Chapter 9: The Pack’s Judgment

—stared at the sketch, his mind racing with the implications. The pendant in the book was a perfect match for Elara's, and the prophecy—"the rejected luna will rise"—echoed in his thoughts like a drumbeat. Darius's heart pounded, a mix of fear and something else, something he didn't want to name, swirling in his chest. If Elara was the one the prophecy spoke of, if she was tied to the first luna's bloodline, then everything he'd done, everything he'd believed, was wrong. He'd rejected her, called her weak, but what if she was the key to saving the pack—or destroying it? He needed to know more, needed to understand what this meant, but the weight of his regret was heavier than ever.

The next day, the fortress buzzed with tension as the pack gathered in the grand hall for a meeting. The rogue sightings had grown too frequent to ignore—another scout had been attacked the night before, barely making it back alive, and the pack was on edge. Elara stood near the back of the hall, her arms crossed, her stomach twisting with nerves. She'd never been to a Nightclaw pack meeting before, and she could feel the eyes on her, some curious, others hostile. Taryn stood beside her, his quiet presence a small comfort, but she still felt out of place, like an outsider who didn't belong.

Darius stood on the dais, his broad shoulders tense, his storm-gray eyes scanning the crowd. The pack quieted as he raised a hand, his voice deep and commanding. "We've got a problem," he said, his tone grim. "The rogues are getting bolder. They're testing our borders, attacking our scouts. We need to act—now." The wolves murmured, their voices a mix of anger and fear. "We should hunt them down," a male wolf called, his fists clenched. "Show them what happens when they mess with Nightclaw." Others nodded, their growls echoing through the hall.

Elara listened, her mind racing. She'd seen the rogue in the woods, felt its wild scent, and she knew they were dangerous. But hunting them down blindly didn't feel right—it was too reckless, too risky. She shifted on her feet, her pendant warm against her skin, a reminder of the dreams she'd been having, the white wolf's glowing eyes. She didn't know what it meant, but she felt like she needed to say something, to do something. She glanced at Taryn, who gave her a small nod, as if he could sense her thoughts.

But before she could speak, Isabella stepped forward, her dark hair gleaming in the firelight, her sharp features twisted into a sneer. "We wouldn't have to deal with this if we didn't have a liability in our midst," she said, her voice loud enough for everyone to hear. She turned, her eyes locking onto Elara, and the hall went quiet. "The rejected omega," Isabella continued, her tone dripping with venom. "She's weak, a distraction. The rogues are targeting us because they know we're not united—because of her."

The words hit Elara like a punch, her cheeks burning as the pack's eyes turned to her. Some wolves nodded, their expressions darkening, while others looked uncertain, their whispers growing louder. "She's right," a female wolf muttered. "We don't need a Silverfang omega bringing us down." But Taryn stepped closer to Elara, his voice low. "Don't listen to her," he said. "She's just jealous." Elara's hands clenched into fists, her heart racing. She wanted to run, to hide from their judgment, but she couldn't—not anymore.

Darius's gaze lingered on Elara, his jaw tight, his eyes unreadable. He saw the way she stood there, her chin high despite the flush on her cheeks, her blue eyes fierce with defiance. The mate bond flared, a golden heat that made his blood heat, his wolf growling low in his chest. She was beautiful, even now, even with the pack turning against her. He imagined crossing the hall, pinning her against the wall, kissing her fiercely until she melted against him, her lips soft and warm under his. The thought made his body ache, his hands clenching into fists at his sides, but he didn't move. He couldn't. The pack was watching, waiting for him to say something, to lead. But he stayed silent, his father's lessons echoing in his mind—strength above all else—and the silence felt like a betrayal, even to him.

Elara's heart sank as Darius said nothing, his silence louder than any words. She'd thought, after her win in the clearing, after the way he'd looked at her, that he might stand up for her, might see her as more than a weak omega. But he didn't, and the disappointment cut deep, sharper than Isabella's taunts. She felt the pack's eyes on her, their doubt pressing down like a weight, and for a moment, she wanted to give up, to walk away and never look back. But then she thought of Eldric, of Taryn, of the white wolf in her dreams, and she knew she couldn't. She wouldn't let them break her.

She stepped forward, her voice shaking but clear. "I'm not a liability," she said, her eyes locking onto Isabella's. The she-wolf's sneer faltered, but Elara kept going, her voice growing stronger. "I've been training, fighting, just like the rest of you. And I have an idea." The pack went quiet, their murmurs dying down as they turned to her, some skeptical, others curious. Even Darius's gaze sharpened, his eyes narrowing as he watched her.

"We can't just hunt the rogues down," Elara said, her mind racing as she spoke. "That's what they want—they're testing us, trying to lure us out. We need to be smarter. Set up patrols, reinforce the borders, and use scouts to track their movements without engaging. We need to know what they're planning before we strike." She paused, her heart pounding, but she didn't back down. "I'm not here to bring the pack down. I'm here to help—if you'll let me."

The hall was silent for a moment, the weight of her words hanging in the air. Then Taryn spoke up, his voice steady. "She's got a point," he said. "We've been reacting, not thinking. Her plan makes sense." A few other wolves nodded, their expressions thoughtful, and Elara felt a flicker of hope. But Isabella laughed, a sharp, cruel sound that cut through the moment. "You're joking, right?" she said. "You think we should listen to her? She's not one of us."

More wolves murmured, some agreeing with Isabella, others looking torn. Elara's chest tightened, but she kept her head high, her eyes darting to Darius. He was still silent, his jaw tight, his gaze locked on her. She wanted him to say something, anything, but he didn't, and the silence felt like a wall between them. She turned away, her heart heavy but her resolve stronger than ever. She'd spoken up, put herself out there, and even if the pack didn't fully accept her, she felt validated—like she'd taken a step toward being the luna she wanted to be. But the isolation stung, and she vowed to herself that she'd rise above it, no matter what.

The meeting ended with Darius assigning patrols, his voice clipped as he took parts of Elara's plan and mixed them with the pack's suggestions. Elara slipped out of the hall as soon as she could, her emotions a tangled mess. She needed air, needed to clear her head. The fortress halls were quiet as she walked, her steps quick, her mind replaying the meeting. She'd stood up for herself, proposed a strategy, and some of the pack had listened. It wasn't much, but it was something—a start.

But as she turned a corner, she heard voices, low and sharp, coming from a shadowed alcove. She froze, her instincts flaring as she recognized them—Isabella and Kieran. Their whispers were sharp, dangerous, and as Elara turned the corner, she heard Kieran say—