Three days passed in uneasy peace.
Elara fell into a rhythm—mornings in the kitchens with Lyra watching, afternoons in the guest quarters with the door barred, nights with Kael by the fire. They talked for hours about everything and nothing. He told her about his mother—the Luna who'd died protecting him, whose last words had been "follow the silver wolf." She told him about the orphanage, the dreams, the loneliness that had followed her like a shadow.
Neither mentioned the marks. Neither mentioned the bond. Neither mentioned the thing growing between them that had no name.
But every night, before he left, Kael kissed her.
Soft. Deep. Claiming.
And every morning, Elara woke with the marks brighter than before.
---
On the fourth morning, everything changed.
Elara was in the kitchens, helping Marta prepare the midday meal, when the door burst open and a young wolf stumbled in—bleeding, gasping, eyes wild.
"Rogues." The word came out strangled. "At the eastern border. Dozens of them. They have—they have—"
He collapsed before he could finish.
Chaos erupted.
Greta began barking orders. Warriors streamed past the door, grabbing weapons, shifting mid-run. Lyra grabbed Elara's arm.
"Stay here. Bar the door. Don't open it for anyone but me or the Alpha." Her eyes were fierce. "Promise me."
"I promise."
Lyra ran.
Elara stood in the sudden silence of the kitchen, heart pounding, marks blazing beneath her clothes. Through the bond, she could feel Kael—already fighting, already in danger, already furious.
Be safe, she thought toward him. Please be safe.
A pulse of warmth answered. Faint. Distant. But there.
He felt me.
She barred the door.
And waited.
---
The attack lasted hours.
Elara could hear it—the distant clash of battle, the howls of wolves, the screams of the wounded. Each sound made her flinch, made her marks flare, made her reach through the bond for reassurance.
Each time, warmth answered.
Alive. Fighting. Coming back to you.
But as the hours stretched on, the warmth grew fainter. Weaker.
He's tiring, she realized. He's hurt.
The need to do something nearly overwhelmed her. But she'd promised. She'd stay. She'd be safe.
She stayed.
---
The door finally opened at dusk.
Kael stood there.
Blood covered him—his own, others', she couldn't tell. His face was grey with exhaustion. His silver eyes found her immediately.
"You're alive." His voice was rough. Broken.
"You're hurt." She crossed to him in seconds, hands reaching for him, checking for wounds. "Where—"
He caught her hands. Pulled her close. Buried his face in her hair.
"I thought—" His voice cracked. "When the attack came, I thought—if they'd found you, if they'd—"
"Kael." She held him tight. "I'm here. I'm okay. You came back."
He held her like he'd never let go.
---
Later, after Thorne had patched his wounds—superficial this time, nothing like the champion's damage—Kael sat by her fire and told her what had happened.
"It wasn't random. They were organized. Coordinated. Hit three borders at once, drew our forces thin, and then—" His jaw tightened. "Then a small group broke off and headed toward the compound. Toward the guest quarters."
Elara's blood chilled. "They were coming for me."
"Yes." His silver eyes met hers. "Someone told them where you were. Someone inside the pack."
Marlena, she thought immediately. Or one of her people.
But Kael shook his head. "I considered that. But Marlena's cruel, not stupid. Helping rogues would destroy her. No, this is someone else. Someone with access to information and a reason to want you gone."
"Dace."
The name escaped before she could stop it.
Kael's eyes sharpened. "What do you know?"
"Nothing concrete. But he's been watching me. Asking questions. And he saw—" She touched her sleeve, where the marks had flickered visible. "He saw the marks. He knows I'm not human."
Kael was on his feet in an instant. "I'll kill him."
"No." She grabbed his arm. "If he wanted me dead, he could have told Marlena already. He hasn't. He's waiting. Watching. Playing his own game."
"Then what game?"
Elara shook her head. "I don't know. But I think we need to find out."
---
Dace came to them that night.
Not to the guest quarters—too public, too obvious. But as Kael was leaving, slipping through the shadows toward his own residence, a figure stepped out of the darkness.
"Alpha." Dace's voice was quiet. "We need to talk."
Kael's hand went to his sword. "You have five seconds to explain why I shouldn't kill you where you stand."
"Because I'm not your enemy." Dace's hazel eyes were serious for once. "And because I know what she is."
Kael went still. "What did you say?"
"I know she's not human. I know about the marks. I know—" Dace glanced around, lowered his voice. "I know she's connected to the Silver Crown."
The words hung in the air like frost.
Kael's sword was at Dace's throat in an instant. "Explain. Now."
Dace didn't flinch. "My grandmother served the royal family. Before the massacre. She was in the palace the night it fell. She saw things—things she told no one except me, on her deathbed." His eyes met Kael's. "She told me about the seal. About the heir who was hidden. About the marks that would appear when she began to awaken."
"And you think Elara—"
"I know Elara is the heir." Dace's voice was certain. "The marks. The timing. The way you're drawn to her even though you can't scent her." He paused. "The seal hides her from unworthy mates. But it can't hide her from those who know what to look for."
Kael's sword didn't lower. "If you've known this, why haven't you told anyone?"
