The pack house was alive with whispers by midday.
Kai's name was on every tongue—from the kitchens to the training grounds, from pups' play fights to elders' quiet conversations.
"Did you hear? The Alpha heir defended the scentless girl in council."
"He called her his mate. In front of everyone."
"And that rogue—silver eyes, no scent—he's Veiled too. Training her."
"Lydia's furious. Says it's witchcraft."
"She's telling anyone who'll listen that Jennie will curse us all."
Jennie heard it all as she moved through her duties—carrying laundry, serving lunch, clearing tables. Heads turned now, not away. Some stares were curious, some wary, a few openly hostile. But no one dared speak cruelly to her face. Not anymore.
The shift was subtle but unmistakable.
She was no longer invisible.
She was something to fear. Or follow.
In the armory, warriors paused mid-spar when she passed, nodding respectfully. In the gardens, pups watched wide-eyed as faint shadows trailed her footsteps before vanishing.
Mira found her in the herb storage room, bundling dried lavender.
"You've become the pack's favorite mystery," the old healer said with a wry smile.
Jennie tied a bundle tightly. "Better than being forgotten."
Mira's eyes softened. "Be careful, child. Fear and awe are two sides of the same blade."
Jennie nodded. "I know."
By late afternoon, the sun hung low and golden over the forest, casting long shadows across the pack house grounds. Ronan summoned Kai and Jennie to his private study—a spacious, wood-paneled room tucked in the oldest wing of the mansion, where the air always carried the faint scent of aged oak, leather-bound ledgers, and pipe smoke from generations past.
Heavy tapestries depicting ancient pack victories lined the walls, and floor-to-ceiling shelves groaned under the weight of meticulously kept records: birth lines, alliance treaties, battle maps yellowed with time. A massive desk dominated the center, carved from a single slab of dark walnut, its surface scattered with rolled parchments and a silver dagger that served as both letter opener and reminder of the Alpha's authority.
Ronan stood behind the desk, broad frame silhouetted against the tall window overlooking the training yards. His expression was carved from stone—grim lines etched deeper than usual.
He didn't waste words.
"The hunters' mark was found on three border stones," he said grimly, voice low and resonant. "Silver-tipped blade. Old rune. The same one used during the Purge."
He slid a rough sketch across the desk—a circle bisected by a vertical line, jagged and precise.
"They're confirming you exist, Jennie. And they're close. Close enough to breach our outer patrols without raising alarm until now."
Jennie felt a chill settle in her bones, cool as her shadows. She stepped forward to study the sketch, ice-blue eyes tracing the rune's sharp edges.
Kai's fists clenched at his sides, knuckles whitening. The bond flared with his anger—hot, protective fury that echoed in her chest.
"We double patrols," he said immediately. "Triple at night. Set traps along the known trails. No one crosses unmarked again."
Ronan nodded once, approval flickering in his eyes. "Already done. Gareth has the warriors rotating in shifts. Silver nets at the choke points."
He paused, gaze shifting between his son and Jennie.
"But that's defense. We need offense."
He turned fully to Jennie, his presence commanding yet not unkind.
"Your meeting with the rogue tomorrow—go. Learn what you can. If hunters are truly active again after all these centuries, we need every advantage your bloodline offers."
Jennie inclined her head respectfully, silver hair shifting over her shoulders. "Yes, Alpha."
Ronan studied her for a long moment, as though weighing her soul against the pack's future.
"And if the power proves too much?" he asked quietly. "If it grows beyond control—if the shadows demand more than you can give?"
The question hung heavy in the room, laced with the unspoken history of Veiled Wolves who had lost themselves to the dark.
Jennie met his gaze steadily, her voice calm but unwavering. "Then I'll control it. Or leave before it harms the pack."
The words were a vow—selfless, resolute.
Kai's growl was immediate and visceral, rumbling deep from his chest like thunder over mountains. His green eyes flashed gold, wolf surging forward.
"She's not leaving."
The declaration cracked through the room, raw and possessive. The bond flared hot between them—fierce refusal, unbreakable claim.
Ronan raised a single brow at his son, the corner of his mouth twitching in something almost like amusement, though his eyes remained serious.
"We'll see."
The words carried the weight of an Alpha's judgment—final, yet open to challenge.
He waved a hand in dismissal, already turning back to his maps.
But as Kai and Jennie left the study, the bond thrummed with shared determination.
As they left the study, Lydia intercepted them in the corridor—flanked by Mia and Serena, face composed but eyes blazing.
"Kai," she said sweetly, ignoring Jennie entirely. "Father wants to speak with you about alliances. Now."
Kai's expression was stone. "Later."
Lydia's smile tightened. "It's important. With rogues and… other threats… we need strong bonds."
Her gaze flicked to Jennie, venomous.
Jennie stepped forward. "If you have something to say, Lydia, say it to me."
