Chapter 8: Regrets and Revelations

—plotted with the wolves around her, her voice a low hiss that Elara couldn't quite make out. Isabella's glare burned hotter than the sun, her jealousy a living thing, and Elara felt it like a weight on her shoulders. She tried to focus on Taryn, on the small victory she'd just won, but Isabella's presence was impossible to ignore. The she-wolf's whispers were sharp, her words meant to cut, and Elara knew they were about her. She laughed with Taryn, trying to shake off the unease, but her eyes kept darting to Isabella, waiting for the next move.

Darius stood at the edge of the clearing, his arms crossed, his storm-gray eyes hidden in the shadows of the trees. He'd turned away from Elara after her win, but he couldn't leave—not yet. He'd seen her disarm Eldric, seen the fire in her eyes, the way she'd stood tall despite the whispers. It had stirred something in him, something he didn't want to name. Pride, maybe. Or something deeper. The mate bond hummed in his chest, a constant ache that had been there since the moment he'd laid eyes on her, and it was getting harder to ignore.

He'd rejected her for a reason—his pack needed strength, a luna who could stand beside him in battle, not a dreamer who'd never held a staff before. That's what he'd told himself, anyway. But watching her now, seeing the way she'd grown in just a few weeks, he wasn't so sure anymore. She wasn't weak—not like he'd thought. She was fierce, determined, and every day she proved it a little more. His wolf growled low, urging him to go to her, to pull her close and tell her he'd been wrong, but he stayed where he was, his jaw tight, his hands clenched into fists.

The memory of his father's voice echoed in his mind, as clear as if the old alpha were standing beside him. "A luna must be a warrior," his father had said, his tone hard, unyielding. "She must be strong, unbreakable, or the pack will fall. You can't let your heart choose, Darius. Duty comes first." His father had been a harsh man, a leader who'd ruled Nightclaw with an iron fist, and he'd drilled those lessons into Darius from the moment he could walk. Strength above all else. Duty above love. It was why Darius had rejected Elara that night, why he'd stood on the dais and called her weak in front of everyone. He'd thought he was doing the right thing—for his pack, for his father's legacy. But now, every time he saw her, every time the mate bond flared, he felt the weight of that decision like a stone in his chest.

He'd hurt her—he knew that. He'd seen it in her eyes that night, the way her hope had shattered, the way she'd run from the hall with tears streaming down her face. And he'd seen it since, in the way she looked at him, a mix of anger and longing that mirrored his own. The mate bond wouldn't let him forget her, wouldn't let him move on. It was a constant ache, a golden heat that burned hotter every time she was near. He could still feel her in his arms, that moment in the clearing when he'd caught her, her soft curves pressed against him, her scent—wildflowers and rain—driving him wild. He'd wanted to kiss her then, to taste her lips, to feel her melt against him. The thought made his body heat, his wolf growling louder, but he pushed it away, his jaw tightening. He couldn't let himself go there. Not now. Not ever.

Darius turned away from the clearing, his steps heavy as he headed back to the fortress. He needed to clear his head, to focus on the pack, on the rogue threat that was growing by the day. But Elara's face kept flashing through his mind—her flushed cheeks after her win, her fierce blue eyes, the way she'd laughed with Taryn, so bright and real. He growled under his breath, his hands clenching into fists. He needed a distraction, something to take his mind off her, off the bond that wouldn't let him go.

The fortress was quiet as he made his way to the library, a small room tucked away in the back of the main hall. It was one of the few places he could think, away from the noise of the pack, away from the whispers and the expectations. The shelves were lined with old records, leather-bound books that held the history of Nightclaw—battles fought, alphas who'd ruled, traditions passed down through the generations. He'd spent hours here as a pup, reading about the pack's past, trying to understand the weight of the role he'd one day take on.

He pulled a book from the shelf at random, its cover worn and faded, and sat at the small wooden table in the center of the room. The pages were brittle, the ink smudged in places, but he flipped through them anyway, his mind still on Elara. He wasn't even sure what he was looking for until he saw it—a passage about a prophecy, written in a shaky hand, as if the writer had been in a hurry. "The rejected luna will rise," it read, "born of the first luna's blood, marked by the crescent moon. She will unite the packs in their darkest hour, or bring their ruin."

Darius's breath caught, his fingers tightening on the page. The first luna—he'd heard the stories, the same ones every Nightclaw pup grew up with. A powerful Silverfang wolf with mystical gifts, who'd brought the packs together centuries ago. But this prophecy… he'd never heard of it before. His eyes scanned the page, and then he saw it—a sketch in the margin, faded but clear. A pendant, shaped like a crescent moon, identical to the one Elara wore around her neck.

His heart pounded, his mind racing as he traced the sketch with his finger. It was a perfect match—the same curve, the same delicate lines. He thought of Elara, of the way her pendant had caught the light during training, the way it seemed to glow sometimes, though he'd told himself he was imagining it. But now, seeing this sketch, reading this prophecy, he wasn't so sure. Was Elara the rejected luna the prophecy spoke of? Was she tied to the first luna's bloodline? The thought sent a chill down his spine, but it also stirred something else—hope, maybe, or fear. If she was the one, if she had that kind of power, what did it mean for the pack? For him?

He leaned back in the chair, his eyes still on the sketch, his thoughts a tangled mess. He'd rejected her because he thought she was weak, because he thought the pack needed someone stronger. But what if he'd been wrong? What if she was exactly what the pack needed—what he needed? The mate bond flared again, a golden heat that made his chest ache, and he closed his eyes, trying to push it down. But he couldn't stop the images that flooded his mind—Elara in his arms, her soft curves pressed against him, her lips parted as he kissed her, her scent driving him wild. He wanted her, more than he'd ever wanted anything, but he couldn't have her. Not when his duty to the pack came first.

Darius opened his eyes, his jaw tight, and looked back at the book. He needed to know more—about the prophecy, about the first luna, about what it all meant. He stood, taking the book with him, and headed out of the library, his steps quicker now. He needed to see Elara, to watch her, to figure out if this prophecy was real. He found her in the courtyard, sitting on a stone bench with Taryn, her laughter soft as they talked. She looked… happy, despite everything, and it made his chest ache even more. He stayed in the shadows, watching her, questioning everything he'd thought he knew.

Elara felt his gaze, a familiar weight that made her heart race. She glanced around, her eyes finding him in the shadows, and for a moment, their gazes locked. The mate bond flared, a heat that made her breath catch, but then he looked away, his expression unreadable. She turned back to Taryn, trying to focus on their conversation, but her mind was on Darius, on the way he kept watching her, the way he kept pulling her in and pushing her away.

Back in the library, Darius sat down again, the book open in front of him. His fingers traced the sketch of the pendant, his breath catching as he realized its significance. It was real—Elara's pendant, the prophecy, all of it. His heart pounded as he—