Chapter 7

The mist had barely settled, yet the echoes of Fenros’ words clung to the air like smoke after a wildfire. The clearing felt different now—emptier, heavier—as though something had been stripped from the night, leaving behind a silence that was more unsettling than the beast’s presence had been.

Elara stood frozen, her pulse a steady drum against her ribs. The wind stirred her hair, brushing it across her face, but she barely noticed. Her thoughts were tangled, her mind replaying Fenros’ warning over and over.

A choice between love and legacy. And you will not be able to have both.

The weight of it settled over her like a shroud, pressing against the fragile balance she had been struggling to maintain.

Leon exhaled beside her, breaking the quiet. “I don’t like this.” His voice was rough, edged with frustration, but there was something deeper beneath it—concern.

She turned to him, searching his face in the moonlight. His usually sharp features were drawn with tension, his ice-blue eyes shadowed with something unreadable. His stance was rigid, his fingers flexing at his sides as if he were resisting the urge to lash out at something unseen.

Elara swallowed. “Neither do I.”

Leon ran a hand through his dark hair, exhaling again. “He didn’t just come to warn you. He was testing you.”

She frowned. “Testing me how?”

He turned toward her fully, stepping closer, the distance between them shrinking until she could see the faint crease between his brows, the flicker of something uncertain in his gaze. “He wanted to see if you’re ready to handle what’s coming.”

Elara’s heart thumped once, hard. “And am I?”

Leon’s jaw tightened. “I don’t know.”

There was honesty in his words, and it stung more than she expected.

The tension between them thickened, a silent push-and-pull neither of them acknowledged, but both felt. Leon was too close now, his presence a steady force against the storm inside her. His scent—pine and something unmistakably him—wrapped around her, grounding her even as everything else threatened to unravel.

For the briefest moment, she wanted to reach for him. To hold onto something solid, something real, before the world shifted again.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she pulled back, inhaling sharply. “We should go. The others will start to wonder where we are.”

Leon’s expression flickered, but he nodded. “Yeah. Let’s move.”

They turned toward the trees, leaving the clearing behind. But as they stepped into the shadows, Elara couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed.

Something irreversible.

\---

**The Blackthorn Pack Grounds**

The Blackthorn stronghold loomed ahead, its sharp wooden barricades rising against the dark sky like jagged teeth. Torches burned along the perimeter, their flickering light casting long shadows against the reinforced gate. Even from a distance, Elara could hear the distant chatter of wolves on patrol, the occasional barked command cutting through the quiet of the night.

Midnight Valley’s brutal winters made their packs hardened warriors, and the Blackthorn stronghold reflected that in every aspect—its buildings were built for survival, its defenses meant to keep threats at bay, and its warriors trained for battle.

Elara’s steps slowed as they neared the entrance, her stomach twisting.

Leon noticed. “You’re thinking about Draven.”

She let out a slow breath. “He’s going to know something’s changed.”

Leon studied her for a moment before answering. “Then don’t let him see it.”

His words should have been reassuring, but they weren’t. Not when Draven could read her better than anyone.

The guards at the gate stiffened as they approached. One of them—a burly wolf with a thick scar running down his forearm—inclined his head in greeting. “Elara.” His gaze flickered to Leon with barely concealed suspicion. “Darkwood.”

Leon ignored the tone, his posture relaxed but not careless. “You’re late on your patrol rotation, Kade.”

The guard’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

Elara pressed forward before the exchange could escalate, slipping through the gate without another word.

Inside, the stronghold was quieter than usual. The tension was thicker, more suffocating, as if the entire pack could feel the shifting tides of power beneath the surface.

And at the heart of it all stood him.

Alpha Draven.

He was waiting near the center of the training grounds, his dark cloak shifting in the cold wind, the torchlight making the sharp angles of his face appear even more menacing. His black eyes locked onto Elara the moment she stepped inside, unreadable and piercing.

“Elara.” His voice was calm, too calm.

She forced herself to walk forward, feeling Leon’s presence just behind her. “Father.”

Draven’s gaze flickered toward Leon, but only briefly. When he spoke again, his attention was solely on her. “You’ve been gone longer than expected.”

Elara lifted her chin. “I needed air.”

Draven stepped closer, slow and deliberate, his presence as imposing as ever. “And did you find what you were looking for?”

The weight of his stare pressed into her, demanding answers without words.

Elara’s pulse quickened, but she held his gaze. “Not yet.”

A beat of silence. Then, Draven’s lips curled slightly, a ghost of a smile that never reached his eyes.

“Careful, daughter. Curiosity can be dangerous.”

Leon stiffened beside her.

Elara clenched her fists but forced her expression to remain neutral. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Draven studied her for a moment longer before finally nodding. “Get some rest. Tomorrow, we talk.”

It wasn’t a request.

Elara turned on her heel before he could say anything else, making her way toward the packhouse. Leon followed, his pace matching hers.

When they were far enough away, she let out a breath.

“That could have been worse,” she muttered.

Leon’s expression was grim. “Or it could have been exactly what he wanted.”

Elara didn’t have an answer for that.

\---

**The Packhouse – Later That Night**

Sleep didn’t come easily.

Elara lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, Fenros’ words playing on a loop in her mind.

A choice between love and legacy.

She turned onto her side, exhaling heavily.

A soft knock sounded at the door.

She sat up. “Come in.”

The door creaked open, and Leon stepped inside, his broad frame silhouetted against the dim candlelight. He hesitated for a moment before shutting the door behind him.

“You’re awake,” he murmured.

Elara huffed. “Like I had a choice.”

Leon leaned against the doorframe, watching her. The quiet stretched between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

Then, finally, he spoke.

“If it comes down to it,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, “between love and legacy… which would you choose?”

Elara’s breath caught.

She looked at him then—really looked at him. At the way the firelight softened the sharp edges of his face, at the

storm behind his ice-blue eyes.

For the first time, she let herself consider the truth.

She didn’t have an answer.

And that terrified her.