The Raid

The stronghold felt colder after the flare of Elara's power. Whispers slithered through the halls like smoke—sharp-edged words she couldn't quite hear but felt all the same. Eyes followed her, lingering just long enough to leave a mark, filled with something darker than curiosity. Fear.

Kael hadn't spoken to her since that night. His absence was louder than any argument, heavier than any bruise. Elara told herself she didn't care, but the truth gnawed at her ribs. Distance felt like punishment.

Lira found her near the outer walls, where the stone bled frost despite the weak afternoon sun.

"They're afraid of you now," Lira said, her tone flat but not unkind.

Elara didn't flinch. "Good."

Lira arched a brow, leaning against the wall. "Fear is a fragile shield. It cracks under pressure." She tilted her head slightly. "You're not the first threat the pack's faced. But you might be the most dangerous."

Elara crossed her arms, trying to ignore the way her chest tightened. "Because of the bond?"

"No," Lira replied simply. "Because you don't know who you are. And neither do we."

The words sat between them like a challenge—or maybe a warning. Elara held Lira's gaze, her pulse steady even though her thoughts weren't. Who was she, really? A mate? A threat? A mistake?

The conversation ended not with answers, but with silence, the kind that dug its claws in and refused to let go.

The training grounds were unforgiving—a stretch of packed dirt scarred by countless battles, both real and staged. Today felt different. Meaner. Hungrier.

Elara stepped into the circle, her breath sharp against the cold air, heart pounding not with fear but anticipation. The tension wasn't just under her skin—it was in the ground, thrumming like it could crack open any second.

Darius stalked forward, his grin feral, eyes gleaming with something darker than amusement. "Let's see if the Omega bleeds like the rest of us—or if she's just another fucking mistake Kael's too blind to see."

Elara tilted her head slightly, lips pressed into a thin line. No words. Words were fucking wasted on wolves.

The first blow came fast—too fast. No warning. His fist, a blur, missed her cheek by inches. She twisted, but not cleanly—claws raked her side, hot and sharp. Blood blossomed beneath her shirt, the warmth a stark contrast to the chill in the air.

Laughter rippled through the crowd, low and cruel.

She fought back, instincts sharp and vicious. A punch landed square in Darius's ribs, her knee catching another warrior's jaw. But they didn't fall. They kept coming. Fists, claws, teeth. Pain flared—a split lip, bruised ribs—but adrenaline drowned it out.

Elara's vision blurred, red seeping into the edges. She didn't fall.

Until she did.

Boots slammed into her side, knocking the breath from her lungs. She tasted blood—metallic, bitter. A shadow loomed, claws poised for the final strike.

Then—a snarl.

Not human.

A shadow loomed before the final strike could land. A snarl ripped through the air, raw and inhuman. Kael.

He didn't hesitate. His shift was partial, violent—fangs bared, eyes molten gold. He moved like death itself, dismantling the attackers with brutal efficiency. No one dared stand their ground. Not against their Alpha.

Silence fell when it was over. Kael stood in the center, chest heaving, his hands bloodied—not with Elara's, but with theirs.

He turned to her, and for a heartbeat, there was nothing but the bond—a tether pulled taut between rage and something softer. Something dangerous.

"Get up," he ordered quietly.

Elara pushed herself to her feet, her body screaming in protest, but she didn't show it. She met his gaze with defiance, even though her knees shook.

Kael's jaw clenched. He stepped closer, his voice low enough that only she could hear. "You make it hard to protect you."

She bared her teeth in something that wasn't a smile. "I didn't ask you to."

For a moment, just a breath, it felt like the world could shatter. But Kael stepped back, his control slipping back into place like a mask.

The damage was done. Not to Elara's body—she could heal. But the cracks in the pack's loyalty? Those would fester.

The echoes of Kael's snarl still clung to the walls of the stronghold long after the dust had settled. The training grounds were empty now—except for the bloodstains smeared into the dirt, a silent reminder of how fragile loyalty could be.

Elara sat on the edge of her cot, wrapping a crude bandage around her ribs. The bruises were blooming, dark and tender beneath her fingertips, but the ache in her chest had nothing to do with broken skin.

She'd felt Kael's rage like a pulse beneath her own. Not for the pack's betrayal—but for her.

A soft knock.

Lira stepped inside without waiting for permission, her eyes sharp, scanning Elara's injuries without a flicker of sympathy. "You're lucky he showed up when he did."

Elara scoffed. "I didn't need him."

Lira's gaze darkened, leaning against the doorframe. "No, but you liked it." The words hit harder than Elara expected. "You think it's about protection? It's not. It's about control. Kael's losing his grip, and you're the crack he can't seal."

Elara swallowed the knot rising in her throat, refusing to give Lira the satisfaction of seeing how close to the mark she'd hit.

Later, as shadows stretched long across the halls, Elara found herself following voices—not intentionally, but her feet carried her like they had a mind of their own.

