Emery
I wake to the smell of sterile herbs and damp stone. A rough blanket scratches my chin. This isn't my cot in the kennels. My bed is straw and smells of cedar shavings and wolf.
My head throbs, a dull, persistent ache behind my eyes. I try to sit up, but a wave of dizziness pushes me back down onto the thin mattress.
“You are awake.”
The voice comes from the shadows in the corner of the small, windowless room. Alpha Marcus steps into the dim light of a single oil lamp. His face is a granite mask, his eyes narrowed, studying me as if I were a puzzle he was determined to solve.
“Where am I?” My voice is a dry rasp.
“A secure room in the pack house,” he says, his tone clipped and devoid of warmth. “For observation.”
“Observation?” The word feels alien. I’ve spent my life being overlooked, not observed. “I don’t understand. What happened?”
His lips thin into a hard line. “You will tell me what happened. You extinguished the sacred bonfire with a thought. You will explain how.”
I stare at him, the memories rushing back in a chaotic flood. The jeers. Bianca’s hateful face. The pressure building in my chest. The wave of silver light. My wrist. I instinctively pull my right arm close, cradling it. The skin is cool to the touch, the searing heat gone, but I can feel the ghost of the mark under my sleeve.
“I don’t know,” I whisper, and it is the honest truth. “I just… it just happened.”
“Power does not ‘just happen’,” he snaps, taking a step closer. The air crackles with his authority, his barely restrained Alpha power. “You are wolf-less. You have no connection to the moon, no magic. So I will ask you again. Who are you working with? What witch gave you that trinket? What was the incantation?”
“There was no one. No trinket.” My heart hammers against my ribs. He thinks I’m a conspirator. A threat.
Before he can press me further, a commotion erupts outside the heavy wooden door. A fist pounds against it.
“Father! Let me in! I know she’s in there!” Bianca’s voice, shrill with fury. “You cannot protect a dark witch! She must be punished!”
Alpha Marcus pinches the bridge of his nose, a flicker of irritation crossing his features. “Guard, do not let her…”
But it’s too late. The door creaks open, and Bianca storms in, her silver gown now smudged with dirt. Her eyes, wild and accusatory, land on me. Behind her, framed in the doorway, stands Asher. His expression is unreadable, but his presence is a solid, unmoving wall.
“There she is,” Bianca spits, pointing a trembling finger at me. “The little serpent. Look at her, playing the innocent. What foul magic did you conjure, kennel girl? Some cheap illusion to make a fool of me?”
“I didn’t do anything,” I say, my voice shaking despite my best efforts.
“You lie!” she screeches. “You made a mockery of the ceremony! A mockery of me!”
“Bianca. That is enough.” Asher’s voice is a low growl, vibrating with a danger that makes the oil lamp’s flame flicker. He doesn’t move, but the command silences his Alpha’s daughter more effectively than any shout could have.
Bianca wheels on him. “You dare defend her? The mutt who serves your kind? Have you forgotten your place, rogue?”
Asher’s jaw tightens, but his eyes remain locked on her, cold and steady.
“He is my Head Warrior,” Alpha Marcus says, his voice cutting through the tension. “And you are my daughter, acting like a spoiled pup. Leave us.”
“I will not!” Bianca retorts, her rage making her reckless. “This concerns the entire pack’s safety! We have a dark magic user in our midst, and you are coddling her!”
“The only thing threatening this pack right now, Bianca, is your hysteria.”
The new voice is soft, yet it carries more weight than the Alpha’s command. It flows from the doorway like ancient river water, cool and unyielding. Elder Lyra stands there, leaning on a staff of twisted hawthorn wood. Her hair is the color of snow, and her eyes hold the wisdom of a hundred winters. The pack makes way for her. Alphas command, but everyone, even an Alpha, listens to an Elder.
Bianca’s mouth snaps shut. She looks like a child who has been caught stealing honey cakes.
Lyra’s gaze sweeps over the room, dismissing the Alpha and his daughter, and settles on me. She takes a slow, deliberate step inside, her staff making a soft tapping sound on the stone floor. Asher moves aside for her, dipping his head in a gesture of profound respect.
“Leave us,” Lyra says, her voice gentle but absolute. It is not a request.
