The forest began to change.
At first, it was small things — things easy to dismiss.
A shift in the wind that carried no scent when it should have.
A ripple in the lake even when the air was still.
Birdsong that stopped too soon.
The Silvercrest wolves called it coincidence. Then they started calling it omen.
By the third day, when two hunters failed to return from the western ridge, the word curse started to appear between whispers.
Elara felt it long before she heard it. The air itself had changed around her — heavy, like the pack's unease had weight. Wolves she'd known her whole life avoided her eyes now. Conversations cut short when she passed. Every breath of silence had her name folded somewhere inside it.
She didn't need to ask why.
Bad things had a way of finding her.
That morning, she'd gone to deliver fresh herbs and bandages to the healers. Their cottage sat at the edge of the clearing, where the scent of moss and lavender usually soothed the air. Today, it smelled like smoke and fear.
Two young wolves stood outside the door, arguing in low voices.
"I'm telling you, it started after the Gathering," one hissed. "After she—"
Elara stepped into view before they could finish. The sudden silence that followed was sharp enough to cut.
"After I what?" she asked softly.
Neither answered. One just muttered something about duty and slipped away, dragging the other with him.
Inside, the head healer, Mira, was grinding roots at her table. Her kind eyes met Elara's with a flicker of worry. "Ignore them," she said gently. "Fear makes fools out of wolves."
Elara managed a small smile. "It's not the first time they've used my name to make sense of what they don't understand."
Mira sighed. "Still, it shouldn't fall on you to carry it."
Elara didn't respond. She busied herself stacking the supplies, but her fingers trembled slightly.
It wasn't just gossip this time. The entire territory felt wrong. Patrols were returning late, complaining of scents that vanished mid-track, of cold spots in the forest that made their wolves uneasy. Even the Alpha had tightened curfews, assigning guards at the border every night.
By sunset, another rumor spread — a warrior injured on patrol had woken screaming about shadows with eyes. No one had seen what attacked him. No claw marks, no scent trail, nothing but the burn of cold on his skin.
And every whisper circled back the same way.
"She was there."
"She brought something back with her."
"She's cursed."
Elara kept walking. Past the looks, past the murmurs. Each step felt heavier than the last.
When she reached her cabin, she locked the door behind her and leaned against it, eyes shut. The quiet was deafening. Her wolf stirred uneasily, pacing in her mind.
They can't scent truth, her wolf murmured. They only scent fear.
"I know," Elara whispered back. "But fear spreads faster than reason."
She went to the window, watching the treeline sway under a restless wind. The moon was a sliver tonight, thin and pale. For the first time, its light felt… distant.
A knock startled her.
When she opened the door, Kieran stood there — his expression unreadable, silver eyes sharper than she remembered. Two guards flanked him, stiff and silent.
"Elara Hale," he said, voice controlled. "Alpha Damon wants to see you."
Her stomach dropped, but she didn't flinch. "Now?"
"Now."
The walk back to the Pack House was silent. Every wolf they passed pretended not to watch, but Elara felt their eyes anyway. By the time they reached the meeting hall, her pulse had steadied into something calm — not from peace, but from habit.
Damon was waiting inside, standing near the table. His presence filled the room even before he spoke.
"Scout Hale," he said, turning toward her. "You were last assigned to the eastern patrol, near the river, correct?"
"Yes, Alpha."
"Tell me," he said slowly, "did you sense anything unusual that day?"
Elara met his gaze. "I sensed… something. Not danger. Just presence. It didn't feel like rogue wolves."
"What did it feel like?"
"Old," she said finally. "Like the forest itself was watching."
The Beta—Kieran—shifted slightly beside the Alpha. His eyes narrowed, skepticism sharp. "You didn't think to report that?"
"I didn't have proof," she replied evenly. "You taught us to report facts, not feelings."
Kieran's jaw tightened, but Damon held up a hand before he could speak. "Enough. We'll increase patrols along the river and the western ridge. You'll stay within central territory for now, Hale. No solo patrols."
The words weren't cruel, but they stripped away the one thing she valued most—independence.
"Yes, Alpha."
She turned to leave, but as she reached the door, Damon added quietly, "Be careful, Elara. Fear makes wolves desperate. And desperation makes them dangerous."
Outside, the night pressed close—dense and cold. The wind carried voices from the nearby barracks, laughter laced with unease.
When she reached her cabin again, she caught her reflection in the window. For a second, the pale glow of moonlight caught her eyes, and for the briefest moment, they didn't look entirely like her own.
Her wolf stirred again, quiet but certain.
Something's coming.
Elara exhaled slowly, her breath fogging the glass. "I know."
Beyond the forest, the unseen Alpha who had felt her pain once before lifted his head toward the same moon—and the pull between them hummed like a secret neither of them could yet name.