Behind the partially closed door to the war room, she heard Kael's voice, low and simmering with fury.

"She's a weakness," Darius growled. "The pack can see it. If you can't—"

A crash. The sound of splintering wood.

Kael's voice was ice and fire. "Finish that fucking sentence, and I'll rip your goddamn throat out."

Elara's chest tightened. She stepped back quietly, retreating into the shadows before they could sense her there.

But the damage was done. Kael was breaking. And so was everything else.

Night fell heavy over the stronghold, the sky a canvas of bruised purples and deep blues. Elara couldn't sleep—not with the words from the war room echoing in her head.

So she found herself outside Kael's chambers, fist raised, hesitating. But hesitation wasn't her style.

She knocked.

The door swung open almost immediately, like he'd been waiting. His shirt was discarded, dark scars trailing over his chest, muscles coiled tight with something he refused to name.

"What do you want?" His voice was rough, like gravel scraping against stone.

Elara stepped inside, shoving past him. "I want to know why you care."

Kael's jaw clenched, his golden eyes narrowing. "I don't."

"Liar."

The word hung between them like a blade. Kael moved fast—faster than thought—grabbing her wrist, dragging her close until their faces were inches apart. His breath was hot against her skin, filled with something wild and bitter.

"I should've left you in that damn cell," he growled.

Elara's heart hammered, but she didn't flinch. "But you didn't."

Silence. The tension was thick enough to choke on.

Then, without warning, Kael's grip tightened—not painfully, just enough to remind her of the power caged beneath his skin. His other hand slid to the back of her neck, pulling her closer, their foreheads almost touching.

"You ruin everything," he whispered, his voice ragged.

Elara's breath hitched, her fingers curling into his chest—not to push him away, but because she needed something to hold on to.

"You deserve to be ruined," she shot back.

It was the wrong thing to say. Or maybe the right one.

Kael's mouth crashed against hers, brutal and desperate, like he could devour the defiance right out of her. She kissed him back with the same fury, nails digging into his skin, tasting blood and rage and something else—something neither of them wanted to admit.

When they finally pulled apart, both breathing hard, Kael's hand trembled slightly.

"This means nothing," he rasped.

Elara wiped the blood from her lip, her smile sharp as glass. "Then why do you look scared?"

Kael didn't answer.

Because he was.

And that was the real problem.

Before either of them could say more, a distant howl pierced the night—sharp, urgent, wrong.

The howl was like a blade, cutting through the fragile silence left in Kael's chambers. Elara's pulse surged, not with fear—but with something sharper, something primal.

Kael's head snapped toward the door, his expression shifting from fury to something colder.

"Stay here," he ordered.

Elara didn't listen.

She was out the door before the words had finished leaving his mouth, feet pounding against the stone floors. The hallways were alive with movement—warriors racing toward the gates, their eyes wild, half-shifted, caught between man and beast.

Outside, the night was chaos. The full moon painted everything in sharp contrasts—silver light and deep, hungry shadows. The scent of blood hit Elara's nose before she even reached the courtyard.

She wasn't ready for what she saw.

The stronghold gates were broken, splintered wood scattered like bones. Figures moved through the darkness—not Kael's pack. Their movements were too smooth, too deliberate. Predators on the hunt.

Kael was already there, shifting mid-leap, his form exploding into something monstrous—fangs, claws, raw power. He collided with the intruders, a blur of violence and fury.

Elara's heart raced, but her feet moved before her brain could catch up. She grabbed a fallen blade, the weight familiar, grounding her. She fought—dodging, slashing, barely keeping up with the Lycans tearing through Kael's warriors.

But then she saw him.

The rival Alpha.

He was different from the others—not just in stature, but in the way he moved, like he belonged in this chaos. His eyes locked onto hers across the battlefield, and the world seemed to narrow.

He wasn't here for Kael.

He was here for her.

Elara lunged, but he was faster. His hand closed around her throat, slamming her against the stone wall with enough force to rattle her bones. She gasped, clawing at his grip, but it was like steel.

His face was close now, breath hot against her skin, filled with the metallic tang of blood. "You're stronger than they said—but not strong enough to stop me from fucking owning you." he murmured, almost amused.

Elara's vision blurred, rage bubbling to the surface. She focused on it—on the fury, the defiance, the power—but it wouldn't come. Her powers stayed dormant, like they'd betrayed her when she needed them most.

Kael's roar split the air, pure rage and something darker. He crashed into the rival Alpha, ripping him away from Elara with savage force. They hit the ground hard, a tangle of teeth and claws, blood spraying in thick arcs.

Elara coughed, struggling to her feet, vision still hazy. She stumbled forward, gripping the blade tighter, but before she could reach them—strong arms wrapped around her from behind.

Another Lycan. One of his.

She kicked, twisted, fought—but it wasn't enough.

"Don't worry," a voice growled in her ear, breath hot and cruel. "He'll come for you."

Everything went black.