Alpha Marcus hesitates for a second, then gives a stiff nod. “As you wish, Elder.” He turns and exits, grabbing Bianca’s arm and pulling her along despite her indignant squawk of protest.
Asher lingers in the doorway for a moment, his dark eyes meeting mine. There’s a question in them, and something else. Something fiercely protective. Then he too is gone, pulling the heavy door closed, leaving me alone with the ancient she-wolf.
The silence in the room is heavy. Lyra moves closer to the cot, her movements slow and measured. She does not look like a threat, but the sheer weight of her presence is overwhelming.
“Do not be afraid, child,” she says, her voice kind. “I am not here to accuse you. I am here to understand.”
She sits on the edge of the cot, her old bones creaking softly. “Bianca speaks of dark magic. I have seen dark magic. It is twisted and foul. It smells of rot and ambition. The energy that came from you… it was the opposite. It was pure. As pure as the moon herself.”
Hope, fragile and tentative, flickers in my chest.
“I don’t know what it was,” I confess. “I’ve never felt anything like it before.”
“Show me your wrist,” she says gently.
My hand trembles as I push back the worn sleeve of my tunic. In the dim light, the mark is no longer blazing with silver fire. It has settled, looking more like a delicate, silvery tattoo on my skin. A crescent moon cradling a blooming flower. It pulses with a soft, internal luminescence, like a firefly trapped under my skin.
Elder Lyra’s breath catches in her throat. Her gnarled, gentle fingers reach out, hovering over the mark for a long moment before she dares to touch it. Her touch is feather-light, but a warmth spreads from her fingertips, and the mark on my wrist glows a little brighter in response.
Her eyes, which have seen so much, widen with a look of profound, stunned reverence.
“By the Moon Goddess,” she breathes, her voice filled with an awe that frightens me more than the Alpha’s anger. She traces the intricate lines of the crest, her expression unreadable.
“What is it?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper. “Is it a curse?”
Lyra finally looks up from my wrist, her ancient eyes locking with mine. There are tears shimmering in them.
“No, child,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “Not a curse. A miracle.”
She lets go of my hand and stands, turning as the door opens again. It is Alpha Marcus, his patience clearly worn thin. Asher stands just behind him, his posture tense.
“Lyra? What is it?” the Alpha demands. “Do you recognize this symbol?”
Lyra turns to face him, her demeanor transformed. The gentle elder is gone, replaced by a vessel of ancient authority.
“Recognize it?” she says, her voice ringing with newfound strength. “I have only seen it in the oldest scrolls, in prophecies whispered on the night of a blue moon. It is a mark of legend. A blessing we thought was lost to the ages. Wiped from this world with the blood of a noble line.”
Alpha Marcus stares at her, then at me, his mind clearly working, trying to piece together the political implications of her words.
Bianca pushes past him, her face a mask of disbelief. “A blessing? On her? She’s a wolf-less nobody! An orphan! It’s a trick!”
Before anyone else can speak, Asher takes one deliberate step forward, positioning himself slightly in front of me. His movement is subtle, but the meaning is clear. He is a shield.
His cold, hard gaze falls on Bianca.
“Leave,” he says. The single word is flat, devoid of emotion, but it carries the chilling promise of violence. It is not a request or a command. It is a statement of fact. You will leave.
For the first time in her life, Bianca looks truly afraid. She shrinks back from the sheer force of his will, her hateful words dying in her throat. She gives me one last venomous look before turning and fleeing the room.
Alpha Marcus watches her go, then turns his calculating gaze back to me, and to the glowing mark on my wrist.
“We have much to discuss, Elder Lyra,” he says, his voice low and serious. He finally looks at me, and I am no longer the kennel girl in his eyes. I am something else. A weapon. A prize. A problem.
Lyra nods. “Indeed, we do. But the girl needs rest. The Goddess has woken something powerful within her. It will take time to settle.”
They leave, Asher closing the door with a soft click, plunging me back into the quiet dimness. I am alone, but the room no longer feels empty.
I raise my hand, staring at the impossible symbol etched onto my skin. It pulses softly, a steady, silent heartbeat. For sixteen years, I was invisible. A hollow shell. Nothing.
Now, I am something. I don’t know what. But it is something that makes Alphas plot, Elders weep, and Head Warriors stand as shields.
And I have never been more terrified in my life.
