“You’re just like those savage she-wolves,” Axton half shouted at me.
“No, Axton.” I straightened my blazer. “I’m worse. I’m a Rustpire she-wolf scorned.”
I slid into the back of my moon-carriage. The leather was cool beneath me. Calder, my driver, met my eyes through the mirror and simply nodded. He knew.
The carriage pulled away, leaving Axton and his weak new mate behind. From now on, Axton’s betrayal and disloyalty would be repaid—not with words. But with blood, as pack law demanded.
The day passed in a haze of pack meetings and war-council discussions. Father paced his command den, the scent of burning wolfsbane cigar drifting around him as he spoke about the latest movement from the Ashenfell Pack.
“Their influence grows by the moon,” he said, tapping ash into a carved moonstone tray. “Marcellus isn’t like his father. He’s sharper and more strategic. A union with him strengthens both our bloodlines.”
That night, I sank into my nesting furs, my mind heavy. The enchanted silk wraps curled around me as I reached for my moon-communicator. A notification glowed across the screen. From an unknown number.
My breath halted. [I heard what happened today. You handled yourself well. A true Rustpire. — Marcellus]
My fingers hovered, but before I replied, another message appeared:
[I keep eyes across the territories, Isolde. Your ex-mate made a grave mistake. One he’ll regret beneath the moon.]
A shiver ran down my spine—not fear, but recognition. Power. The world I’d tried to escape.
Another message, [Rest well. We’ll speak of our future soon. And Isolde… that strength you showed today? Perfect.]
I stared at the screen. He wasn’t just sending words. He was staking a claim—quiet, calculated, undeniable. And somehow… it didn’t scare me anymore. It felt like returning to my pack’s true scent.
***
The communicator vibrated against my cheek, waking me. The same unknown number flashed again. Marcellus.
“Good morning, Isolde.” His voice was deep and warm, like dark timber under moonlight.
“Good morning.” I sat up, brushing hair from my face.
“Sleep well?”
“Better than I expected,” I murmured, fingers tracing the silk furs. “Your messages were… interesting.”
A low chuckle rumbled through the line. “I meant every word. By the way, what’s your plan for today? I’d like to meet if you dint mind.”
The question lingered. Logic told me to refuse, but something else tugged—an instinctual pull.