Marcia finds out

Marcia finds out
The night was thick with silence, the kind that made even the crickets hold their breath. Marcia sat in her study, papers scattered across the desk, though her eyes hadn’t traced a single word in hours. Her thoughts had been with Jara—always circling back, always worrying.

Too long… too quiet…

Jara had been more than just Gamma; she had been dependable, sharp, loyal to the last fiber of her soul. She would never vanish without word. And yet, here they were—days turning into weeks, with nothing but rumors.

Marcia rose, her instincts screaming. A faint draft crept in through the window, carrying a trace—so faint she might have missed it if she weren’t who she was. Wolf scent, muddied with soil. And beneath it… Jara.

Her heart clenched.

She grabbed a lantern, though her fire burned enough to light the path, and slipped into the woods. Each step deeper set her nerves on edge. The trail was weak, concealed, as though someone had deliberately masked it. But Marcia was no ordinary wolf—she was an elemental, and the wind itself whispered to her. It pulled her east, toward the old oaks.

There, the ground looked disturbed. To human eyes, it was nothing but shifted soil. To Marcia’s, it screamed of cover-up.

She crouched, pressing her palm against the dirt. The fire flared in her hand, licking across the ground, burning away the layers of camouflage. The scent of decay rose—faint, muffled, but unmistakable. Jara.

Marcia’s throat tightened as the truth hit. She had found the Gamma. Hidden. Buried. Murdered.

For a moment, her knees threatened to give out, and grief swelled in her chest. But grief gave way to fury. Flames burst from her skin, scorching the oak’s roots. The night air roared with her anger, her wolf growling deep in her chest.

She returned to the stronghold with fire still simmering in her veins. The halls were dim, but her senses locked onto Henry immediately. He lingered near Erin’s quarters again, a constant shadow, always too close, always too watchful.

“Henry.”

His head snapped up, his expression carefully arranged into the concerned, loyal façade he always wore. “Marcia,” he said with a practiced calm, “you’re out late. Checking the borders?”

Her steps were measured, each one a predator’s stride. “Where were you tonight?”

“Patrolling,” he answered smoothly, though his eyes flickered for a fraction of a second. “We can’t risk Alfonso’s forces slipping close—”

“Don’t.” Her voice cracked like a whip, sharp and searing. Fire licked her arms, wind whipping her hair around her face. “Don’t lie to me.”

Henry stiffened, his breath catching. “I—I don’t know what you mean.”

“I found her,” Marcia snapped, her voice breaking with fury. “Jara. Buried like some dirty secret in the roots of the old oak. Did you think I wouldn’t notice? Did you think I wouldn’t find her?”

For a moment, Henry froze—his mask flickering, then fracturing. His lips parted, then pressed into a grim line. Finally, his shoulders slumped.

“She left me no choice.” His voice was low, almost broken. “She was suspicious, digging too close. If she had gone to Nick, if she had told Erin—everything would have fallen apart.”

Marcia’s chest burned, rage clawing up her throat. “You murdered her,” she hissed. “The Gamma. Your sister-in-arms. For what?”

Henry’s jaw clenched. “For Erin!” he burst out, his voice echoing down the hall. “You don’t see it. Nick’s curse—his mate will die. If he mates her, she’s gone. Jara wouldn’t listen, she wanted to expose me. I had to stop her.”

Marcia’s flames roared higher, crackling in the air around them. “You dare cloak your betrayal as protection? You’ve sold your soul to Alfonso and dare to say it’s for Erin’s sake?”

Henry stepped forward, desperation in his eyes. “You think Nick can protect her? You think love will save her from the prophecy? No—only I can. Alfonso promised—”

The words slipped, and Marcia’s eyes widened with cold clarity. Alfonso promised.

So it was true. Henry was the spy.

Her fury turned cold, precise. She leaned close, her voice trembling with restrained wrath.
“You’ll never touch my daughter again. When Nick learns what you’ve done, when Erin learns the truth—you will beg for the mercy you denied Jara.”

For the first time, Henry’s mask fully shattered. Fear flickered in his eyes. But beneath it, something darker stirred—resentment, jealousy, a dangerous glint that promised this was far from over.

Marcia turned from him, her fire still blazing, though her heart ached with grief. She had to protect Erin from this truth—for now. But the reckoning was coming.

And when it did, Henry would burn. He can't let it happen. 

The air between them still crackled with Marcia’s fury. Fire danced faintly along her arms, restrained but hungry, while Henry stood stiff, jaw tight, his mask of loyalty long since broken.

“You buried Jara like a coward,” Marcia hissed, her voice low but searing. “You betrayed what was your alpha, your pack—your family.”

Henry’s eyes darted, desperation and defiance battling inside him. “I did what I had to! You don’t understand—Nick’s curse will kill Erin, and Jara—Jara would have exposed me before I could protect her.”

Marcia’s hands trembled, rage and grief twisting inside her chest. She wanted to burn him where he stood. She wanted to rip his lies apart until nothing was left. But before she could speak, the doors slammed open.

A young scout, bloodied and breathless, staggered into the hall. His face was pale, his eyes wide with terror.

“Lady Marcia ” His voice cracked, breaking under the weight of his news. “The Emberhold Circle… it’s gone.”

Marcia’s flames faltered. “What do you mean—gone?”

The scout sank to one knee, clutching at his ribs. “Alfonso attacked in the night. His forces—shadows, beasts—we couldn’t stop them. The druids… their circle is broken. Their High Seer is dead. The survivors are in chains.”

The words rang like a death knell. Marcia’s breath caught, the strength in her legs nearly failing her. The druids had been their oldest allies, their balance against the rising tide of darkness. And now, they were gone.

She turned slowly toward Henry. For an instant, her grief sharpened into cold fury, suspicion flashing in her eyes.
“Did you know?” she whispered, her voice trembling but dangerous.

Henry swallowed, his silence answering for him. His gaze flicked away—too quickly, too guilty.

Marcia’s heart cracked under the weight of betrayal upon betrayal. The druids fallen, her Gamma murdered, and Henry—once trusted, once called brother by her pack—standing in the shadows of Alfonso.

“Leave,” she said finally, her voice like ash. “Get out of my sight before I forget who you are and let my fire consume you.”

Henry opened his mouth, perhaps to plead, perhaps to twist another lie—but the blaze in Marcia’s eyes silenced him. He backed away, retreating into the dark halls.

Marcia sank against the stone wall, the weight of it all pressing on her chest. The pack was cracking. Allies were falling. And Alfonso’s shadow grew longer with every heartbeat.

She whispered to herself, half prayer, half vow:
“We will not break. Not like this.”