Clara

The candlelight flickered across the stone hearth, its flames burning low and steady, as if reluctant to disturb the silence that gripped the room. Clara sat still on the edge of the bed, her eyes fixed on the dying fire but seeing something far beyond its soft glow. Her husband shifted beside her, his warm hand brushing hers, but she barely registered the touch.

"Clara?"

She turned her head slowly. His face was drawn with worry, his eyes bloodshot from another night of little sleep. Since Evelyn had vanished, he'd been a shell of the man he'd once been—his every waking moment consumed by questions, by frantic searching, by the torment of not knowing.

"I keep thinking," he murmured, his voice raw, "what if we missed something? What if we're not looking in the right places?"

Clara offered a faint smile, one she'd practiced for weeks now. It was the only one that wouldn't unravel everything.

"You're doing everything you can," she said, her tone soft, comforting.

"But we're not getting closer. It's like she vanished into thin air." His hand gripped the blanket. "How does that even happen?"

She looked at him, this man she'd shared a life with. He was good. Kind. Desperate to find his daughter. But he didn't know. Couldn't know.

Because the world Evelyn had vanished into wasn't his world.

And Clara had helped her disappear into it.

She stood from the bed quietly. Her husband watched her, as he always did now, searching for a sign—any flicker that might give away more than her carefully measured calm. But she didn't meet his gaze.

Instead, Clara crossed to the window and parted the curtain just enough to see out into the trees.

The forest was still. That was both good and bad.

Josh had picked up Evelyn's trail. She was sure of it. That meant Malric was likely gone.

She hadn't expected him to survive.

He hadn't volunteered. That was important. He hadn't stepped forward like some reckless hero. But when she came to him and asked, he listened. And when she told him what she needed—what she feared—he agreed. Not because she ordered it, but because he owed her.

Years ago, she'd saved his mate. Bled for her. Nursed her through fever after a rogue attack had nearly torn her apart. Malric had sworn loyalty then—not with a blood oath, but a look and a nod that meant far more.

And now, he'd repaid it. Burned wolfsbane to slow the Alpha. Lured Josh away. Bought Clara time.

But he'd died for it. She knew that in her bones.

She let the curtain fall back and turned to face her husband again. He was still staring, clearly worried.

"You seem... far away lately," he said carefully.

She smiled again—so soft, so sad. "I'm just tired."

"Do you think she's okay?"

That was harder to answer.

"I hope so," she said.

The house was quiet by the time Clara dressed and stepped out. The sun had not yet climbed above the trees. She moved like a shadow, weaving through the hall and out the back entrance. Her boots made no sound on the stone.

The messenger was waiting at the edge of the clearing. A young werewolf—lean, quiet, alert. He dipped his head in respect but did not speak.

"Is it done?" she asked.

"She was moved last night. Deeper. Past the river's second bend."

"She was awake?" Clara asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yes"

"She'll be guarded?"

"Four of us. Shifts of two. Quiet rotation. Wardings set in a diamond."

Clara nodded. "That's good."

She studied the young wolf's face. "When you return, take care not to be followed."

"I know the dark path," he said, but Clara raised a hand to stop him.

"Not enough," she said. From her pocket, she drew a small vial of pale green oil. "Anoint yourself—wrists, neck, behind the ears, soles of your feet. Walk through the river downstream, not across. It will cloud your scent."

He took the vial reverently, his eyes widening. "Ashroot oil?"

"With mint and sage. Don't lose it."

He nodded once, then faded into the trees.

She stayed still for a moment longer, letting the morning wind carry away any trace of his scent. Then she turned back toward the house.

Josh would still be hunting.

But he wouldn't find Evelyn.

Not yet.

Not if Clara could help it.

Clara closed the back door as quietly as she had left. The house welcomed her with silence, but her husband's presence still lingered in the air—his anxiety heavy like storm clouds before the break. She made her way through the hallway and up the stairs, pausing just outside the bedroom door. She could hear his breathing, still shallow, restless.

He wasn't sleeping.

She stepped inside. He sat up as she entered.

"Where did you go?"

She moved to the dresser, drawing her cardigan tight around her shoulders. "Just needed some air. Couldn't sleep."

"You've been doing that a lot lately," he said. "Walking off. Shutting me out."

Clara looked over her shoulder. There was a hollowness in his voice—not anger, but hurt.

"I'm trying to stay strong for you," she said gently. "For us."

"I don't need strength—I need answers." His hands trembled slightly as he rubbed them down his face. "I feel like you know more than you're saying. Like you're… keeping something from me."

Clara froze.

He was closer to the truth than he realized.

Her silence stretched too long.

"I'm sorry," she finally said. "I wish I had more to give you. But I'm just as lost as you are."

A lie, but necessary.

Because if he knew… if he understood what she'd done, what world his daughter had truly vanished into—he wouldn't forgive her.

