The next morning, the camp was restless.
Silvermoon wolves had never liked guests. They liked Shadowfang wolves even less. But Damien wasn't just any Shadowfang he was their Alpha. His presence hung over the camp like a storm cloud. Conversations broke off when he passed. Eyes tracked him warily from doorways. Even the air itself felt charged, as though the snow might crack and shatter beneath the weight of him.
For me, that weight pressed hardest when Garrick called my name.
"Selene!" His voice boomed across the yard, sharp as a lash. "To the hall."
My stomach tightened. I set down the bucket I'd been carrying and brushed the snow from my hands before heading toward the main hall.
The hall was warm, almost stifling after the bite of winter air. A great fire roared in the hearth, its flames crackling over thick logs. Smoke curled lazily toward the high rafters, mingling with the scent of roasted venison and old wood. The walls were lined with hunting trophies antlers, pelts, skulls polished until they gleamed. Symbols of conquest and dominance.
At the long table near the fire sat Damien. His black cloak was draped across the chair, his broad shoulders bent over a map spread wide across the oak surface. Garrick stood nearby with three of his lieutenants, their voices low, strained, and cautious.
When I entered, Garrick straightened. His mouth curled in that tight smile that was never truly a smile.
"Selene," he said, spitting my name as if it were a sour taste. "The Alpha requires a runner."
A runner. I had been used for that role before. It meant errands fetching, carrying, delivering messages. Work no one else wanted. It was also a convenient way to keep me out of sight while important matters were discussed.
Still, I stepped forward, lowering my head slightly. "Yes, Alpha." I directed the title toward Damien, not Garrick.
Damien's eyes lifted from the map to meet mine. The silence between us thickened, stretching taut. His gaze was steady, sharp, assessing in a way that made my skin prickle.
"Bread and salted meat from the kitchen," he said finally. His voice was low, certain. "For the men posted at the ridge."
I nodded, already turning. But before I reached the door, a whisper broke from one of Garrick's lieutenants a mutter he thought too soft to be heard.
"Why her? Any of the others could"
"She's quick," Damien said, cutting him off. His voice was calm, final. The kind of tone that brooked no argument.
The room stilled. No one spoke again.
The kitchen was hot, the air thick with smoke and the heavy scent of roasting meat. The sudden warmth made my cheeks flush, my damp boots squeaking against the stone floor. Mira, the head cook, stood at the counter hacking into a haunch of venison with a cleaver. Her sharp eyes narrowed when she saw me.
"Runner duty, stray?" she said, her mouth twisting. "Of course. Why waste a real wolf on it?"
The others in the kitchen snickered, not bothering to lower their voices.
Mira reached for a sack and shoved loaves of coarse bread inside, followed by strips of salted meat. She thrust it into my hands without ceremony. Her fingers brushed mine deliberately rough, scraping across my skin. A warning disguised as contact.
I didn't flinch. I didn't speak. Words only fed them.
I left the heat of the kitchen behind and returned to the hall.
By then, the others had dispersed. Only Damien remained, still bent over the map. The firelight carved the edges of his face into shadow, throwing his eyes into sharper contrast when they flicked up to me.
I set the sack on the table. "For the ridge patrol, Alpha."
He leaned back in his chair, studying me. His gaze was quiet but heavy, like the pressure of a hand against my chest.
"You didn't eat any of it?" he asked.
I blinked, startled. "No."
One corner of his mouth shifted not a smile, not quite, but something close. "You're hungrier than you look."
Heat prickled at the back of my neck. "I don't take what isn't mine."
His eyes lingered, weighing the words. "And if no one ever gives you anything?"
I hesitated. Was it a question? A test? My throat felt dry, but I forced the answer out. "Then I survive without it."
Something flickered in his eyes then interest, maybe, or recognition. The faintest shift, like a ripple beneath still water. Before I could decipher it, the door banged open.
Garrick strode in, his presence loud and bristling, as though he needed to fill the space Damien occupied so effortlessly.
"Selene," Garrick barked, his tone sharp. "You've got wood to split."
I lowered my head, ready to move, but Damien's gaze slid toward him. His voice was quiet, but it cut sharper than Garrick's bark.
"She just returned from a run."
The words hung in the air, deceptively mild. Garrick stiffened, his face tightening before he smoothed it back into a false smile.
"We all have our duties," he said stiffly.
I left without another word, but my heart was pounding. As I stepped out into the cold, I could feel Damien's eyes still on me a weight at my back that lingered even as the door closed behind me.
By afternoon, the tension finally broke.
I was carrying a bundle of split logs toward the storage shed when Liora stepped into my path. Her friends flanked her, their smirks sharp as knives.
"Well, well," she drawled, eyes glittering. "Didn't know you were fetching food for the Alpha now. Trying to work your way into his bed, stray?"
Her friends tittered behind her, the sound brittle and cruel.
I adjusted the logs in my arms and tried to step around her.
"Don't ignore me," she snapped, her hand darting out to grab my arm. Her nails dug into my skin through the fabric.
The logs wobbled. I jerked back, the bundle tumbling into the snow with a muffled thud. My breath clouded the air between us, sharp with the bite of winter.
"Move," I said, my voice low.
Her smirk widened, triumphant at the defiance she thought she'd dragged out of me. She leaned closer, her breath hot against my cheek. "Careful, stray. The Alpha might take pity on you, but the rest of us won't."
Then her gaze flicked over my shoulder. Whatever she saw made her falter.
Her grip loosened. The smirk slid from her face.
I didn't have to turn to know why.
Damien's voice cut through the air, low and dangerous. "Is this how Silvermoon treats its own?"
The camp stilled. Conversations halted mid-sentence. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
No one answered. Liora's friends shifted uneasily, their eyes darting between her and Damien.
"Pick up the logs," Damien said. His tone was quiet, but it carried the weight of command.
For a heartbeat, I thought he meant me. My arms tightened instinctively around nothing.
Then his eyes fixed on Liora.
Her mouth fell open. "I"
"Pick them up," Damien repeated, sharper now.
The silence was so complete I could hear the snow crunch beneath her boots as she bent, her movements stiff. She gathered the logs clumsily, stacking them back into my arms one by one. Her hands trembled, though whether from cold or humiliation, I couldn't tell.
When the last log was in place, Damien said nothing more. He didn't need to. His gaze lingered on me as I turned and walked away, the logs heavy in my arms but my chest strangely light.
That night, I couldn't stop replaying the moment in my head. Not just the way he had stepped in, though that was rare enough. No one defended me. No one ever had.
It was the way he'd looked at me afterward.
Not like I was weak. Not like I was dirt.
Like he had already decided I was something else entirely.
And for the first time in years, I didn't know whether to fear it… or hope.