The Blood Moon Hall seethed with whispers.
What should have been a night of vigilance after the Dreadwolf attack had become instead a fevered gathering of wolves and elders, their voices like the buzz of flies circling a wound. Keona could feel their eyes on her as she entered with Nyra at her side, the weight of their stares making her skin crawl.
"She burned them to ash."
"No one has done that since the Silvertails vanished."
"Or perhaps it was not a blessing, but a curse…"
The murmurs thickened like smoke, and Selene's honeyed voice slid through them all, sharp as a dagger.
"You all saw it," Selene said, her golden hair swaying as she moved, her smile cold. "Dreadwolves are born of necromancy, of corruption. Yet she"—her finger pointed straight at Keona—"destroyed them with fire that looked no different from their own cursed glow. Do you not see? She is tied to them."
A ripple of agreement coursed through the hall. Selene stood with artful poise, her arm looped possessively through Kalethorn's, though his expression was unreadable.
"She brings danger to our gates," Selene pressed, her voice louder now, meant for all to hear. "Is it coincidence that Dreadwolves—beasts we have not seen for centuries—appear only when she is near? Or is it her very presence that draws them?"
The crowd roared in heated murmurs, some nodding, others frowning in doubt. Keona felt Nyra's nails bite into her arm in warning. "Don't rise to it," Nyra hissed. "That's what she wants."
But Keona could not stop her own trembling. Every word Selene spoke was like salt in a wound, twisting what had happened into something vile.
The elders convened in their circle, voices raised, debating fiercely. Elder Branor, his silver beard long as a waterfall, raised his staff. "The Silvertail bloodline was no curse. It was a gift from the Moon Goddess herself. If the girl has inherited it, then she must be trained—before her power burns her out."
Yet another elder, Veyra, her face sharp as carved stone, scoffed. "Trained? Or caged? Do you not see how dangerous she already is? The Dreadwolves are Caelum Stormgrave's abominations. If she can unmake them, then she shares some thread with his craft. It is unnatural. It is unsafe."
The name shivered through the hall—Caelum Stormgrave. Even Selene's smirk tightened.
Keona swallowed hard. She had heard the name whispered before, the archmage who had lived for centuries, who had turned on the packs and sought dominion over wolves and men alike. But to hear that these creatures, these horrors that had lunged for her throat, were his doing terrified her.
Elder Branor slammed his staff. "Caelum binds dead wolves with chains of shadow, forcing them to hunt the living. That is what a Dreadwolf is. His magic twists them, makes them unkillable by ordinary fangs. And yet—this girl destroyed two with silvery fire. Not shadow, not decay. Light. Only the Silvertail bloodline bore such fire, and their gift was the bane of necromancy."
Murmurs swelled again, this time more uncertain.
Selene's voice rang clear, slicing through their wavering doubt. "Or perhaps she is not Silvertail at all. Perhaps she is Caelum's pawn. His creation. Why else would these beasts have sought her above all others?"
Keona felt her breath catch. The crowd leaned toward Selene's words as though she poured wine into their mouths. And Kalethorn…
Kalethorn finally spoke. His deep voice silenced the hall like a whip crack. "Enough." His gaze swept across the assembly, his jaw tight. "The Dreadwolves are Caelum's doing. That much is clear. Whether Keona is their curse or their end—" His dark eyes flicked toward her briefly, unreadable, before turning back to Selene. "—we do not yet know. But we will."
Selene tilted her head sweetly, though triumph glittered in her eyes. She leaned closer to him, her voice low but not low enough to miss. "And until we do, my Alpha, is it wise to let her stay among us? She endangers your people. She endangers your throne."
Keona's stomach twisted. She wanted him to deny it, to cast Selene's words aside, but he said nothing. His silence was an answer more cutting than any blade.
Nyra tugged her sharply away from the hall. "Come on. Enough of this filth."
—————
Later that night, when most of the pack had dispersed into murmuring clusters, Keona lingered in the shadows of the courtyard. She hadn't meant to eavesdrop. Truly, she hadn't. But when Kalethorn's voice drifted from the inner chamber, she froze, unable to move.
"She is dangerous," one elder was saying. "Selene is right. Whatever dwells in her will bring calamity down upon us."
Selene's reply followed smoothly. "You cannot let pity blind you, Kalethorn. You are Alpha of the Blood Moon Throne. Do not gamble with it for the sake of some frail girl who cannot even shift."
Keona's heart constricted. The words were poison—but when Kalethorn finally answered, his voice was steady, controlled.
"Selene speaks with reason. The pack must be protected."
Keona pressed a hand to her chest, the weight of betrayal crushing her.
But then, after a long pause, Kalethorn's voice came again, quieter this time, heavy with something he could not say aloud. "And yet… that light. I have never seen its like. Not even in the old texts. She destroyed Caelum's monsters where even my fangs could not. That is no curse."
Selene's scoff was sharp. "Or so she makes you believe."
The conversation faded, their steps echoing away, but Keona remained frozen where she was. Her heart was filled with confusion—shame that he had defended Selene publicly, hope that he doubted her privately, and terror of what this meant for her place among them all.
—————
The next day dawned cold and gray. Keona found no peace in Nyra's reassurances or Elandra's quiet comfort. Everywhere she went, whispers followed. Children stared wide-eyed, mothers pulled them close, warriors narrowed their eyes as though she might ignite into silver flame at any moment.
It was worse than rejection. This was exile written in their eyes before it was spoken.
And then Selene came to her.
Keona had slipped into the outer gardens to find a moment's solitude when the sound of heels on stone drew her attention. Selene stood there in a flowing red gown, her smile sharp enough to draw blood.
"You should have left the night he rejected you," Selene said sweetly. "But you just can't help yourself, can you? Lurking around, showing your cursed fire, turning eyes that don't belong to you."
Keona stiffened, her nails digging into her palms. "I don't want your throne, Selene. Or your Alpha. I never asked for any of this."
Selene's laughter was low, mocking. "Oh, but you have them, whether you want them or not. Darius watches you like a starving wolf at a feast. The elders mutter your name like an omen. And Kalethorn…" She stepped closer, her perfume sharp, suffocating. "He may stand beside me in public, but I see the way his eyes drift. He cannot stop thinking of you."
Keona's heart lurched, though she forced her face to stillness.
Selene's eyes darkened, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "But make no mistake, Keona Stormfang. This is my pack. My Alpha. My throne. If you won't leave willingly…" She leaned close enough that Keona could feel her breath on her ear. "Then I will destroy you."
Her gown swept as she turned, vanishing back toward the hall, leaving the scent of roses and malice in her wake.
Keona stood rooted in place, the words ringing in her skull like a curse. She suddenly realized Selene was not simply a rival in love. She was an enemy—and enemies like her did not stop until blood was spilled.