He might even try to stop her.

And Clara didn't have the luxury of guilt. Not now.

Later that day, she met again with one of the guards returning from the new holding site. His clothes were soaked, the faint scent of river reeds clinging to him. Good—he had followed her instructions.

"Well?" she asked.

"She's calm. Quiet. Asked for food and water, took both."

Clara hesitated. "Did she ask anything else?"

"She asked for her stepmother."

That pierced deeper than she expected.

"She doesn't understand why," Clara said under her breath. "She's frightened."

"She's strong," the guard said. "She hasn't tried to escape. But she will. Eventually."

"I'm counting on it not coming to that," Clara murmured.

The full moon was just days away. She could feel it pressing behind her ribs like a gathering tide.

Josh was dangerous now—but under a full moon? He would be unstoppable. And his connection to Evelyn would grow even stronger, even without a mark. He would find her, claim her, consume her.

Unless she kept them apart.

Unless she waited it out.

If the moon passed, Evelyn would be safe. At least for a little while longer.

Clara returned home that evening with aching limbs and a dull headache behind her eyes. Her husband greeted her with forced cheer, pretending he hadn't been pacing for hours.

"I made tea," he offered. "The kind you like."

Clara took the cup, grateful for the warmth. He sat beside her, watching her over the rim of his own mug.

"You used to talk to me about everything," he said quietly.

She didn't reply.

"You've changed, Clara. Ever since… this happened. I know it's hard, but I can't help unless you let me in."

Her throat tightened.

He had no idea how far from "in" he truly was.

She rested her head briefly on his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

He held her hand tighter. "I just want our daughter back."

So do I, she thought. More than you know.

But not if it means losing her to the monster she loves.

Not if it means handing her to Josh.

Not if it means watching her become like him.

Clara lingered in the hallway after midnight, candlelight flickering as she passed the photos lining the walls. Evelyn at seven, missing a tooth and grinning wide at the beach. Evelyn at eleven, hair in messy pigtails, sitting on her father's shoulders. Evelyn at sixteen, holding her acceptance letter to the academy, eyes gleaming with pride.

And Evelyn at seventeen—next to Josh.

The image made Clara stop.

Evelyn had been laughing, tilting toward him. His arm curled around her shoulders like a shield, but Clara saw it differently now. Possession. Hunger disguised as affection. Even in the photo, his gaze was too sharp, too knowing.

She should have pulled her away then. She should have said something. Done something.

But he was stronger than the others. A natural Alpha, even without his pack. And Clara had learned long ago that you don't challenge power directly. You bide your time.

Let it come to you.

Let it believe it's winning—until it's too late to strike back.

---

When Malric first agreed to help her, he hadn't asked why. He simply nodded, like he understood.

She remembered the moment she told him to burn wolfsbane—not near Evelyn, but along the northern paths, the direction she knew Josh would follow. It would slow Josh, throw off his senses, dull his instincts. Enough to buy them time.

She hadn't needed to ask him to fight.

He knew that if Josh caught up, a distraction wouldn't be enough.

Malric had stood beside her before leaving, jaw clenched, the large scar across his cheek stark in the moonlight. She hadn't thanked him. That would've made it too final.

She'd only said, "You know what he is. You've seen what he'll become."

Malric had nodded. "I'll do what needs to be done."

Clara knew, even then, what it meant.

That scar had made him unmistakable. If Josh had found him—and he surely had—there'd be no mistaking who Clara had sent. And now that Malric was gone, Josh would be coming again.

Faster this time. More furious.

But not at his full strength. Not yet.

And Evelyn? She was farther now, her scent buried beneath deeper forest and mist, guarded by loyal wolves, sheltered in a place Clara herself had once trained in as a girl.

Josh would find nothing there but confusion and fading traces.

---

Back in the bedroom, her husband was already asleep. She lay beside him, his steady breathing close. He reached for her in his sleep, and she let him.

But her mind never slowed.

Josh wouldn't give up easily. If he had any suspicion, he'd tear the woods apart. Clara had seen his kind before—those who ruled by instinct, strength, and fury.

He hadn't marked Evelyn, not yet. That was the one advantage she had left.

Time.

That's all she needed. Just a few more days.

The full moon would rise, and its hold on Josh would swell. But if she could keep Evelyn out of reach until after it passed, everything would shift. Josh's bond would weaken. His plans—whatever dark ambition he chased—would stall.

Clara didn't know if Evelyn would ever understand. Maybe one day.

But it didn't matter now.

She rolled onto her side, staring at the shadowed ceiling, listening to the night sounds outside.

The trees creaked. An owl called. Wind moved low and restless through the leaves.

Somewhere out there, Josh was hunting.

But Clara was ready for him.

And she would not let him take Evelyn.

Not tonight.

Not ever.