Through the Veil

The night was cold and windless as Selene slipped past the castle gates, her cloak a whisper against the ivy-covered stone. The guards were easy to avoid—she knew their rotations and had studied them since she was old enough to climb the outer walls barefoot. The stars offered no guidance tonight, veiled by fast-moving clouds. Her path was lit only by memory and sheer instinct.

Each step away from the court was a rebellion.

She moved through the forest like mist, silent and unseen. Her senses, sharp from years of courtly training, stayed alert to the shifts of the woods. A snapped twig. The rustle of wings. The pull of old magic ran like veins beneath the soil.

Time had bent strangely since she met Ronan. Days in court passed like lifetimes; a single hour near him felt eternal. But now, every second counted. One wrong move, one misstep, and the fragile thread tying their fates together could snap.

I should have warned him sooner, she thought. I should have trusted the feeling that something would go wrong.

She crossed the river by the hidden ford near the moon-bent trees—the one he showed her. A memory flickered to life as her boots touched the water.

Ronan's voice. "Even when the river runs high, this place holds. Like it's waiting for us."

They'd stood here once, hands brushing, hearts trembling with the weight of what could never be.

A branch snapped behind her.

Selene froze, reaching for the dagger strapped beneath her cloak.

"Easy," came a voice. Feminine. Familiar.

She turned to see Dalia emerging from the underbrush, breathless and irritated.

"You didn't really think I'd let you walk into a werewolf camp alone, did you?" Dalia adjusted her satchel, her dagger glinting beneath her cloak. "I waited five minutes. You're lucky it wasn't ten."

Selene gave her a look, half relief, half exasperation. "This is dangerous."

"So is staying behind." Dalia's smile was tight. "Besides, I left something burning in the war room—metaphorically speaking. Lucien's about to learn just how annoying I can be when I'm lying."

Together, they pushed on.

The woods grew darker as they neared the border. The air shifted—less enchanted, more primal. Selene could feel the difference in the trees, the way the earth itself seemed to thrum beneath her feet. Her vampiric instincts prickled. They were in wolf territory now.

She paused, crouching low as a figure moved through the trees up ahead. A sentry.

"Wait," she whispered to Dalia. "Let me go ahead."

Dalia didn't argue.

Selene moved low and fast, a shadow among shadows. She skirted the edge of the sentry's range, keeping to the darkest roots and underbrush. She knew Ronan would be near the ridge. Always watching. Always protecting.

And then, through a break in the trees, she saw it.

The werewolf camp burned like a low fire beneath the trees—tense, silent, warriors coiled and ready. At the edge of the ridge stood Ronan, back straight, gaze cast toward the horizon. He was alone, just for a breath.

Selene stepped forward.

"Ronan," she said softly.

He turned—instantly. His eyes widened. "Selene?"

In one heartbeat, he was in front of her, hands gripping her arms, checking her over with a mix of fury and fear. "What are you doing here? You can't—if they see you—"

"I had to warn you," she said, breathless. "The court knows. The scouts that crossed—they were sent by Lucien. They're preparing for war, Ronan. They're going to blame this on you. On us."

His expression darkened. "I know. They already think I've betrayed the pack."

"Then we're running out of time," she said. "We need to do something—anything—before they force our hands."

His hands moved to her face, cradling it gently. "I've tried holding the tide back," he whispered. "But it's rising too fast."

Selene swallowed hard. "Then let's learn to swim."

Behind them, a low growl echoed through the trees.

Ronan turned, instincts flaring. "Go. Back through the trees—now."

"I'm not leaving you," Selene said firmly.

"Then stay behind me."

As the shadows moved through the trees, both vampire and wolf stood side by side, facing the coming storm. And though the world conspired to keep them apart, the fire between them refused to go out.

Not yet.

The growl came again—closer this time. No longer a warning. It was a threat.

Selene turned slowly as shapes emerged from the darkness—three wolves in partial shift, golden eyes gleaming with suspicion. Behind them, more gathered, the rustle of movement spreading through the camp like wind through dry grass.

Ronan stepped forward, shielding Selene instinctively.

"Stand down," he ordered, voice sharp.

One of the wolves snarled. "She's a vampire. You bring her into our territory now, when blood is all but promised?"

Riven appeared from the trees then, expression hard and unreadable as he took in the scene. His gaze flicked from Ronan to Selene and back again.

"You knew," he said, low. Ronan didn't flinch. "I did."

Silence fell, heavy and brittle.

Selene drew in a slow breath and stepped forward, ignoring the way claws clicked and growls rumbled in warning. "I'm not here to spy or provoke. I came to warn him—and all of you. Your pack is being set up. The vampire court is preparing for war, and they're using this as the excuse."

"And why should we believe you?" one wolf spat. "You think showing up here in secret makes you some kind of peacekeeper?"

"I think trying to stop a massacre before it starts makes me more than a threat," Selene snapped, her voice ice over fire. "You may not trust me. But Ronan does."

The tension in the camp surged. Every eye was on Ronan now.

Riven took a step forward, arms crossed. "So this is it, then? You're siding with her? Against your own?"

"I'm not siding against anyone," Ronan said. "I'm trying to prevent the bloodshed none of us come back from."

Riven's jaw worked as he studied Selene. "I don't trust her. I don't trust vampires. But I trust you," he said to Ronan, then looked back at Selene with narrowed eyes. "And I'll be watching you."

More wolves had gathered now—some baring teeth, some standing in wary silence.

Then came the unmistakable sound of Garruk's heavy tread, his eyes gleaming with fury as he entered the clearing. "I knew it. I smelled her scent in the wind and thought I was mad. You brought her here?" He turned on Ronan. "You bring the enemy to our fire?"

"She's not the enemy," Ronan growled.

Garruk pointed a gnarled finger at Selene. "She is the spark. And now, thanks to you, the fire is lit."

Without warning, Garruk lunged—not at Selene, but at Ronan.

Ronan blocked the blow, claws scraping against his skin, the force of the strike sending both of them crashing to the ground. Wolves howled, chaos erupting around them.

Selene moved to intervene, but Riven caught her arm. "Don't," he said, teeth clenched. "If you step in now, it's war."

Ronan shoved Garruk off and rose slowly, blood at the corner of his mouth. "Enough," he growled. "You challenge me now? In front of all of them?"

"You've already betrayed your place," Garruk spat. "You're no Alpha. Not if you stand with her."

Ronan didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. "If you think that, challenge me by the law. But be ready to fall."

The fire crackled between them. The pack was still, holding its breath.

Garruk snarled but stepped back. "You'll regret this. She's already undone you."

"I've never been clearer," Ronan said coldly.

Selene stood motionless, heart thundering. For the first time, she truly felt the weight of what her presence cost him. And still… he chose her.

As Garruk stormed away, the crowd began to break, murmuring, watching. Riven stayed behind, releasing Selene's arm, but his expression didn't soften.

"If you're wrong about her, Ronan," he said quietly, "you won't just lose the pack. You'll doom us all."

Then he, too, disappeared into the trees.

Ronan turned to Selene.

"Come with me," he said, voice ragged. "Before they change their minds."

She nodded and followed him into the darkness, away from the firelight, as the werewolf camp crackled with growing unrest—and the shadows whispered of a reckoning still to come.