~Shadow Howlers Pack House~
After the omegas finished the necessary preparations for the pack run and set out dinner for the Alpha, Beta, and the knights and guards who dined with them, everyone began to disperse and get dressed for the pack run.
The females from the Pack House went into one spare bedroom on the first floor, while the males went into another.
This was the Shadow Howlers pack's ritual and tradition: to avoid shedding clothes, their bodies would be marked with intricate ink designs, patterns that covered them from head to toe. Everyone was expected to create a vibrant, eye-catching design to showcase their best self to potential mates and the rest of the pack. Optional accessories included necklaces made from animal teeth and colorful pebbles to enhance their beauty.
You are not allowed to put on clothes; they'd rip off when you shifted into wolf form.
Luna stood in the now-empty kitchen, her older sister already gone with her friends to prepare, leaving her all by herself. She wanted no part in this — all she wanted was a safe space. She felt glad that she was alone.
All of a sudden, a chill ran down her spine — she hadn't been sure before, but now she was certain something terrible was going to happen to her. Whatever it was, it was directed at her. She tried her best to shrug it off again.
Nothing's going to happen.
No one is going to hurt you, everyone's busy.
All you have to do is stay at your safe corner where no one would see you.
The feeling that something was going to happen felt especially uncanny to her. Due to the fact that she was always bullied even when she did nothing wrong, being subjected to it most of her life, she had grown timid, scared to voice her feelings, scared to breathe too loud, for fear of heavy judgment.
Even though she tried to convince herself to remain as calm as possible, she couldn't help checking. She turned to look behind her, and when she saw that no one was really there and the whole Pack House was a lot calmer now, she ran out of the kitchen, heading straight to the pack's abandoned attic — a place to be alone without judgment.
After running for a while, she slowed to a walk as she approached the attic on the top floor. She couldn't help checking behind her again — and didn't realize that someone was standing in front of her. She bumped into the person.
"Ouch!" Luna groaned softly as she took a step back to see who it was. Luna flinched when she saw the look on the other person's face, who happened to be her adversary, someone she had hoped to avoid at all cost.
"And where do you think you're going?" Anna asked, her eyes boring into her as if they were trying to carve a crater in her body.
Luna quickly stepped to the side, not wanting to attract attention today. "Hmm… I… I… m-hmm." Luna stuttered, not finding the right words to say. She had not expected to see Anna of all people here, as she had thought everyone should be in the guest room where they normally gathered for the pack run. It was ridiculous that she had hoped to hide away in the first place only to be caught like this by Anna, the head of her bullies.
"Cat got your tongue?" Anna spat angrily, her eyes glaring deep into Luna's, forcing the girl to look down timidly.
"I… I'm going to fetch firewood for the pack chef." Luna lied blatantly, after much reluctance, hoping the girl would leave her alone. She wasn't a natural liar, but had come to realize that in order to survive in this pack, she had to learn how.
"As expected." Anna hissed as she looked Luna over. "Well, there's hardly anything for you to do, you might as well make yourself useful by doing the measly task. Now, get out of my way, you LEECH!" Anna spat angrily before she pushed Luna out of the way and walked out into the hallway.
---
Somewhere in the outskirts of Silver Moon pack's territory, an entourage had stopped to rest for the night. A flag bearing the Lycandria Kingdom's crest hung high at every junction of the route, telling the people, reminding the bandits and those who wanted to take the route, that the Lycan King was the one passing the night there.
Ten tents had been pitched and set up close to the remote paths. While some knights were busy digging pits for bonfires, lighting them and providing food and water for the horses, a man with striking black hair that reached his waist was seen making his way to a tent, an envelope in hand.
The largest tent stood at the center, its canvas walls thick and double-layered against the night wind. Inside, the air was warm and dry. A small fire crackled in a brazier at the side, throwing restless shadows across the table, the rolled maps, and the simple cot. The scent of cedarwood and smoke clung to the fabric. Though the king inside did not need the heat, the fire hissed and popped softly, the only sound besides the distant clink of armor and low voices from the knights outside.
"Your Highness," a voice called from outside the tent before the flap was pushed open. The knight made his way through when he heard a low hum of approval from the person inside.
"We've gotten the message from Mage Evander, Your Highness," the knight said. He pulled the flap aside and stepped forward, reaching to give the man who had his back turned to him, looking out the narrow window at the knights who had gathered around the bonfire. Though the view looked peaceful and calming, they knew it was not. They had been at this for close to six months now, going from one werewolf pack to the other, in search of the girl in the prophecy, with little to no luck.
Draven did not move to turn and look at the person. "And what does it say, Xerian?" he asked the man in calm indifference, without facing him. The firelight caught the edge of his profile, but his expression stayed hidden.
"It's still the same report. There is still no news about the girls with the mark. It's almost as though they never existed to begin with." Xerian answered, a frown plastered on his face.
Draven sighed. "Where did Evander say they are now?" he asked suddenly, finally turning to face the man, with a cold and icy stare. If one were to look, they would think he didn't care about the report, but Xerian knew better.
"It says that they're currently heading for Ashborne Pack, that faces the north," the man answered, his eyes drifting from the envelope to meet the king's eyes, which had turned cold. "Your Highness, could it be that the seer might have misinterpreted the prophecy?"
Draven walked away from the window to stand in front of a table where a map had been spread, marked with the information and route of every werewolf pack. "Then, I guess we will never know, since the old woman is already dead," his lips pulled up to form a smile, one that didn't reach his eyes. "Go on then, Xerian, and join the other men." He ordered, while his gaze continued to observe the map. A faraway look on his face as the flap to the tent was pulled open and then snapped shut, indicating that the knight had left.
The king's lips curved up. They were currently heading to the Shadow Howlers pack, and he felt his other half threatening to take the lead, which could only mean one thing.
She was near, at least one of them.