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Chapter 11 - Stolen Dreams

The moment the truth clawed through me, rage burst inside my chest, hot and wild like a wolf's howl under a blood moon.

They say when a wolf dies, her spirit lingers, fangs sharp with vengeance, hungry to rip into those who wronged her. Lies. All of it. Death bound me in invisible chains, locking me inside a prison where my claws met only air. My enemy stood right there, breathing my air, stealing my life, and I couldn't even sink my teeth into her throat.

I could only watch as Serena paraded through the pack's territory, clutching my soul on canvas. Day after day, she soaked in the praise meant for me. The wolves around her bowed in admiration, their voices thick with awe, never knowing they were honoring stolen blood and bone.

Those paintings were never meant to be a crown. They were my wounds stitched into color, my silence turned into shape. They were my way of pulling myself out of the darkness when the shadows of Serena and Caleb crushed me.

Two years ago, I was already breaking. My wolf howled at the weight of betrayal. My mind spiraled downward, deeper each night. I sought the wisdom of an elder healer, who told me my spirit was drowning in despair. He pressed bitter herbs into my hands, said they could quiet the storm but not mend it. He warned me tear free from the source of my torment, or let my wolf rot from within.

I knew the source. Serena. Caleb. The bond I clung to like a lifeline was poisoning me. But I was a fool. I let obsession gnaw my bones.

So I hid in the basement of the Sanders' den, painting in the shadows. Each brushstroke was a wound torn open, then sealed. Over and over, hurt and heal, scar and mend. That room was where my wolf licked her injuries, where I bled into creation.

And now even in death Serena prowled in, sinking her fangs into what was never hers.

A murmur rippled through the crowd, sharp as a twig snapping underfoot. Someone had seen the signature burned into the corner of one canvas. Their voice rang with discovery, like they'd unearthed a relic long buried.

"S."

The name I had carved for myself when I was still free, when my claws were sharp and my dreams were wild. Back in middle school, I had used it to slip unseen into a contest, and overnight, wolves whispered it with reverence.

My parents had been watching me then, their eyes filled with expectations like chains. I hid behind the alias, afraid they'd call art a waste, afraid they'd drag me back into the rigid path they set. I didn't even show up to claim the honor.

In secret, I birthed a den online, posting scraps of my soul, one piece at a time. Wolves I'd never met gathered there, urging me to keep going, to feed them more. None of them knew my true face. Not even Caleb, the wolf I had foolishly loved.

But two years ago, I slipped. My claws missed their mark, and I posted from my true self instead of my hidden mask. Overnight, the whispers turned to a roar. Wolves filled the night with my name.

I never chased the fame. I never cared for their frenzy. I stayed silent, letting them guess, letting them wonder. I didn't explain, didn't defend, didn't crave their howls of praise.

I only wanted to create. To breathe. To heal.

And now Serena draped herself in my pelt, daring to pass off my spirit as her own. My claws tore at the barrier, fury shaking me, but nothing broke. I could not strike her, not yet.

But deep in my chest, my wolf growled, low and certain. She might cage me now, she might think she'd won, but she had forgotten one thing wolves do not forgive, and we do not forget.

The whispers spread like wildfire, crackling through the pack's territory and echoing into the human world beyond. Wolves and humans alike debated, their voices sharp with judgment. Some claimed I was the hidden wolf they called "S." Others snarled that I was nothing more than a leech, clinging to fame that wasn't mine.

I hadn't explained myself back then. I let their voices rise and die like a passing storm, and within two moons, the frenzy had burned out.

But now two years later Serena had dragged my secret into the open by digging up every painting I'd never released, every piece of my heart I had buried.

I had always hidden my true mark inside the strokes of my work, a secret clawprint in every painting. And my loyal pack of followers, those who had tracked my spirit through the years, recognized the style immediately. Only they believed Serena was the wolf behind it all.

The slip I made years ago the night I revealed myself by mistake was now clawed open again. Some spat venom at me, tearing my name apart. Others knelt before Serena, showering her with worship.

She basked in it all. Under the title of "genius artist," she preened, letting wolves and humans alike call her talented, kind-hearted, a gift to the world.

My fangs ached from grinding together. Even the work I'd done in secret for others the way I had offered my art as a balm for lost wolves, as charity for broken souls Serena claimed as hers. My spirit burned as if the very bond of my wolf had been skinned alive.

Caleb stood in the midst of this storm, watching. His eyes shifted with conflict, a ripple of doubt flashing in them. He had always known my work, even if he hadn't known the wolf who made it. My scent clung to those paintings. My soul bled from every line.

"Serena," he said slowly, "did you really paint all these?"

Her eyes brimmed with tears on command, shimmering like glass. "Caleb, who else could it be? Haven't you always praised me before?"

His jaw tightened. "The style looks… different from what you usually do."

"No wolf runs in the same path forever," she replied softly, almost purring. "I can change my stride, change my claws. You'll see more of me in time, Caleb. You'll know me better."

Her fingers slid boldly across his chest, testing dominance, a challenge wrapped in seduction.

Caleb stiffened, his instincts rejecting her touch. His hand shot out, pushing her away before the others could scent her brazenness. "The auction's about to begin. Let's go." His voice was curt, clipped, but his expression unreadable.

Bound to his shadow, I followed them into the hall. It reeked of wealth, of wolves and humans alike who thought art was prey to be hunted and owned. The room pulsed with anticipation, filled with collectors, critics, and fans who had run here because of the name "S."

They were waiting to see what the hidden wolf had created. Waiting to throw their gold and praise at Serena's feet.

Caleb wove through the crowd, his presence commanding space without trying. Suddenly, a body brushed against him, muttering a gruff, "Sorry."

The voice rasped like it had been shredded by years of smoke and gravel. The man's posture was hunched, shadow swallowing his face. He moved like prey trying to vanish into the trees.

But then he lifted his head.

And I saw his eyes.

Bloodshot. Menacing. A wolf or worse who had looked me in the eye when he tore my life away.

The world slammed into me, hard and brutal, like a hammer crushing ribs. My spirit reeled back, my wolf howling in recognition.

It was him.

The one who killed me.

The one who dared to walk, alive and breathing, in this place of stolen dreams.

 

 

 

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