Asher
The heavy oak door clicks shut, the sound unnaturally loud in the sudden silence. I remain where I am, a stone sentinel in the narrow stone corridor. My knuckles are white where I grip the hilt of the dagger at my belt. A useless gesture. The threat to her is not something I can simply cut down.
The echo of Bianca’s final, venomous look still hangs in the air. The Alpha’s fury. The Elder’s awe. It all swirls around one impossible point: Emery.
I saw it. I felt it. When that silver light erupted from her, it was not the foul stench of witchcraft. I have smelled dark magic on the battlefield, a cloying sweetness that coats the back of your throat and promises decay. This was different. It was clean, like the air after a lightning strike. Cold, like the deepest heart of winter. It felt ancient, and it felt pure.
My entire life in this pack has been a fight. A rogue pup, found starving at the border, taken in on a whim by Marcus’s father. I was a stray dog they decided to keep. I fought to earn my place. I fought to become a warrior. I fought until my knuckles bled and my body screamed, until they had no choice but to name me Head Warrior. But I have never shaken the feeling of being an outsider looking in.
She was the only other one. The kennel girl. The wolf-less orphan. They treated her like a stray, too. But where I fought with my fists and my teeth, she fought with a quiet endurance that baffled me. A resilience that shamed warriors twice her size.
I remember the first time I truly saw it. I was ten, still nursing the wounds from a brutal training session. No one spoke to the rogue pup unless it was to give a command or a sneer. I sat by the kennels, trying to hide the tears of pain and frustration. She found me there. She was maybe six years old, all sharp angles and oversized, haunted eyes.
She did not say a word. She just sat down a few feet away and held out a piece of honey cake, stolen from the kitchens, no doubt. It was her entire portion. I saw the hunger in her own face. I shook my head, but she just pushed it closer, her small hand trembling slightly. I took it. We sat in silence and shared it, the sweetness a balm on a bitter day.
It was the first act of unconditional kindness I had ever known.
From that day on, I watched her. I watched her absorb Bianca’s cruelty without breaking. I watched her tend to the wolves with a gentle hand that belied her own suffering. And I saw something in her that no one else bothered to look for. Not an emptiness, but a stillness. A deep, quiet well of strength they were all too blind to see.
Now they see. And I fear they see a prize.
The door opens again. Alpha Marcus steps out, his face a mask of cold calculation. The initial shock has worn off, replaced by the mind of a political animal scenting opportunity.
“Asher.” His voice is low, measured. “You will stand guard here. No one enters or leaves without my express permission.”
“Understood, Alpha,” I say, my voice a low rumble. I keep my eyes forward, fixed on the stone wall opposite me.
He doesn’t move away. I can feel his gaze on me, probing. “Tell me what you saw. The truth. Not the pack gossip that is surely spreading like wildfire.”
“I saw a girl pushed to her limit,” I answer, my words clipped. “And I saw something impossible happen.”
“Impossible things are opportunities,” he counters, his voice smooth. “An ancient power, one thought lost. Do you understand what this means for the Bloodmoon Pack? For our standing?”
My grip on my dagger tightens. He doesn’t see her at all. He sees a banner. A sword. A crown.
“I understand that she is a member of this pack,” I say, choosing my words with the care of a wolf crossing thin ice. “And she is in danger.”
Marcus almost smiles. It’s a chilling sight. “The entire world is dangerous, warrior. But power is the only true shield. Her power, aligned with mine, will make us untouchable. Our enemies will kneel.”
He wants to use her. A broodmare for power. A trophy to elevate his own status. The thought sends a wave of cold fury through my veins, a rage so possessive it startles me.
“She will need to be protected,” I state. It is not a suggestion.
“And she will be,” Marcus says, clapping a hand on my shoulder. The gesture is meant to show camaraderie, but it feels like a man putting a leash on a dog. “By you. My finest warrior. You will be her personal guard. Keep her safe. Keep her close. Let no one speak to her. Especially not any ambitious young males who might get ideas above their station.”
