~ Killian
The longhouse is a storm of noise—warriors sharpening blades, elders arguing over Bloodclaw's latest raid, the air thick with cedar and tension. But all I can feel is her. Selene. Her silver eyes burn in my mind, a blade twisting in my chest. My wolf paces, snarling Mine, as if she's more than a rogue healer who wandered into Blackthorn. As if she's Lyra, the omega I rejected three years ago, whose death still claws at my soul. I shook off the thought, my scarred brow tightening. Lyra's gone. I made sure of that when I chose Mara to strengthen the pack. So why does this woman's scent—ash and wildflowers—feel like a ghost?
I stand at the head of the hall, my towering frame casting a shadow over the pack. They look to me, their alpha, for strength, for answers. But my wolf is restless, clawing at the edges of my control. Selene's presence in the infirmary, where I sent her to prove her worth, is a splinter I can't ignore. Her defiance, her steady gaze—it's too familiar, too dangerous. I clench my fists, the scar on my brow throbbing. I can't afford distractions, not with Bloodclaw circling and whispers of a traitor in our ranks.
Mara glides to my side, her golden hair catching the torchlight, her blue eyes sharp as knives. She's every inch the Luna—poised, commanding, the perfect mate to hold Blackthorn together. But her touch on my arm feels like a chain, not a comfort.
"Killian," she murmured, her voice low, meant only to me, "you can't trust that rogue. Selene. She's hiding something. I saw it in her eyes. She could be working with Bloodclaw."
My jaw tightens. Mara's always been quick to sense threats, but her insistence on Selene's danger feels personal, edged with something I can't place. Jealousy, maybe.
"She healed Torren," I say, keeping my voice steady.
"The warrior's leg was shredded, and now he's walking. That's not the work of a spy."
Mara's lips thin, her eyes flashing. "Or it's exactly what a spy would do—gain our trust before striking. You saw her flinch when you growled. She knows more than she's saying. Send her to the cells, Killian, or kill her. We can't risk it."
Her words stir the memory of Selene's silver eyes, the way they held mine, unflinching yet haunted. My wolf surges, urging me to protect her, not cage her. It's madness. I rejected my fated mate—Lyra—because she was too weak to lead, too soft to survive the war with Bloodclaw. Mara was the pragmatic choice, the beta's daughter who could unite the pack. But every night, Lyra's face haunts me, her broken sobs echoing in my dreams. I drove her to her death. I won't make another mistake.
"She stays in the infirmary," I say, my tone, final. "If she's a spy, we'll catch her. If she's a healer, we need her. Bloodclaw's raids are bleeding us dry."
Mara steps closer, her scent—jasmine and steel—overwhelming. "You're blinded by her, Killian. Like you were with…" She stops, but the unspoken name—Lyra—hangs between us. My wolf growls, low and dangerous, and Mara flinches, her mask slipping for a moment. She recovers, her smile cold.
"Just be careful, my love. The pack needs you strong."
I turned away, dismissing her, and strode toward the infirmary. The pack parts for me, their eyes a mix of loyalty and fear. They know my wolf is volatile, barely leashed since Lyra's exile. The guilt is a weight I carry alone, a scar deeper than the one on my brow. If Selene's a threat, I'll deal with her. But if she's something else—something my wolf senses-I need to know.
The infirmary smells of herbs and blood, a cramped stone room lit by flickering lanterns. Selene kneels beside a cot, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders as she tends a wounded scout. Her hands move with precision, wrapping bandages, but there's a grace to it, like she's weaving something more than cloth. My wolf stirs again, drawn to her, and I grit my teeth against the pull. She's a rogue, nothing more. Yet her scent—ash and wildflowers, with a faint undercurrent I can't place—tugs at memories I've buried.
Rowan leans against the wall, his hazel eyes tracking her. "She's good, Killian," he says, his voice light but cautious.
"Saved Torren's leg, and now this scout's breathing easier. Rogue or not, she's got skill."
I nod, not taking my eyes off her. "Keep watch, Rowan. If she steps out of line, report it."
Selene glances up, her silver eyes meeting mine. My wolf surges, gold flashing in my vision, and I force it down. She holds my gaze, unafraid, but there's a flicker of something—pain, maybe, or defiance.
"Alpha," she says, her voice soft but steady, "the scout will live. I need more herbs to treat others. Can I have access to your stores?"
Her boldness surprises me. Most rogues would cower, but she speaks like she belongs here.
"You'll get what you need," I say, my voice rougher than intended.
"But you're not free to roam. Darius will escort you."
She nods, her lips pressing into a thin line. "Understood." But her eyes say she's hiding something, and my wolf wants to rip it out of her. I stepped closer, testing her, letting my alpha presence fill the room. She doesn't flinch, but her hands tremble slightly, betraying her calm.
Darius enters, his broad frame filling the doorway.
"Alpha, a word." His amber eyes are grim, and I follow him outside, leaving Rowan with Selene. The cold mountain air bites at my skin, but it's nothing compared to the unease gnawing at me.
"Found something at the border," Darius says, holding up a bloodied scrap of cloth. It's marked with a rune, faint but glowing with an eerie violet light. "Not Bloodclaw's usual work. Smells… wrong. Like magic, not wolf."
My gut twists. Magic is rare, forbidden in most packs since the old wars. The elders whisper of a sorcerer, Varkis, a rogue who turned on his clan centuries ago. I thought it was a myth, but this rune feels like a warning.
"Keep it quiet," I told Darius.
"Double the patrols. If Bloodclaw's using magic, we're in deeper trouble than I thought."
He nods, but his eyes flick to the infirmary. "And the rogue? Selene's too convenient, showing up now. Mara's not wrong to suspect her."
I clenched my jaw, my wolf growling at the thought of Selene as a threat. "She's under watch. If she's tied to this rune, I'll handle it." But as I say it, her scent floods my senses again, ash and wildflowers, layered with something achingly familiar. It's impossible, but it feels like Lyra's ghost, standing in my hall, wearing a stranger's face.
I returned to the infirmary, my wolf restless. Selene's bandaging another warrior, her movements calm but her eyes distant, like she's seeing something beyond the room. My wolf lunges, desperate to claim her, and I grip the doorframe to steady myself. She's not Lyra. She can't be. But as she turns, her silver eyes locking with mine, the bond I buried three years ago stirs, alive and burning.
"Prove yourself, Selene," I say, my voice low, a challenge and a plea. "Or you won't survive Blackthorn."
She nods, her expression unreadable, but her scent—Lyra's scent—lingers like a ghost I can't escape.