrapped around her small body, her hand loosely gripping the hem of Liora's tunic as if afraid she might vanish in the night.
For the first time in weeks, there was peace.
No screams, no fire, no chains biting into her skin. Only the deep, rhythmic breath of the child beside her and the gentle hum of the forest outside.
Liora's eyes flickered beneath her lids, caught between dream and wakefulness. She dreamed of nothing, no battles, no blood, only quiet wind and the faint memory of freedom.
Then came a knock.
Low, firm, deliberate.
Her eyes opened instantly. She was awake before her mind fully caught up. Her hand went to the dagger under her pillow, a habit carved deep by fear and instinct.
"Liora," came the voice outside. Deep. Calm. Commanding.
It was Dante.
Liora hesitated, glancing at Elira, who stirred faintly but didn't wake. The girl's face was drawn and tired, streaked with traces of salt from tears shed in her sleep.
Liora exhaled slowly, setting the dagger aside. She pushed the hide flap open.
The rogue Alpha stood there, the moon painting his features in pale silver and shadow. He was bare armed, his dark hair damp from the evening mist, eyes glowing faintly with the wild light of his wolf.
"Come," he said. "Walk with me."
"Now?" she asked, her voice low, rough from sleep.
Dante's mouth curved slightly, not quite a smile. "There's something about night that makes truth easier to speak."
Liora studied him for a moment, then nodded. She reached for her cloak, threw it over her shoulders, and followed him out.
***
They walked through the camp in silence, their steps muffled by moss and dirt. The fires had burned low, most of the rogues were asleep, their shadows curled beside the dying embers.
The deeper they went, the quieter it became. The trees grew thicker, older. Somewhere in the distance, an owl called out, lonely and soft.
Liora finally spoke. "Why do you trust me enough to ask me out here?"
"I don't," Dante replied without hesitation. "But I'm curious."
"About what?"
"You," he said simply. "And why a woman like you…betrayed, broken, hunted—still looks like she's planning the next war."
Liora's lips lifted faintly. "Maybe because she is."
That made him chuckle, a rare, low sound that seemed to vibrate through the air. "You speak of yourself in third person now?"
"It's safer," she said. "If I forget who I am, maybe it'll hurt less."
They stopped by the edge of a hill overlooking the valley. From there, the distant lights of Gonzalo's fortress glimmered faintly in the distance like dying stars.
Dante crossed his arms, watching her. "Tell me, Liora of the Moon Pack, if you had the chance to strike back, to destroy everything he built, would you?"
Liora's gaze hardened. "Once, I would have said yes without thinking." She paused. "But now…"
"Now?"
"Now I think war isn't won by who strikes first. It's won by who waits the longest."
Dante turned to her, intrigued. "Explain."
"Gonzalo is expecting us to attack," Liora said, her tone sharp, steady. "That's what you always do, isn't it? Hit and vanish. It's your rhythm. But that's the thing about rhythm, it can be predicted."
"So?"
"So we change the song." Her eyes gleamed under the moon. "Let him wait. Let him strengthen his walls, let him prepare his men, sharpen their swords till their hands bleed. Let him waste weeks expecting us. And when he grows tired, when his guards start yawning on their posts…"
She looked up, her voice like steel wrapped in silk.
"That's when we strike."
For a moment, Dante said nothing. His gaze lingered on her face, the firelight in her eyes, the conviction in her voice, the faint tremor of pain that still haunted her movements.
Then, slowly, he nodded. "You've seen his mind before. You know how he thinks."
"I know the kind of man he is," she said quietly. "He believes fear can build loyalty. But loyalty built on fear always cracks."
Dante's mouth twitched again, that not quite smile returning. "You speak like an Alpha."
Liora looked away. "I was once his Luna. Until I was tied to a tree like an animal."
Silence.
The words hung between them like a blade.
Dante's voice dropped. "And yet you survived."
Her gaze met his again, cold and unyielding. "Surviving isn't the same as living."
He nodded slowly, as if understanding too well. The air between them shifted then, something quiet, almost fragile, like recognition between two souls who had both lost too much.
They walked again, their shoulders brushing once as they turned down a narrow path lined with wild thorns. Neither spoke. The moon followed them, silent witness to the rhythm of their footsteps.
After a while, Dante broke the quiet.
"Tell me something, Liora."
"What?"
"Why aren't you afraid of me?"
She turned her head slightly, a shadow of amusement flickering across her lips. "Should I be?"
"Most people are," he said. "Even some of my men."
"Then maybe they see something I don't."
He studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable. "Or maybe you see what they can't."
Her eyes narrowed. "And what's that?"
"That monsters can recognize their own kind."
The words made her pause, caught somewhere between a smile and a frown.
She looked away, shaking her head. "I'm not a monster, Dante."
"No," he said softly. "You're worse. You're a survivor. Survivors don't fear the dark, they use it."
Something in his tone made her chest tighten, an unfamiliar flutter she refused to name.
They continued walking until they reached the edge of the outer woods, the faint border between rogue territory and the lands that once belonged to the Moon Pack. The kingdom's tall stone walls were distant shadows, barely visible in the moonlight, but Liora could feel them. The weight of her past pressing against her ribs.
She stopped there, staring toward the horizon. "One day," she murmured, "I'll walk through those gates again. But not as a prisoner."
Dante's gaze followed hers. "Then we'll walk beside you."
Liora turned to him. "Why help me?"
"Because," he said, "when the moon changes, the wolves must too."
For a heartbeat, neither moved. The wind brushed between them, tugging gently at her cloak. His eyes held hers, the distance between them filled with the pulse of something dangerous…trust, or something close to it.
Then she stepped back. "It's late," she said quietly. "Elira will be worried."
Dante inclined his head. "Then let's return."
***
By the time they reached camp again, dawn was threatening the sky. A faint blush of pink clung to the edge of the world. The fires had burned to ash, a few guards blinked sleepily at their passing.
But before they reached Liora's hut, a small, panicked cry broke the stillness.
"Liora!"
Elira's voice.
She came stumbling out of the hut, barefoot, her hair tangled, tears streaking down her face. "Where—where did you go?" she cried. "They said they saw you leave with the Alpha, and I thought—"
Her words dissolved into sobs.
Liora hurried forward and knelt, pulling the girl into her arms. "Shh. I'm here. No one hurt me."
Elira clung to her neck, shaking. "Don't go without telling me again. Please."
"I won't," Liora whispered, stroking her hair. "I promise."
Behind them, Dante and his warriors stood watching. For a brief second, his gaze softened, a flicker of something human beneath the Alpha's iron mask.
Then he turned, signaling to his men. "Let them be."
They left quietly, their footsteps fading into the trees.
Liora carried Elira back inside the hut, laying her gently on the bed. The child was still trembling, her small hand clutching Liora's sleeve even in sleep.
Outside, the first light of morning spilled across the rogue camp, soft and gold.