Ariana
I stumble back into the healer’s wing, the heavy door of the Alpha’s den closing behind me with a soft click that sounds like a final judgment. My legs give out. I slide down the rough stone wall to the floor, my breath coming in shuddering gasps.
I did not bow. I did not break. He stepped back. Alpha Valerius stepped away from me.
The memory is a flash of impossible light in the darkness of my fear. It doesn’t feel like a victory. It feels like I have just signed my own death warrant.
*You did not sign anything,* Selene’s voice says, a calm counterpoint to the frantic pounding of my heart. *You simply showed him that you are not the same broken thing he is used to tormenting. You have changed the shape of his world, and it has frightened him.*
“He will kill me for it,” I whisper to the empty room. My hands are shaking so violently I have to clench them into fists, my nails digging into my palms.
*He will try,* she corrects. *And he will fail.*
The certainty in her voice does little to soothe me. She is a goddess. I am a girl with one strange eye and a body covered in bruises.
The door creaks open. It’s Lyra, her arms full of dried herbs. Her eyes widen when she sees me huddled on the floor.
“Child! What happened? Did he hurt you?” She drops her basket and rushes to my side, her old knees cracking as she kneels beside me.
I shake my head, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. I just let her fuss over me, her gnarled hands checking for new injuries. Her touch, as always, is surprisingly gentle.
“He summoned you. I was so worried,” she says, her voice thick with genuine concern. “What did he want?”
“He… asked questions,” I manage. “About how I healed so fast. About what I said to Joric.”
Lyra’s face hardens. “That whelp. He ran straight to his father, of course.” She helps me to my feet and guides me back to the cot. “You must be more careful, Ariana. You are playing with fire.”
“I know.” The words are a hollow echo of the truth.
*You are the fire,* Selene says, a quiet roar in my mind.
Lyra begins sorting her herbs on a nearby table. Her movements are slow, her knuckles swollen and stiff. She winces as she tries to crush a sprig of dried moonpetal, a low grunt of pain escaping her lips. She stops, flexing her fingers, her face a mask of frustration.
“Is it your hands?” I ask quietly.
She sighs, not looking at me. “It is an old ache, child. The damp gets in the bones. It is the price of a long life.”
“Does anything help?”
“A poultice of willow bark and fireweed can dull it for a time. But it always returns.” She tries to resume her work, but her fingers tremble, refusing to cooperate. With another frustrated sigh, she lets her hands fall to her sides.
*You can help her,* Selene urges. *The same power that showed you a glimpse of your future can mend the present.*
My heart jumps. “Heal her? Like… like a pack healer?”
*Pack healers use herbs and bindings. They coax the body to heal itself. You do not coax, little one. You command. You are a conduit for life itself.*
I stare at Lyra’s hands. They are the hands that have tended to my wounds my entire life. They have cleaned my cuts, set my bones, and offered me cups of soothing tea when my spirit was at its lowest. She is the only person in this pack who has ever shown me consistent, selfless kindness.
The thought of taking her pain away, even for a moment, is a powerful lure.
“Lyra,” I say, my voice hesitant. She turns to look at me, her expression weary.
“What if I could help?”
She gives me a sad, tired smile. “You help me by resting and getting your own strength back, child. That is all the help I need.”
“No, I mean… your hands.” I slide off the cot and approach her slowly, my heart thudding. This is a terrible risk. This is revealing a secret that could get me killed. But when I look at her kind, tired face, it feels like a risk I have to take.
“Let me try something,” I whisper.
Her brow furrows in confusion, but she does not pull away when I reach out. My hands hover over hers for a second, trembling. Then, taking a deep breath, I gently cup her hands in mine.
Her skin is cool and papery, the joints beneath swollen and hard.
*Close your eyes,* Selene instructs. *Do not think of healing. Think of her. Think of wanting her pain to cease. Let your spirit reach for hers.*
I do as she says. I close my eyes and focus on the woman in front of me. I picture all the times she has helped me. I picture her hands, always working, always giving. I pour all my gratitude, all my desperation for a single ally, into my touch.
A warmth begins to build in my chest, a familiar thrumming sensation that I now recognize as my own power. It travels down my arms and into my palms. I expect it to feel like a jolt, like lightning. But it is soft. It feels like sunlight spreading through water.