The corridor went quiet. Passing wolves slowed, pretending not to listen.
Lydia's chin lifted. "Fine. You're a danger. Bringing hunters to our door with your freak blood. Kai deserves a real Luna—one who can stand beside him without hiding in shadows."
Kai moved between them, body shielding Jennie. "Enough."
But Jennie placed a hand on his arm—gentle, steadying.
She looked Lydia in the eye. "You're afraid."
Lydia laughed—high, brittle. "Of you? Please."
Jennie's voice dropped, cool and certain. "You should be."
Shadows stirred along the corridor walls—subtle, unnoticed by most, but Lydia saw. Her face paled.
Jennie walked past her without another word, silver hair swaying.
Kai followed, pride burning bright through the bond.
That night, Jennie met Kai in the sacred clearing—the same place where everything had begun.
Moonlight bathed the circle, torches unlit. They stood in the center, alone.
"I leave at dawn," Jennie said quietly.
"I know." Kai's voice was rough. "I'll be with you."
She studied his face—strong jaw shadowed, green eyes fierce with unspoken things.
"You don't have to," she said. "The pack needs you here."
Kai stepped closer. "I need to be where you are."
The bond flared—hot, insistent.
Jennie's breath caught. "Kai…"
He cupped her face gently, thumbs brushing her cheeks. "I was wrong. That first night. Every night since. I let fear and expectation blind me. But I see you now. All of you."
His forehead rested against hers.
"You're my mate. My Luna. My everything."
Jennie's eyes shimmered. "And if the power changes me?"
"Then I'll change with you."
He kissed her then—slow, deep, claiming. The bond exploded into light and heat, wrapping around them like living flame.
Shadows rose in response, curling protectively, but this time warm with approval.
When they parted, breathless, Jennie smiled—small, real.
"Tomorrow we learn," she whispered.
"Together," he answered.
But across the pack house, in her locked room on the upper floor reserved for high-ranking unmated females, Lydia stood frozen before the wide window.
The heavy oak door was bolted from the inside. The windows were latched tight against the night chill. No one had entered. No one could have.
Yet there it was.
A single white moonflower rested on the stone windowsill—impossible, luminous petals glowing faintly in the dim lamplight, stem still dewy as though freshly plucked from some hidden garden. It had not been there when she retired an hour ago.
Lydia's breath came shallow and quick. She reached out with trembling fingers, half expecting the bloom to dissolve like the mist in the corridor earlier. But it was real—cool, delicate, fragrant in a way that carried no scent at all, only the crisp chill of moonlight on snow.
Pinned beneath the stem was a small folded scrap of parchment, edges crisp and old-looking, as though cut from a centuries-old tome.
Her hands shook as she unfolded it.
The note attached—in elegant, ancient script that seemed to shimmer and shift before her eyes—read:
The Veiled see everything.
The words sank into her like ice water.
Lydia's heart slammed against her ribs. She crushed the flower in her fist, petals bruising instantly, releasing a faint silvery mist that curled around her fingers before vanishing into the air. The crushed bloom left no stain on her skin—only a lingering cold that refused to fade.
She backed away from the window until her legs hit the edge of her silk-draped bed. Her perfect golden hair, usually immaculate even at night, had come loose from its braid; strands clung to her suddenly clammy cheeks.
This wasn't a prank.
This wasn't coincidence.
Jennie—or whatever dark thing she was becoming—had been here. Inside her locked room. Watching. Warning.
The Veiled see everything.
Lydia's mind raced, panic sharpening into something colder, more dangerous.
Kai was slipping away from her—day by day, glance by glance. The pack whispered his name with Jennie's now. The rogue had come. Hunters circled. And Jennie… Jennie was no longer the broken, scentless girl Lydia had tormented for years.
She was becoming something the pack feared.
And fear could be weaponized.
But not against her.
Lydia straightened slowly, crushing the remnants of the flower in her palm until nothing remained but faint silver dust that slipped through her fingers like sand.
She needed allies.
Fast.
Ones who feared the Veiled more than they feared change.
Ones who remembered the old stories—the bloody ones.
And she knew exactly where to find them.
Her father's old allies among the traditionalist warriors. The elders who had spoken darkly in council about "unnatural blood." The border patrols who had lost kin in rogue attacks and blamed anything that smelled of mystery.
And—if necessary—the shadowed contacts her family had maintained for generations. Those who still carried silver blades etched with hunter runes.
Lydia crossed to her vanity, lighting a fresh candle with steadying hands. In the mirror, her reflection looked back—beautiful, composed, but with eyes that now burned with desperate resolve.
Jennie thought she could play in the dark.
But Lydia had always known how to weaponize light.
She would burn the shadows out.
One way or another.
Outside her window, the moon watched in silence.
And somewhere deep in the forest, Jennie's shadows stirred in answer—cool, patient, and no longer afraid.