Alaric
The meadow was too bright. Too open. I hated it there—the way the moonlight spilled across the grass, exposing everything I didn't want to see.
Isolde's hand in his. Her smile meant for him. Her trust, her warmth… wasted on a wolf.
I'd walked away before the hunger in me became unbearable, before I said something I couldn't take back. But I didn't go far. I never did. Instead, I lingered at the edges of the forest, listening to their voices carry in the night.
And then I did what I swore I wouldn't. I called Kaelen.
A whisper, a signal only wolves would understand. Not enough to bring the Alpha, but enough to bring someone who'd make Fenrir think twice about parading her around in the open.
I told myself it was for her protection. That if the pack caught them together, the danger would be real enough to scare her off, to remind her of the laws she couldn't afford to break.
But when Kaelen's voice drifted through the trees, mocking and sharp, when I smelled Fenrir's fury rising in the meadow… I felt it.
Guilt. It tasted bitter, even on my tongue. I should've left then. Returned to my clan's estate, to the safety of cold stone walls and the endless weight of duty. But my feet carried me deeper into the woods, circling, watching.
Because the truth I couldn't admit— not to them, not to myself—was simple. I didn't want Isolde safe. I wanted her mine.
The estate loomed like a cathedral of shadows, all black stone and silver iron, carved into the bones of the mountain. Its spires cut the night sky, and its windows bled candlelight that never warmed.
Home. Or prison.
I stepped through the gates, the air thick with the metallic tang of old blood, the perfume of roses meant to mask it. Servants bowed low as I passed, their eyes averted. Not respect—fear. Always fear.
The hall stretched long, lined with portraits of the dead who still ruled us with painted eyes. My father's portrait, sharp and regal, watched me most closely of all.
"Alaric."
Her voice cut through the silence before I reached the throne room. Lady Selene—my aunt, though she'd sooner call herself my master—glided into view. Silver hair like liquid moonlight, lips the color of spilled wine. She smiled, though her gaze sliced through me.
"You've been wandering again."
I bowed my head, though my jaw clenched. "I was hunting."
"Hunting," she echoed, tasting the lie. She circled me like a viper. "And yet, I hear whispers you've been keeping dangerous company. Wolves. Humans." Her smile sharpened. "Or perhaps… one human in particular."
My blood went cold. Had Kaelen already sent word? Or was her network of spies simply faster than my steps?
"She's nothing," I said quickly, too quickly.
Selene's hand shot out, fingers cold as steel against my chin, forcing me to meet her gaze. Her irises glowed faintly, the mark of an elder. "Nothing? Then why does your pulse betray you?"
I wrenched free, heat burning under my skin. "I'm loyal to the clan."
Her laughter echoed down the stone hall, soft and cruel. "You're loyal to your heart, boy. And one day, it will destroy you."
She leaned closer, her breath ice against my ear.
"And when it does, I'll be waiting to pick up the pieces."
I left before she could say more. Her laughter followed me out into the night, echoing off stone like the toll of a bell. A warning. A curse.
The mountain air bit at my skin as I descended the steps of the estate, each one heavier than the last. Selene's words tangled with Kaelen's smug grin in my head, weaving themselves into a snare I couldn't escape.
"You're loyal to your heart."
She was right. And it made me weak.
I clenched my fists, nails cutting into my palms. I should have felt satisfied—Fenrir cornered, the pack stirred, the Alpha soon to know everything. I should have felt relief that the line between Isolde and me would finally be drawn, carved deep enough to keep her away from him.
Instead, I felt sick.
Because I'd seen the way Fenrir looked at her. The way she looked back. Not like a human staring up at a wolf's teeth, but like someone who saw something worth saving.
And in the quiet I never admitted to anyone, I wondered if she had ever looked at me the same way.
The forest stretched out before me, a sea of shadows broken by the glint of moonlight. I walked into it, slower than I should have, as if each step pulled me deeper into something I couldn't crawl out of.
I had betrayed her. Betrayed them. And still, I wanted her. That was the worst part.
I should've gone back inside. Should've buried myself in the stone halls, let the clan's endless councils and rituals smother me until the guilt rotted into nothing.
But my feet didn't take me home. They carried me to her.
The forest bent around me as I moved, fast and silent, every root and branch giving way as if it knew where I was meant to be. By the time the meadow opened before me again, the air was heavy with her scent—faint sparks of power threaded with warmth I could never name.
Isolde.
She sat by the river's edge, her knees drawn up, her reflection rippling in the dark water. Alone. Fenrir had already left, I realized, probably dragged back to face his pack's wrath.
And she looked so small without him.
Something twisted sharp in my chest. I had set the trap that would destroy them, and still, here I was—watching her, guarding her like the predator I was.
Because no matter what Selene said, no matter what betrayal I'd already committed, one truth burned hotter than the rest:
I couldn't let her be taken. Not by Kaelen. Not by Fenrir. Not even by the fate this cursed world seemed determined to chain her to. The night whispered around me, a song only I could hear. I stayed hidden in the shadows, silent as the grave, my eyes fixed on her.
Not as her friend. Not as her savior. But as the monster who wanted her more than anything. And gods help anyone who tried to take her from me.