Chapter 14 The Proclamation
ELARA
The walk back to the settlement is a quiet one. The charged energy from the meadow follows us, a silent third companion on the narrow path. Kael walks behind me, and I can feel his presence like a warm cloak at my back. It is not threatening. It is steadying.
Anya is waiting on the porch of the main lodge, a wooden spoon in her hand. Her eyes flick between me and Kael, a knowing look on her face.
“Wipe your paws before you come inside,” she says, her tone teasing. “You two look like you wrestled a bog monster.”
“Elara won,” Kael says, his voice a low rumble behind me.
Anya laughs, a warm, genuine sound that makes the tense set of my shoulders relax. “I don’t doubt it for a second. Get cleaned up. There is a visitor.”
My good mood evaporates. A visitor. Strangers are a threat. My three years in the human world taught me that much.
“Who is it?” Kael asks, his own voice losing its lightheartedness. He steps up beside me, his Alpha senses on high alert.
“An elder from the council,” Anya says, her expression turning serious. “He arrived a few minutes ago. Said his business is with the Alpha of the Crescent Moon pack. He is waiting in your study.”
Kael nods, his jaw tight. He looks at me. “Go get something to eat. I will handle this.”
But I do not move. I have spent my whole life being sent away while the adults handled things. Luna bristles in my mind. We are not a pup to be dismissed.
“I will wait,” I say. My voice is quiet, but firm.
Kael looks at me for a long moment, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. He seems to have a silent conversation with himself. Then he nods. “Alright. With me, then.”
The study is a simple room. A large wooden desk, shelves filled with old books, and a fire crackling in the hearth. The elder stands with his back to us, staring into the flames. He is ancient, his back stooped with age, but the power that radiates from him is immense.
“Elder Theron,” Kael says, his voice full of respect. “This is an unexpected honor.”
The old wolf turns. His eyes are a pale, milky blue, and they seem to look right through me, seeing every broken piece. He assesses me for a long, uncomfortable moment before his gaze settles on Kael.
“Alpha Kael,” he says, his voice like rocks grinding together. “The council sends its greetings. And its proclamations.”
He holds out a rolled scroll, tied with a cord of gold.
Kael takes it. He does not open it. “Must be important news to bring you all this way yourself.”
“It is,” the elder says, his pale eyes flicking back to me. “News that will affect every pack on this continent. Every Alpha. And every warrior with ambition in their blood.”
An hour later, the entire pack is gathered in the main clearing. The sun is setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple. A nervous energy buzzes through the crowd. Kael stands on the steps of the lodge, the unrolled scroll in his hand. I stand a few feet behind him, in the shadows of the doorway. I feel like a ghost again.
“I have received a proclamation from the council,” Kael announces, his voice carrying easily across the clearing. The pack falls silent. “The time has come. The Werewolf Games will be held in three months.”
A beat of silence. Then, the clearing erupts.
The sound is a wave of pure, unadulterated excitement. Warriors slap each other on the back. Young wolves who have never seen the Games let out excited howls.
“Our chance,” Anya says, her voice tight with emotion. She stands near the front, her eyes shining. “This is our chance to show them all who we are.”
“The old blood packs won’t know what hit them,” a young warrior named Rhys calls out, grinning. “They still think we are a pack of strays.”
“Let them,” Silas, the old woodcarver, says from his seat on a stump. His voice is a gravelly rasp. “Pride is the easiest armor to pierce.”
The words swirl around me, a vortex of hope and ambition. For them, this is a golden opportunity. A chance to put the Crescent Moon pack on the map. To earn the respect they have been denied.
For me, it is a death sentence.
The Werewolf Games.
The words are a key, unlocking a door in my mind I have kept bolted shut for three years. The memory of Damon’s face floods my senses. The coldness in his eyes. The casual cruelty in his voice.
The Silver Creek pack requires strength. To win the Games, the Alpha must have a mate who is his equal. A warrior. A wolf. You are a weakness I cannot afford.
My breath catches in my throat. The cheerful shouts of the pack begin to sound like the jeers and whispers from my eighteenth birthday party. My skin feels cold, my blood turning to ice water in my veins.
Liability.
“We will compete,” Kael says, his voice cutting through the noise. A roar of approval goes up from the pack. “We will send a team. We will fight. And we will show the world the strength of the Crescent Moon.”
He is an Alpha. Of course he sees this as an opportunity. It is his duty to his pack. To their future. A cold, familiar dread settles in my stomach. He is an Alpha. He will need a strong team. He will need warriors. Wolves.
He would never ask me. I am a liability.
The thought is a bitter poison. After everything, after the silver wolf, after the feeling of freedom running through the woods, I am right back where I started. Defined by the reason I was thrown away.
I must look as broken as I feel. Kael’s gaze finds me in the shadows. The triumphant look on his face falters. The Alpha celebrating his pack’s future is replaced by the man who found a ghost in a library. His eyes fill with a deep, immediate concern.
I cannot breathe. I have to get out of here. I turn and slip back inside the lodge, away from the celebration, away from the hope that feels like a mockery of my own pain.
I make it halfway to the stairs before his voice stops me.
“Elara.”
I freeze, my hand on the banister. I do not turn around. I cannot let him see the terror on my face.
“I know what this must sound like to you,” he says, his voice quiet, stripped of the Alpha’s authority. It is just Kael.
I shake my head. “It is good for the pack,” I say, my own voice a strained whisper. “It is what you all need.”
“That is not what I asked.” He is closer now. I can feel the warmth of his body a few feet behind me. “I asked how it sounds to you.”
I finally turn. The look on his face is not one of ambition or calculation. It is one of pure, unadulterated empathy. He understands. He remembers my story. He knows exactly what those Games cost me.
“It sounds like my past,” I say, the words raw, honest. “A past I thought I had outrun.”
He nods slowly, his green eyes holding mine. “The past has a way of catching up. The question is, are you going to keep running from it? Or are you finally going to turn around and face it?”
He does not ask me to fight for him. He does not ask me to fight for the pack.
He is asking me to fight for myself. And I do not know if I can.