He is warning me off. The irony is so thick I could choke on it. He thinks I am a threat to his plans for her, but he has no idea that the only thing I want to protect her from is him.
“My loyalty is to the pack,” I say, the words tasting like ash. It is the only answer I can give.
He seems satisfied. “Good.” He turns and walks down the corridor, his footsteps echoing with newfound purpose. The predator has found a new, more valuable prey.
I am left alone in the silence again, the weight of his words pressing down on me. Personal guard. It is a cage within a cage. He wants me to be her warden. Her jailer.
A soft tapping sound pulls me from my thoughts. Elder Lyra emerges from the room, pulling the door quietly shut behind her. She looks ancient, her face a roadmap of worries and wonders.
She stops in front of me, her gaze far more perceptive than the Alpha’s. She sees past the warrior, past the rogue. She sees the heart of the man.
“He sees a political game,” she says, her voice a dry whisper like rustling leaves.
I just nod, my jaw tight.
“He plans to offer her to the highest bidder. An alliance sealed with her as the prize. Kael of the Silverwood Pack, perhaps. He is strong. Ambitious.”
Kael. The name sends a jolt through me. I know his reputation. Ruthless. Cruel. He collects power and beautiful things, and he discards them just as easily. The thought of his hands on Emery makes my vision swim with red.
“She is not a prize,” I growl, the sound tearing from my chest before I can stop it. It’s more emotion than I have shown in a decade.
Lyra’s wise eyes soften. “No. She is not. She is a daughter of the moon, and her path will be her own to choose. But the wolves are circling, Asher. They smell power, and it makes them hungry.”
“I will not let them touch her.” The words are a vow, spoken into the quiet space between us.
“I know,” she says, placing a wrinkled hand on my arm. Her touch is surprisingly strong. “You have been her shadow guardian for years. I have seen you. When you pushed the larger boys away from her in the training yard. When you left extra firewood by the kennel door on the coldest nights. When you silenced Bianca tonight. You have always seen her when no one else would.”
My breath catches. She has seen it all. The small, secret things I did, thinking no one noticed. The desperate, clumsy attempts to ease a burden I could not take from her.
“The Goddess has a plan for her,” Lyra continues, her eyes holding mine. “And I believe you are a part of it. But your rage is a wild animal, rogue. If you let it command you, you will become the very monster you seek to protect her from. Be her shield. Not her cage.”
She removes her hand and shuffles away down the corridor, her hawthorn staff tapping a slow, steady rhythm on the stones. Her words hang in the air, a warning and a blessing all at once.
Be her shield. Not her cage.
I turn back to the door. Marcus wants me to be her warden. Lyra wants me to be her shield. And I… I just want her to be safe. I want her to be free. I want to see her smile, a real smile, not the faint, sad curve of her lips she uses to survive.
I have spent my life earning a title. Head Warrior. A name that commands respect, even fear. But it is a hollow thing. It is armor I wear to hide the rogue pup underneath.
Her newfound importance will not bring her happiness. It will bring her powerful suitors, false friends, and hidden enemies. They will all want something from her. Her power. Her name. Her body. None of them will ever see the quiet girl who shared her only cake with a stray.
But I will. I will always see her.
I cannot tell her this. I cannot tell her that my heart has beaten for her in the shadows for years, a silent, hopeless rhythm. To confess that would be to claim her, to put my own desires upon her, just like Marcus, just like Kael.
Lyra is right. My path is clear.
I will protect her from the shadows. I will stand between her and the circling wolves. I will let them break themselves against me before they can lay a single hand on her. She will never know the depth of my feelings. She will see a loyal warrior, a dutiful guard. That is the price I will pay.
I lean my head back against the cold stone of the wall, my eyes fixed on her door. A silent vow solidifies in my soul, harder than any steel I have ever forged.
I am Asher, Head Warrior of the Bloodmoon Pack. But tonight, and for all the nights to come, I am only one thing.
I am her shield. And I will not fail.