"Because the people who massacred the royal family are still out there. Still hunting. Still waiting." Dace's jaw tightened. "The master—the one who orchestrated the massacre—he's been searching for the heir for two hundred years. If he finds her before her seal breaks, before her wolf fully awakens—" He stopped. Swallowed. "There are things worse than death, Alpha. Things done with royal blood. I've seen the records."
Kael stared at him for a long moment.
Then, slowly, he lowered his sword.
"Why tell me now?"
"Because the rogues are getting bolder. Because the master is getting closer. Because—" Dace's eyes flickered toward the guest quarters. "Because she doesn't have much time. The Blood Moon is in six days. If her seal breaks then, without protection, without guidance—she might not survive."
Kael's blood ran cold. "What do you mean, might not survive?"
"The power surge. The wolf emerging without an anchor." Dace met his eyes. "She needs her mate. She needs the bond fully activated. She needs—" He paused. "She needs you. Worthy. Ready. Choosing her."
Choosing her.
The words echoed in Kael's mind.
I've been choosing her. Every day. Every night. But if it's not enough—
"How do I become worthy?" The question came out rough. Desperate.
Dace shook his head. "I don't know. The old records are vague. Something about sacrifice. Something about choice. Something about—" He frowned. "Something about kneeling."
Kneeling.
The word stirred something in Kael's memory. A dream he'd had—Elara crowned in silver light, himself on his knees before her, offering everything.
Not as Alpha to royalty. As mate to mate.
"I need to see these records," Kael said. "The ones your grandmother left."
Dace nodded. "I thought you might. They're hidden. Protected. But I can take you to them." He paused. "There's a condition."
"What?"
"You take me with you. When you go to find the elder—the one at the Silver Palace ruins." Dace's eyes were ancient. "My grandmother died serving the royal family. I want to be there when the heir reclaims her throne."
Kael studied him for a long moment.
Dace had always been a wildcard—unpredictable, self-serving, impossible to trust. But the look in his eyes now wasn't ambition or calculation.
It was grief. Old and deep and desperate for meaning.
"Show me the records," Kael said finally. "Then we'll talk about the palace."
---
Elara listened to Kael's account in stunned silence.
"Dace knows." She pressed her hand to her chest, where the marks pulsed beneath her clothes. "He's known all along."
"His grandmother served your family." Kael's voice was careful. "She saw the massacre. She passed the knowledge to him."
"And he wants to help?"
"He wants to be there. When you claim what's yours." Kael's silver eyes searched her face. "The question is—do you trust him?"
Elara thought about Dace's sharp eyes and sharper smile. His warnings. His questions. The way he'd lied to Marlena to protect her.
"I don't know," she admitted. "But I think... I think he's been waiting for this his whole life. For something to believe in." She met Kael's eyes. "I know what that feels like."
Kael pulled her close. "Then we'll let him help. Carefully. With limits." His jaw tightened. "But if he betrays you—"
"He won't. Not if he really wants to be part of whatever comes next."
They sat in silence for a moment, watching the fire.
Then Kael spoke.
"Six days until the Blood Moon." His voice was quiet. "Dace says if your seal breaks then, without protection—you might not survive."
Elara's heart clenched. "I know."
"I won't let that happen." His arms tightened around her. "Whatever it takes. Whatever I have to become. I'll be worthy. I'll be ready. I'll—" He stopped. Swallowed. "I'll kneel if I have to."
Kneel.
The word echoed through the bond like a bell.
Elara's marks blazed.
Soon, her wolf whispered. Soon he'll understand.
Soon everything changes.
---
The next day, Kael took Elara to meet Dace.
Not in the compound—too many eyes. In the hidden clearing where they'd trained, where the pines sheltered them from watching wolves.
Dace waited there, a leather-wrapped bundle in his hands.
"You came." He looked almost surprised.
"You have information I need." Kael's voice was cool. "Show us."
Dace unwrapped the bundle.
Inside lay a journal—ancient, crumbling, bound in leather that might once have been silver. Dace handled it like it was made of glass.
"My grandmother's records." He opened it carefully. "She was a scribe in the royal palace. She wrote everything—ceremonies, prophecies, the bloodlines of every Silver wolf for generations." He turned pages until he found a marked section. "Here. About the seal."
Elara leaned forward.
The writing was old—faded, difficult to read. But as she stared at the pages, something strange happened.
The words began to glow.
Silver light rose from the journal, curling around her hands, her arms, her face. Images flashed through her mind—a palace of white stone, wolves in silver armor, a woman with her face holding a tiny, swaddled infant.
Daughter, a voice whispered. Heir. Hope.
Remember.
Elara gasped. Jerked back.
The light faded.
Kael caught her. "What happened?"
"I don't—" She stared at the journal. "It knew me. The journal knew me."
Dace's face was pale. "It's enchanted. Only royal blood can read it." He looked at her with new eyes. "You really are the heir."
Elara touched her chest. The marks there blazed with warmth.
I'm not human, she thought. I never was.
I'm the last of a murdered line.
And in six days, everything changes.
---
End of Chapter 12🐺