The silence that followed Damon's departure wasn't peaceful; it was a suffocating, heavy blanket that felt like it was laced with poison. I stayed pinned to the frozen earth, the metallic taste of pure terror still coating my tongue. I counted every second by the frantic, uneven thudding of my heart, waiting ten agonizing minutes before I dared to even twitch.
"He's gone, Elara," Lysandra's voice finally broke the silence, sounding more like a low, irritated growl than a comfort. "The arrogant fool. He's bleeding, yet he leaves a trail so thick I can taste his pride. He hunts like he owns the wind itself."
I crawled out from the safety of the roots, my body trembling so hard I could hear my teeth rattling. The icy air felt like needles against my bare, grime-covered skin. My muscles didn't just ache—they felt like they had been shredded and stitched back together. Shifting into a Lycan had cost me more than I realized. I was hollowed out, starving, and dangerously human again.
"We need food, Lysandra," I croaked, my throat feeling like it was filled with dry glass. "And I need something to cover myself. If I shift again... I won't wake up."
"You will not die," she snapped, her contempt flaring. "We are the White Lycan. We are ancient. We just need to fuel the engine. Move. I'll steer you away from the Alpha's blood-trail."
With Lysandra acting as my compass, I stumbled deeper into the guts of the Dead Woods. My senses were a chaotic mess heightened and raw. Every snap of a twig sounded like a gunshot; every shift in the breeze felt like a ghost touching my skin. I wasn't looking for the Shadow Pack anymore; I was looking for anything with a pulse.
We climbed higher, toward a jagged ridge that looked out over a gray, mist-filled valley. It was a perfect spot to see a predator coming, but it also felt like standing on a pedestal for the world to see.
"There," Lysandra directed my eyes toward a thicket near a patch of frost-bitten berries. "A wild hog. It's small, but it's life."
My stomach lurched with a hunger so primal it made my mouth water. I didn't care about fire or salt. I just needed to stop the shaking. But just as I prepared to move, a scent slammed into the ridge. It was sudden, violent, and familiar.
Damon.
He had circled back. He wasn't following my faint human footprints; he was tracking the ghost of the Lycan power I'd unleashed. He was like a wolf who had caught the scent of God and refused to let go.
I didn't think. I scrambled up a nearby thorny tree, its dry branches tearing at my skin as I pulled myself into the highest, darkest shadows. Below, the charcoal wolf moved like a phantom. He was stiff, his movements slightly hindered by the gash on his side, but his golden eyes were terrifying—wide, fixed, and burning with a lethal focus.
He reached the berry bushes. He smelled the hog, but he didn't even blink. He wasn't interested in food. He was hunting me.
A low, vibrating growl rolled out of his chest a sound of pure, raw frustration that seemed to demand the very trees to surrender. It was a call of dominance that should have brought any wolf to its knees.
But I wasn't just a wolf.
"Don't breathe, Elara. Don't even blink," Lysandra's command was like a steel shackle. "We will not let this Alpha have the satisfaction of a catch. Stay. Still."
Damon stopped. He looked straight up, his golden eyes raking over the branches where I sat. I closed my eyes, praying to the Moon Goddess I no longer trusted, trying to pull my scent into my own lungs. He stood there for what felt like an eternity, radiating a suspicion so thick it was hard to breathe. He couldn't see me, but the bond was screaming at him I could feel it vibrating in the air between us.
Then, a sudden, violent blur of movement caught his attention a few hundred yards away, near the Shadow Pack's border.
A human girl. Small, terrified, and stumbling through the brush. She was bleeding, her dress a tattered mess of rags. She looked like a captive who had finally found a hole in her cage.
Damon froze, his instincts tearing him in two. The power he sensed was here, hidden in the shadows, but the intruder was a direct threat to his borders.
With one final, piercing look at the tree where I was hiding a look that told me he knew something was there he let out a sharp, furious snort and turned. He was a streak of charcoal fury as he launched himself off the ridge, pursuing the fleeing girl.
"Who... who was that?" I whispered, my voice shaking as I lowered my hands.
"A distraction, or a tragedy," Lysandra said coldly. "Her terror just bought us our lives. Now, move! While he's playing the hero, we find our strength and get out of this hellhole."
I slid down the tree the moment he vanished. My survival instinct was screaming louder than my hunger now.
"Food, Elara! Now!" Lysandra's voice was no longer icy; it was urgent.
I didn't shift, but the Lycan blood gave me a speed I shouldn't have had. I grabbed a heavy, jagged branch and lunged for the hog. It was a desperate, messy kill, but Lysandra guided my strike with impossible precision. The animal didn't even have time to squeal.
I didn't wait. I knelt in the dirt and tore into the meat. The taste of raw blood was a shock, a brutal transfusion that made my system roar back to life. It was savage. It was disgusting. And it was the best thing I had ever tasted. Each bite felt like I was rebuilding the walls of my own soul.
But as I ate, I heard it. A distant, piercing scream.
"Listen," Lysandra whispered. "He thinks he caught the Lycan. He thinks that girl is you."
A chill colder than the night air ran down my spine. Damon's arrogance had made him blind. He was hunting a phantom, and that poor girl was paying the price for my scent being on the wind.
I quickly wrapped a chunk of meat in large leaves and stuffed it into my rags. I had to move. I had to reach the border before he realized his mistake and came back with a vengeance.
I ran. My legs felt like pistons, fueled by adrenaline and raw meat. But as I neared the edge of the Dead Woods, I saw something that made me stop dead.
A jacket.
It was tucked under a rotted log clean, expensive, and far too high-quality for a rogue. Next to it was a pair of sturdy boots and a small pack.
"Stop!" Lysandra's senses were on fire. "This isn't an accident. This is a trail."
I approached with caution, my eyes scanning the shadows. There was no fresh scent, but these items were placed with purpose. And then I saw it. A tiny symbol etched into the leather: A silver crescent moon with a broken chain.
The Exiles.
The stories from the pack kitchens flooded back the wolves who refused to bow to Alphas, the ones who lived in the shadows of the shadows.
"Take the bag. Take the food," Lysandra warned. "But remember that mark, Elara. We aren't the only secret in these woods. We've either found an ally... or a much more dangerous kind of enemy."
I pulled on the boots and the jacket. They fit like they were made for me. For the first time since Kael broke my soul, I didn't feel like a victim. I felt like a player in a game I was finally starting to understand.