I open my eyes. A faint, violet light is glowing from between our hands. It pulses gently, in time with my own heartbeat.
Lyra gasps. Her eyes are wide, fixed on the impossible glow. She does not pull away. She stares, her mouth slightly agape, a look of profound awe on her face.
I feel a subtle shift under my fingers. The hard, swollen joints seem to soften. The tension in her hands melts away like snow in the spring. I can feel the pain leaving her, not as a sharp exit, but as a slow, receding tide.
After a long moment, the light fades. The warmth recedes, leaving me feeling slightly drained, but clear headed. I slowly release her hands.
She stares down at them, turning them over and over. She flexes her fingers. Once. Twice. There is no wince. No tightness. Her movements are fluid, easy.
“The pain…” she whispers, her voice choked with disbelief. “It is gone. Not dulled. It is… gone.”
She lifts her gaze to meet mine. Her eyes, usually clouded with the quiet suffering of her chronic ache, are crystal clear. They are filled with tears.
“How?” she breathes. The single word hangs in the air, heavy with impossibility.
I have no answer for her. Not one she would believe. I just shake my head, my own eyes welling up.
She takes a step closer, her healed hand reaching out to gently touch my cheek. Her fingers are warm and steady. “Child… what are you?”
Before I can try to form a response, the sound of a horn blares from the main clearing. It is the Alpha’s summons, calling for a full pack meeting. It is not a sound we hear often.
Lyra and I look at each other, the question hanging between us. She grabs a shawl, her movements quick and certain, no longer hampered by her old pains.
“Come,” she says, her voice firm, protective. “We will stay at the back. We will listen.”
We slip out of the infirmary and join the river of pack members flowing towards the clearing. Everyone is murmuring, speculating. We find a place near the edge of the crowd, partially hidden by the overhang of the great hall. Alpha Valerius stands on the speaking platform, Joric at his side, looking smug.
“There is an announcement!” Valerius booms, his voice silencing the crowd instantly. “Word has come from the High Council. The annual Alpha Conclave is to be held in one week’s time. Attendance is mandatory.”
A ripple of excitement and apprehension goes through the pack. The Conclave is a huge event, a gathering of Alphas from every pack on the continent. A place for treaties, for trade, for shows of power.
“The Blackwood pack will attend,” Valerius continues, his eyes scanning the crowd. “We will go to strengthen our position. To forge new alliances.”
His gaze seems to sweep past me, but it doesn’t. It lingers for a fraction of a second, cold and calculating. A chill runs down my spine.
Joric leans over and whispers something to his father. Valerius nods, a cruel smirk touching his lips.
I cannot hear their words from this distance, but Selene’s voice is a cold whisper in my mind.
*He seeks an alliance with the Stonecrest pack. Their Alpha is old, his pack is failing. He has offered him a prize in exchange for loyalty.*
“What prize?” I whisper to myself.
Lyra, standing beside me, has gone rigid. Her hearing is sharper than mine. She heard them. Her face is pale.
“He is going to trade one of the omega females,” she murmurs, her voice low and horrified. “He told Joric he will offer the Stonecrest Alpha his pick of the litter. A bargaining chip.”
The air leaves my lungs. Valerius is not just taking us to serve. He is taking us to sell.
The crowd begins to disperse, talking excitedly about the journey. My feet feel rooted to the muddy ground. My world, which had just cracked open with a glimmer of impossible light, is shrinking again, the walls closing in.
Lyra turns to me, her new, steady hands gripping my arm. Her eyes are blazing with a fire I have never seen in them before.
“He will not have you,” she says, her voice a fierce, low promise. “He will not have any of you, if I can help it.”
She looks from me to the Alpha and his son, who are now laughing together on the platform. A lifetime of quiet subservience has fallen away from her, burned off by the miracle I performed on her hands.
“You are a gift from the Goddess, Ariana. I do not know why, and I do not know how. But I know this.” She leans in closer, her voice barely audible. “I have served this pack for fifty years. I know its secrets. I know its weaknesses. And from this moment on, I serve you.”
I stare at her, at the absolute conviction in her eyes. I came to the healer’s wing a broken, terrified omega. I am still terrified. But I am no longer broken.
And I am no longer alone.
